πατέρας

Cold. Th earth stretches like an endless desert and sand billows into the sky like a heavy cloud. I taste the dust of the pyramids in my mouth. I choke. My back breaks lifting the blocks of stone on top the many--reaching into the sky--reaching for divinity--trying to touch it with the pitiful point of man's greatest construction of time.

My hands are caked in mud, the scent of straw stains my skin. Blood runs down my back, streaming down the razed streaks--disfigured with insufficient healing.

Water--I crave water! Throat is parched like the cracked earth below me.

Forgive us our sins.

Below me lie my brothers and sisters. My mothers and fathers. Their bodies of salt and shrouded clothes. Their lives broken by the greed of Man--crushed by stone, beaten with flesh, exposed, molested, emptied into the earth.

Father Father

I roam the earth with feet that have trod many miles. The miles have worn my face and hardened my skin, crystalled with salt. My eyes see the struggle and the pain--perpetual--ahead.
A world without end.

Father

My begging hands are ignored, scoffed at, slapped, beaten, crushed.

I am used as an animal--labor--toil--sex--dirt

Why do they steal my clothes, rip me, scourge me, crucify me

Thorns--I fall. I writhe and slip in the blood pouring from my wounds.

Stinging--pain--stench

We gather together in a dim room with a low ceiling. The door is closed and the candles are lit. There is no time for the bread to rise--we must eat it now--for we must flee. The bread is ripped and passed. It is sweet and soft on my tongue, I press it to my mouth and devour it. It fills me, slows the knives of hunger. We pass the bowl. The wine spreads warmly through my body. Magma--burning and shaping. I bring the trembling bowl to my brother's lips. He drinks deeply and passes it, too.

Father.

Hot. The earth stretches wide and far.

A world with out end.