The Blank Slate

The blank slate
that I was born with,
corrupted beyond recognition
by years of abuse.
Many wrote on it
that I can not now
recognize my writing.
Blessed are those
left alone
to write their own course.
For many,
it’s a search in wilderness
for the blank slate,
that they can write their own.
A mirror fractured and fragmented
does not reflect me,
I now see
what I want to see
what others want to see in me.
The blank slate has
gone dark
long ago.

Defective Medium Called Religion

We hide our mistakes
And sometimes do hide
From our mistakes
But it seems to me
From own creation
Creator has hidden
Creation that is
Supposed to be based
On own beautiful image
Flawed and corrupted
May be the mirror
Was shattered
During the big bang
Creating multiple broken
Shattered images
Afraid to face
A failed creation
Creator hidden permanently
Behind a veil
Of dubious middlemen
And a defective medium
Called religion