The Things I Hate

It's the sin not the sinner I'd insisted out loud to keep my hands clean
But the line often blurred when it was there at all, often disappearing
In church cushions where I couched my blame and distaste for everything challenging
Progress on a path, simple in syntax, but complex and constraining
And draining

Soon circles of hell emptied out and refilled with lies of our history
Corporate control, leaders and their thrones, I accused and found guilty
From a place far away where my cluster bomb blame I'd watch detonating
Removed from the stain of blood, the tattered remains of all that I hate

Until nothing remained and I was alone
With a the feeling that I've gone about this entirely wrong

Is it too late to fight for a simpler struggle
To forget that I'm me, to forget if I'm right, and cling to the subtle
Breathe in the ring, the harmonizing of different voices saying different things

Is it better to forget the words or to never sing?

I've always been good at finding the problems with everyone else
That's the main problem that I have with myself