Without Works / Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar 

Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar 


Without Works

Parading in front of cameras
and complaining incessantly
about the world’s problems
without offering
any solutions
of your own
is about as dead-end
of a street
as I’ve ever seen tread

The cock crowed thrice
while you bled on the asphalt

Sipping on your gas-lit visions
no magic in that carpet ride

Pissing in your own pot
and whining unfaithfully
about how God let you down
without taking
any actions
of your own
leaves little wonder
over why
prayers rang hollow

The angels came in scores
but you scorned them with your tongue

Drinking of your hemlock potions
no spell cast in that poisoned well

/ July 21st, 2019

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