Religious Entourage.

by Shan Shaikh

She continues to drag the holy words

Of her sacred scroll, to the ends of time

A never-ending expedition with Saints of Hope

The intention of uncovering truth

In lies masked with pretty little ribbons


The Mass of false segregation and determination

They sweep the walls with crosses and incents

The odor bleeds the kind which we don't discuss

And we carry their heavy bags of feathers

They tickle our burdens


Belief above the entourage wages war

Between Prophet of Truth and God of War

Never forgive the good deeds we sin

Wash our hands with blood and rid the waste


A colorful gray canvas with blotches

Created by beings with extra time

Forfeited by hawks with eyes

That pierce through the toxin filled bubble

That is our soul