A potters clay urn , a gift from talented , artistic hands ! Fragmented , stained glass images on cathedral walls overlook a repository laden with mans indiscretions ! Saints cast in marble , everlasting tributes ! Two young hands imprinted into fresh concrete by a proud Father , telling a story a thousand years later ! Names , pertinent dates , a cherished poem or Bible verse etched in black granite , recognition for a short time on this Earth . November winds command every tree in the woodland , breathing life unto mountain vista ! The same ardent desire to conquer and control that became our albatross ! Egotistical , rebellious vehicle , entirely responsible for its own extinction !

Something I would tell you son
that's only known to me
a burden it is knowing alone
it's time I share with thee.

Shocking was what he revealed to me
tragic too was the tale
of a woman's loss of dignity
her passing thru fire of hell.

Her I have held in high esteem
her sanctity locked in trust
never knew she was a sad victim
of a man's monstrous lust.

My father felt it would only be fair
it needed him just to be brave
with son the secret he must share
not carry alone to the grave.

I hold it now that grave secret
father left his job was done
burdened with a heavy weight
that I can't share with son.

The woman she is still alive
knocking on ninety's door
her skin a shade of dried beehive
she remembers not anymore.

She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.

i.

What occupies thy soul and being? Worldly knowledge, book's, gold, material thing's; Diamond's, jewelry, ring's, automobile's, weapon's that ****, Poison's that we put into ourn spiritual bodies.

ii.

Where is thy heart? Into plastic, stuck in a casket, pulling apart?
Art thou striving to a life of just surviving, or actually living life;
What cometh first? God, family, friend's, or earthly trend's?

iii.

Whom doth thou serve? The thought's of the devil? The grave and the shovel? Art thou on another level? Or dying to get rich; Living as a slave? Choked in a cave? Giving all, as all the lord gaveth thee.

iv.

What doth thou fearest? Mankind? With bomb's that shineth, and gun's to smoketh? Or thy creator whom hold's the key to life and death, art thou like all the rest laying thy treasure on men's step's? Or in Jehovah's kingdom? The great architect's ringing the doorbell at thy being; ding ****...... Ding ****... Ring. Ring!!!!

Wilt thou let him in?
Or serve the world and men?




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Why, Judas why?
Your kissed became the treachery symbol
Sold your faith but hanged yourself and die
After you returned that thirty pieces of silver

Why, Judas why?
Might you have a big crisis for money?
A sick parent or child, perhaps
To cure their pain, but ‘twas cut in the story

You returned the dazzling silver
Might they’ve never fulfilled their promise
To never hurt your master
That’s why you weep unto your best

Why, Judas why
If the tree and the rope could talk, they’ll never lie
Might you’ve kissed the image of your master in the wind
Before you bid the world goodbye


10-26-2015
Mysterious Aries