Hunched over your
little piece of godsent,
scritch-scratching away
like your life depended on it.
Like a hungry rodent
peering around with those
desperate, suspicious eyes
for what?
Who might snatch this
thin sliver of hope,
that you might wash away all you know
and return it a hundred thousand fold.
But paper is a five folding game.
What if I,
full of my own self righteousness,
were to take it
quick and tear it
into the wind and away
saying
“Go. Live. You are free now.”
?
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
yes freek!