In Judgement

Enslaved.

Slave to 
contemplation
formulation
manipulation...

Itching to bring forth 
information, as I see it.

All the wrongs I've seen--
been wronged.

Longing for a way to spin this flax 
I've been given.

So, there's that drive,
the burning engine,
full throttle,
seething...
'cause in the end,
seeing is believing.
And, in seeing,
I issue my decree.

This is what is,
what should be,
as I see it.

But, I'm lost.

That sight in which I place my trust,
breeding always, thoughts of injustice--
must be right
and real,
right?

Right...

at least, until I steady myself enough to feel.

And then, 
oh,
I see.
Only, not with eyes
or a mind conditioned to compare.

I see the dis-ease within.
The hell it is to sit
high up in this heavy robe
as I wield my gavel.

The pain that stays with each sentence given.

The back and forth.
The indecision.

It tears me in two.

Slave to watching.

Contemplation
Formulation
Manipulation....

a life lived in disdain.

Then the truth.
My holiness is my salvation.

-Jayme

Holy

Is that not the goal?

The old, raggedy shirt
worn
far too long.

skin that asked to be hidden
shows through.

Modesty...long ago, forsaken.

But truth,
where is it?

Sewn into disintegrating fibers,
kept alive by nothing
but
the tiniest thread,
weathered.

Still, I'll wear that shirt
'till there's nothing,
and every part of me is showing,
if I can just hide the truth.

Let it fall 
into 
microscopic specs--
hen-pecked by sun and wind--
down
to the ground.

I'll trade in every shred of dignity,
fight to the death
so the truth
can go unsaid.

Holy,
yes...

not in the way God meant.

-Jayme