What if we gave ourselves freedom
not the synthetic kind that leaves
that metallic taste
on the tip of
your tongue tinged blue
with artificial dye?
What if we worked
as hard to produce
food for ourselves
and our loved ones
and our enemies
as we work at promoting
Not our real selves,
but rather the synthetic selves
with hands stained
by apathetic longing?
What if we could hear the pure voice of the Almighty God
through ears unfettered by this
and what if we trembled
because what we heard
was not a word
but more like a vision that falls
driven by the wind of reckless abandon?
What if there was no “if”
and all that was left were excuses?
What if we were asked to give an account
for our time in the storm
of vision-rain and reckless wind?
What shelter have we sought?