Not even a literal weapon.
Not even a devil named Angel.
Nor a forgery. Nor a fraud.
Not a fable packaged finely.
Nor false evidence presented to you.
Not anyone or anything but God.

Do you refuse to see how your silence
is equal complicity to direct participation?
Do you immerse yourself in constant consternation
then choose nevertheless plausible explanation
served up on a platter with just enough of
what you like (a fix by any other name), my love?

Mold me, make me,
kill me, break me. Still you will
not be free of what is true of me.
Or you... who, if you are to be believed,
knew nothing of the incessant ring, ring, ring
nor the harbinger's hollow harboring of green,
you who sat back and waited for me
to be a canary and sing, who
didn't worry 'bout a thing:

  Not the kicking at my door, the sinister, the shoving.
  Not the seizing of my keys, proud pronouncements
  or crass commandments that sought to define me
  by who you or another would have me to be.
  Not the forcible removals, withdrawal
  of approvals, nor blame you shifted onto me
  for the greed and lust that grew in you.
  Not the things you called a bust because of me.
  Not the corruption of what was sacred you allowed.

Do you so willingly block the rock of your salvation 
in an unholy and unequal bond and so bind
the Spirit and deny free flow of life? Do you this day
choose ever the more such impertenence, rancid implausibility
and furthermore give credence to invented sufferability
and reward the lie? Is this then true belief?

No weapon. No words. No wanton
allegation nor disregard. Not to mention
disrespect or undeserved diabolical dishonor
for one's true heart and selfless service to those
in whose name you cast your blame.
Not anyone or anything but God.