the dead have no language for salvation

 
 
the teeth of Ares dig
deep into this world  
 
the glass is half full
with war and half
empty of love
 
dirty yellow brown
skies rain with
turpentine, dogma
and rage
 
we have altogether  
become something
unfamiliar  
 
there is nothing of
God left inside of
us
 
burning  
questions  
 
burning  
bushes
 
burning  
out
 
the lights go
on, but  
nobody sees  
 
the drums  
pound louder,
but no one
hears
 
the dead go
about their
bussiness
 
and the graveyards  
go on granting
wishes