I'm home with a cold so here's a short poem I wrote last night...

*Our Own Baals*

Sometimes it can be so quiet
When I need it to be
Sometimes the war is only inside
And the fighting becomes cold//robotic//automatic
Sometimes the machines grind their monsterous gears with apocolyptic sound
And Gehenna cries over the lost children of Molech
Sometimes the dawn can break so subtly
I barely noticed it when the fire bled into my room from the rising sun
Sometimes the answer is so simple
But it takes a revolution to realize
Sometimes the dogma is unreal
So we sacrifice in a jingoistic bill of rites at the cold and tarnished altar to Baal