Early Work - Fingers - 1998

Of long gnarled fingers
and razor claws grey.
Voices of injustice
that silence the grave.
 
Unimaginable despair
that you wreak
with your fingers.
Long gnarled grey fingers
that damn the insane.
 
Of judgments you passed
on judgments you seek
to quiet the poet
and silence the meek.
 
And judgments you rant
on hideous grave
the devil himself
would blush in disgrace.
 
But still you point fingers
and wrap around throats
to steal a breath
        to turn away, blind.
And blind you remain
at blind words you nod
so blind to the truth
and blind to your God.
 
And what would he say
when he calls on you?
Will your disbelief
be your saving grace?
 
Or deny you all knowledge
of gnarled grey fingers?
All the worlds’ fingers
can’t snatch you from hell.
 
And hell you belong
to suffer a fate
of gnarled grey fingers
of horrors insane.
 
When you view those horrors
and view them
you will
all of your showers
won’t burn your souls clean.