by Brian Forehand
Again they preach this backwards gospel
Hating the sinner yet loving the sin
Protecting the rights of the assassins
they willfully arm again and again
with inaction, blind faith revealed
in the whistling sound whizzing past their deaf ears
Holding harmless again this loaded gun
Vending ammo like chewing gum
triggering semiautomatic responses
blaming misfiring synapses or fiery rhetoric
Awaiting again the false prophet’s ascension
Fist pumped into the still pierced air
Anointed in blood, the worshipers witness
rushed motorcade departing
traveling this road they laid and repaved
built by their hands and blessed
with their words, this karmic path
that led them to this judgement day.
Brian Forehand is a creative polymath with too many interests and too little time. A late bloomer, he only recently embarked upon the cathartic practice of writing poetry. He lives in Washington, DC with his husband and their stripy cat.
Hating the sinner yet loving the sin
Protecting the rights of the assassins
they willfully arm again and again
with inaction, blind faith revealed
in the whistling sound whizzing past their deaf ears
Holding harmless again this loaded gun
Vending ammo like chewing gum
triggering semiautomatic responses
blaming misfiring synapses or fiery rhetoric
Awaiting again the false prophet’s ascension
Fist pumped into the still pierced air
Anointed in blood, the worshipers witness
rushed motorcade departing
traveling this road they laid and repaved
built by their hands and blessed
with their words, this karmic path
that led them to this judgement day.
Brian Forehand is a creative polymath with too many interests and too little time. A late bloomer, he only recently embarked upon the cathartic practice of writing poetry. He lives in Washington, DC with his husband and their stripy cat.
