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literature

The Balaam Monologue

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O Lord, let me be as Balaam,
  only able to utter
  only able to speak
  only able to bless
  only able to curse
those words and names,
      subjects and rulers,
      mothers, sons,
      fathers, daughters,
      wives, husbands,
      women, men,
that you place on my lips.

     Let me speak thine truth
     thine whole truth,
     and nought but
                    thine truth.
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© 2011 - 2019 theguywhowritesstuff
Written when after reading one of Balaam's adventures.

Critique Welcomed!
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Her skin pale, taut, torn, Her eyes cast at the mournful moon. 'How long,' She whispers, Since the day bled out? Since She'd been alone in the moonlight? Broken wings folded neatly, she stood. Bare feet on broken glass, blood On the cold stone floor. She looks up again, the shattered roof Of the abandoned church. The young priest shudders. His words lose all meaning, fading Into the echoes of her whimpers. A thousand questions voiced at once. She turns her head, black hair and lace Falling gracefully around her pale face. With A single tear drop of crimson blood. She touches the place her wings once were. 'I...' Her words c
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