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A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On that day I watched them lift highIn the tallness of being they shouldered yearsAnd stood as who they would becomeThere was sweat on their arms and mad jackalsWent stinking from their bright eyes1 see a knowledge sliding beneath this doorWhere I lean barred and gasping in horrorAnd for all that I have flung my back against itThey are the milling proofs of revelationCrowding the street beyond like roosting prophetsAnd as the children wandered off in the way of godsThe small shape was unmoving at suffering's endOn this day I watched them lift highTomorrow's wretched pantheon around stainsOn the stone where a lame dog had been trappedIn a forest of thin legs and the sticks and bricksWent up and down like builders of monumentsWhere the bowls are bronze and overflo

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  • Children Like Gods
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  • A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On that day I watched them lift highIn the tallness of being they shouldered yearsAnd stood as who they would becomeThere was sweat on their arms and mad jackalsWent stinking from their bright eyes1 see a knowledge sliding beneath this doorWhere I lean barred and gasping in horrorAnd for all that I have flung my back against itThey are the milling proofs of revelationCrowding the street beyond like roosting prophetsAnd as the children wandered off in the way of godsThe small shape was unmoving at suffering's endOn this day I watched them lift highTomorrow's wretched pantheon around stainsOn the stone where a lame dog had been trappedIn a forest of thin legs and the sticks and bricksWent up and down like builders of monumentsWhere the bowls are bronze and overflo
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  • A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On that day I watched them lift highIn the tallness of being they shouldered yearsAnd stood as who they would becomeThere was sweat on their arms and mad jackalsWent stinking from their bright eyes1 see a knowledge sliding beneath this doorWhere I lean barred and gasping in horrorAnd for all that I have flung my back against itThey are the milling proofs of revelationCrowding the street beyond like roosting prophetsAnd as the children wandered off in the way of godsThe small shape was unmoving at suffering's endOn this day I watched them lift highTomorrow's wretched pantheon around stainsOn the stone where a lame dog had been trappedIn a forest of thin legs and the sticks and bricksWent up and down like builders of monumentsWhere the bowls are bronze and overflowingAnd marble statues brood like pigeonsHave you seen all these faces of God?Lifted so high to show us the perfectionOf our own holy faces but their hands are emptyOf bricks and sticks now that they're grownIs there no faith to scour away the cruelty of children?Will no god shield the crying dog on the stoneFrom his lesser versions caging the helplessAnd the lame? If we are made as we would beThen the makers are us. And if there standsA god moulding all he is in what we areThen we are that god and the childrenBeating to death a small dog outside my doorAre the small measures of his will consideredAnd in tasting either spat out or consumedIn the ecstasy of the omnipotent" ―Children Like GodsFisher kel Tath
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