the veiled lady/hailstones between my teeth

SELF-TITLED

these children were swaddled in rage.

birthed in Babylon and ruin

they learn to act as you allow

and shut up when the river runs dry

because it's their turn to work now.

these children know what you think they don't

they reach out and grab the things you try to hide

"they'll be poisoned" they say, but we do it anyway

because what's the power in follow and abide?

the hymns in the throats of sons and the daughters

sculpted by The Sculptor's gentle hands

bathed in small injustices riddled in holy waters

cloaked in the silk robes of lies and surrenders.

if faces were wild things, theirs would be tigresses.