What Cant Be Sold

if time be chiseled in flesh,
then names but smoke,
leaving bricks to testify.
and destiny perceived,
the debt relieved,
who pays the cost to die?
the hallowed clothed
in rags and dust,
kneel beneath the cross denied.
we pray to ghosts,
while ignorance grows,
walking suicides.
still the rebel wind
breaks windowpanes,
tears roofs from vacant souls.
calling to the few,
who dare be true,
to give what cant be sold!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!