there are those unafraid to die
conditioned to care less
about their own body
than other worldly matters
—such as rescuing the distressed
from imminent death
or dying for the sins of others
nothing is really forgotten here
but rather passes on
from various transgressions to the next
eerily similar to ground wars
lasting thousands of years
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there was a sign of hope
amidst the ongoing trauma of war
was it the sunshine after weeks of rain
or a small flock of white doves
appearing out of nowhere
flying across the battlefield
or was it as simple as a small child
snapping off a branch from the olive tree
there were invisible badges of honor
pinned to the soldiers that perished
ambushed & incapable of defending themselves
some say they were cowards
others say martyrs
the supermajority calling them victims
or their own leaders
regardless
the invisible war intensified & the price paid
was incalculable
unseen or unheard
by the beachgoers & the firefly chasers
impatiently searching for some kind of hope
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
abraham chopped wood because he liked
to burn it on cold winter nights
or because god commandeth it so
in the early hours when fire in his eyes
diminished to near nothing
he’d awaken from lack of oxygen
and proceed to jump-start his day
chain of events unfolded inevitably
one altar leading to two or three
challenging false belief that sacrifice
somehow supersedes life itself
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out in the fields
bonfires consume the air
pushed by the wind and shoving back
sparkling like stars
and speaking in new tongues
eons away prehistoric microlife awaken
hypnotic and unknowingly
attracted to the light
traveling at the speed of a lifetime
before effortlessly giving in
with unmitigated enthusiasm
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they awaken on sundays
and praise the one who gave them life
they put on their finest clothes
and take to the streets
huddled together like little lambs
moving at the command of their shepherd
who leads them down the narrow way
toward the altar of life
as they march they recite
words from the ancient book
raising their hands
toward the open sky
asking for forgiveness
and vowing to repent
when the hour comes
to prepare the table
they shamelessly offer
the most innocent
as an imperfect sacrifice
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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