Death by proxy

Death by proxy 7/8/2011

This is not the first time
And this is not the last
That someone pays by proxy
For someone else’s sins.

Standing before a judge
Without a friend or defender
Destroyed, shamed and robbed
Wordless and ruined.

The guilty go free
And the innocent are savaged
Spiritually murdered and replaced
All based upon a lie.

Small men without imagination
Have risen from the cracks
Their heads grown proud and ugly
Boastful, shallow and vain

They have mocked the good
And laugh at their crimes
Mauling their victims
But always from behind.

But even their gifts
Come from somewhere
Stolen and laundered
And hung out to dry.

Hedging their bets
And cashing their chips
But turning in their ticket
And dying in the end.

The first half is over
And now it’s intermission
In the second half
The price will be paid
But the price will be high
And it will last forever.

In my dream
I saw a wounded bird
And it appeared as dead
Barely moving
And carried aloft.

But now it is healed
And its fall has become a dive
Screaming through the air
Coming back
And coming home.

Invisible as a ghost
And defying wood or metal
Flying though and into
Places I have never been.

I can see the walls
And I can see the rooms
Knowing where to go
And knowing what to do.

My hands will not lose their grip
And my teeth will not let go
Tearing, shredding and pounding
Every single day
And every single night.

I will not be turned
And I will not surrender
Relentless as an iron angel
In a world turned upside down.

Something has happened
And the chains are broken
With no reason to hold back
And nothing left to lose.

Something is owed
And it will be paid
One way or another
And one day for sure.

Guilty by proxy
And murdered by the numbers
Cruelly mocked and blamed
For someone else’s lies
And someone else’s words.

But now I return
Like a phoenix
With wings on fire
Knocking over and destroying
Everything I see.

There is nothing so horrible
Than a man without shame
And nothing so wasted
As a man without a soul.

My eyes are opened
And I know the truth
That this is not the end
But only a beginning
A passion play for the living
In a pageant of death.