“You will call, but I will be gone”

I wrapped ropes around my clasped hands,
And tethered them to your mighty mast.
With love I let them cut me,
And I bled faith.

I had fertile fields waiting for my sowing
But for you,
I blew wildfire and burnt the soil, moist and decadent
Turning it as grey as my sons’ eyes.

On razed earth,
With my hands still bound,
I touched my forehead to ash,
And let the flakes rise up and choke me.

But I have coughed up
Those fragments of ignorance.
My throat is clear,
My mouth is dry.

I quench my thirst
Not with the water you created,
But with the liquid freedom
Oozing out of my ropes as I gnaw through them.

Now I see in this dead land,
Not a rightful deed,
But the seeds I disintegrated
As I released my unenlightened flames.

A charcoal mark
Will forever remain on this forehead.
People will see me as the sinner,
And I will nod in accordance:


Yours is a death by delusion.