Reaching out
from the darkened recesses.
With calloused fingers
and rough bit nails.

Clawing
Grabbing.
Clutching.
At any semblance of order...
And balance.

Make these theirs.
Let these be within reach.

For they,
those digits...
Worn, scraggly and desperate.

They belong to one.
They answer to one,
martyred heart.

Seeing crime everywhere.
I look around. I stop and stare.

Don't know what this world's become.
I pray above. Thy Kingdom come.

See that man? He is poor.
But they pass by. They slam the door.

Drugs and crime.
What else is new? ****, war, abortion rules.

Stealing, killing, and false dealing.
Unclean foods prevent our healing.

Don't know what this world's become.
I pray above. Thy Kingdom come.

Hurricane, storm and bad weather.
Takes that much to bring together?

Come on now who are we fooling?
Rebuild it all to bring self-ruin.

See the rich take from the poor.
Have the wealth, but they want more!

I see it all. I hang my head.
Should I give up or fight instead?

Seeing crime everywhere.
I look around. I stop and stare.

Don't know what this world's become.
I pray above. Thy Kingdom come.

Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216