A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth

The Book of Judges 

Turn and run

Turn and face 

The turning of the page

We are

Paper thin

Dressed in our crimes like the text of an arrest warrant 

Wreathed around our weary bodies 

My arms encircle your hip like I am the very stench of smog in the poisoned air 

–

–

There are wars in the world and I see plague behind me, famine in my skeletal hands 

Just like in the Bible stories

You see the light but it rots your brain

Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?