For Bricks
Sometimes I would rather the stones do my job.
Treat my hush mouth like missed opportunity
Shout and cry out in the heavenly,
“Holy, holy holy” to the 1 in 3
Maker of mortal men
who manage not to recognize their creator come down as savior
Sometimes I'd rather the rocks cry out for me.
For when I shout
I remember my disloyalty
I saw him on entrance
Unpressed on Mt. olive’s trek
Yet these lips that once glorified- also yelled crucify!
Oily, oily, oily his blood pressed out for me
faithfulness poured out on cross bar cedar tree
But blessed be the Rock who makes worshipers out of children whose hearts tend to flip
High price for stone beaters
A fleshly change he won’t miss
Cobble roads turned to Coraźons
Thank God, He still makes worshipers out of bricks
Read on yo’ own: