Sinning Saint

i’d rather be a sinner
 than a saint
my reasons for this 
ain't 
for the faint
of heart
changes
start 
a violent evolution
volcanoes erupting
fire and ash spewing
landscape changing
a revolution 
taking place
within our 
viscous liquid solid
state 
of mind
would you?  
if my sins exclude hate
what are the chances 
of ascending 
to the heavens 
that the zealots 
create 
to dangle 
like a carrot
pie in the sky
the final destination
real or imagined
the reward held high
for acquiescence
the silent acceptance
of words 
often long ago written
by old men 
with flowing robes 
and grey beards
smitten 
with an insatiable thirst 
for knowledge
which we are told is 
power
over the people
drug of choice 
the opium of the sheeple
wielded like a weapon
to sow fear and confusion
bring to heel
brought to kneel
toe the line
bowed down and broken 
bent spine
before the execution
of that devious act
backroom tactics
to grant a devil's pact
for things our eyes 
choose not to see
for things our ears 
choose not to hear
water boarded with cloth
doused by the tears 
of our 
real 
blind 
fears
the unknown 
misunderstood
driving us to seek 
the words
of proclaimed prophets 
from long ago places
from millennia passed
their ideas in stasis
his story confirmed
codified control
ancient translated 
written text
words lost of meaning
strung together and next
to nothing accepted 
as changed
though time has marched on
deranged
old ways of doing things
still holding strong
in the populist mind
feeling left out 
excepted, left behind
alone
standing on the sidelines
the consuming fear 
of being overthrown
dulled eyes trying to decipher 
the bylines and story lines
like fairy tales
written 
with crucial details 
missing 
one side of the story
lost perspective
irrespective 
of the evidence presented
and on the other side 
stand 
the resisters
the brothers and sisters
the rabble-rousers
and soul twisters
the chosen ones that rail
against an invisible system
a prison a jail
designed to cage
and dismiss 'em
they strive to dismantle
what lives no longer
handle
change agents
lighting fires
burning the candles
igniting the pyres
and in those flames
that volcano erupts
altering the terrain
the landscape 
never the same
and the sins 
they commit
designed to up-end
and capsize the boat
not just rock it
towards 
dropping the writ
the asymptote
closer and closer
to zero 
to nothing 
changes
change is
everything
is everyone
hearing over and over
that common refrain
denouncing their names
losers not winners
deflecting the shame
they are the true sinners
and not the saints

Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash