Resin

A murderous truth has overcome me
It's wrath a willst true
leaving bodies bruised blue.
How many deaths does a man die
before his soul is considered pure?

I've died only once
and the experience haunts me still.
It leaves clarity in me
dispersing the shadows
and shrouding the black in light

I suppose the price I paid was free
when measured in the Lord's grace.
Woven tales and songs sung loudly
often silence the spirit within.

The Eagle spreads its wings
stretching its talons it swoops
decisively
drown the thought in liquor
leaving the consequence of doubt.

And the numbered dead that rot with it.