Nailed

We waited on God in dull halls

Where there was no sound of song

Only the deafening silence of defeat

Echoing along empty corridors

And all the while

The burgeoning life inside our young bodies

Chaffed

Until the words they said

Become lead

Forming the nails of the coffin

We lay within

And while part of us rebelled

And our joyous selves

Pirouted on their toes

And danced away

Towards another fire

Another part lay trapped

Lured by the lies they told

Fire is hell, and passion damnation

Not life not joy

And certainly not transformation

Those dangerous things

Their frozen hearts barred the way to

And so like exhausted nightingales

Who had lost their will for flight

We lay heavily weighted under

A burden of dread

While craving moon and stars

And deep dark pleasures of the night

As well as a way back in flight

To the lost sun

Of our souls buried remembering

Waiting on God in these barren places

Surely was a fate for which we were ever truely chosen

When if God really

Exists is he not born in flesh

Part of the uprising of joy

That gives light to life

And knows nothing of that leaden state

Which speaks to my mind

Less of God

Than of the Evil

Of lies

And of the Devil