What will the soul of humanity see

when we rise above the unrests of this life,

and look upon the eyes of the

ghosts in the corridor? Who among us

is worthy enough to ask them

for the combination to the lock that

opens up the gates of Heaven?

While the three-headed dog of our earthly Cave Canem

yelps against the winds of change,

he instinctively senses a duality of calm,

but it does not hover long,

and is gone without the faintest of etchings,

not a trace or a smear of compassion,



All that was left was a recipe

for the Bread of Life. . .

the best part being the crusts of our liberties

but we slice them off, casting them aside

for the birds of prey, the immoral sky kings

who fill the air with smoke and fire;

its thickness leaves no room to breath

in the denseness of all manner of

theology, hypocrisy, and treachery,

all in the name of multiple gods and men of war. . .

who use the facade of peace as a scheme

for world domination. . . and there are those

who would gladly cut of the heads of their

enemies, but that truth was never told

to them. . . they were taught only that

which was sufficient for them to know.

And once we all enter eternity,

we will want to know what color is God,

and some of us will be so surprised

to find out that the image of Truth

reflects only what it sees, and no matter

how twisted, Truth will look exactly like us.
© 2004 cynth'ya lewis reed The King Center, Atlanta Georgia