The Bible of the Poor


It is not a leather-bound book
standing proudly on a rosewood shelf.
It does not curse at misbelievers,
and cannot be used as an excuse.

Manuscript penned for every child of God,
calligraphy on silk paper,
it is the Bible of the Poor and consists of
only one word written in all languages.

Both the Blind and the Illiterate
can read those simple lines of light
for the Heart already knows
the Word revealed in the Bible of the Poor,

the only way that we can live,
the only way that we can grow,
the Bible of the Poor,
la Bible de l’Amour.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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What’s my name?

Poisoned me with venom
of self-induced guilt and isolation
gave myself names- Whore suits
best perhaps
For the ones I’ve loved
never took a look
at snake bites
I got from playing hide n’ seek
in the dark

Poison grew stronger
as salty water ran
down the eyes night
after night n’ days
became a zombie walk
wherein I learned
playacting mastered it
to self-deception.

The final act
was saying goodbyes
to fellow play actors
n’ locking the coffin.

Coffin had wifi
I texted strange
things. Strange
and funny,
some things borrowed
from life. Created
a superfluous oasis
on my coffin.
It looked great
the superfluous thing
while it lasted,
attracted even
an angel.

Lost in the desert
I’ve trapped
the angel with me
I need to set
myself free
and find the water
to allow the angel
her flights.