branding

The mark of the Beast, they are heating the iron; their plan is to mark us.  To brand us into the next burning, they push us with their words. Onward Christian soldier, following with slave morality, our caustic blonde bodies fall in line, like sheep.  If you have not had the mark yet, run and hide.  Fly away, flee.  They plan to shave us, to brand us, to make us. They will use the venom of words to punctuate our every move.  Flesh peeling, piles, kneeling.  Leveling the blow the master sets forth his hierarchy, based not on empathy or symphony.  The sin will be that we cannot breathe amidst the terror they bring upon us. The treading on leads to hallucination; that carries forth the many-hued nations.  The kaleidoscopic view, the ribbon, the rainbow, the dew. Feeding on grass like sheep, we’re the Last. Pray, prey, you victim, you slain.  My God, where are you, the ache, the pain? Lashes, cracks, and essence proves the noble will not win, but be dashed into the dirt, weighing heavy cross and crown.  Muted with a chain. The links around my face they go, twisting, forming flesh.  How honestly the sheep will go, not questioning a thing. We shan’t have time to rest, pray forward, teach the small to go by way of holiness. Your wholiness.