Someone should 
let a snake 
through eternal life. 
It would hiss 
at a god, right under his knife, 
whereas we 
would entreat to the steel - 
no complaint 
or restraint; 
we could paint our own deal 
in our favor, in blindness 
to whether we gain - 
whether what we're 
is pleasure 
or pain - 
we can mask, hide, and wrap 
in nine different ways; 
we can shove them in bibles 
or mute them with tape 
over lips 
in a silver 
as quiet as rain. 


But, when shown to the door 
of the heaven it deemed 
naught but tales, myth, and lore; 
naught but wishes and dreams, 
it would taint what it touched 
and blend in with the clouds - 
it would slither inside; 
lie in wait on the ground - 


not a human there was 
wouldn't timber and kneel, but a serpent 
like me 
would bite god on the heel. 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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