Away with You

I am social unrest.  
I drag the confident from their bedrooms with crying,  
snatching their locks down to a beggar's pride  
at the bottom of the rock.  

"Let go, let go,"  
but I am mute to screams.  
I dipped them in a well of mind,  
where I gnashed as if I were betrayed  
in asking for a widower's death,  
but God was content with the weathering of the face in the apology for unsewing its mother's womb,  
and so I long to teach you:  
 
life is an equalizer,  
and the mind can be defective  
if you haven't let your wrist on a pauper's encaven walls.  
 
This is the bowel of my grace.  
 
The hideous, shattered skull  
is redemptive.  
It is stained  
with the blood of the Lord.