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With an answer and arm in the roadside whore,
reach love with a dirt floor promise
to wash.
Break the old testament of faith with a smile,
as blood is the main concern.
On your collar is salt from the ocean,
the child you made is the bastard of praying.
Find the grain of the cross and betray it,
find the grain of the field and explain why
the children can't breathe.

Beaten and blind are the hand-outs,
"yes I do" are the words of the hungry.
What is winter?
You kneel without reason.
The desperate are sorry with promise of treason.

Split the newborn skin on the stone
and place the plate in the hand of the family.

Without love we are Killers...
the sheet is the teller of hatred in love...

Powerful, great poem with nice images.
Georges

Thanks George- For a minute I was thinking about giving up on writing...
Perhaps I should enter a Poll...

I don't think you need to Ep.
You write for pleasure, just like me.
Georges

Epurcelly, I think you'll find that giving up writing is a decision out of your hands; being something we are compelled to do by that inner voice. At moments when I am despondent I contemplate "giving up" music/songwriting/art etc. but after 30 years of such contemplation I am still doing it. Once you're hooked, your hooked!
Incidently, this piece of writing is very good; made me stop and think about it.
Regards, Witty Owl.

WO- I forgot who said this about writing but it goes right along with what you said (this is not a quote): If you are having doubts about writing, try stopping. You will know soon enough if you are a writer or not by your success in doing so.
Something along those lines.
Thanks Owl.

PS- My remark on "giving up" was in reference to another thread. A stupid remark...