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Behold the Man who goes to see
The New Creation then set free
The place no sins or sorrows grow
The Promised Land to come aglow

Oh flee the gates of Babylon!
The ***** who feeds on her own spawn...
May Zion be your heav’nly home
The City where true lovers roam

One ambition, one direction
A new dawn
While in front of me stands Babylon
There it stands
Ripe with perfection.
The place of sin, filled with corruption
The true place
For salvation.
I think I lost myself
I've been searching but I have no sense of self
I'm lost, I'm somewhere else
Somewhere far, far away
I'm trying my best to go on
But it's hard to see when you're in Babylon
Is that where I'm at? I'm losing my mind
and I need to be exercised

I reach out to feel for anyone, anyone there?
I've been victimized and there's no hope for me here
I try to push through and speak with god
but I hear no reply, my prayers are being ignored
Why have you done this to me oh dear lord?
is it because of the things I've been, the things I've seen?
I've spoken in tongues and for that, I die young

My identity, my purpose, my demons
I close my eyes to listen, I hear it
it's beautiful and it's nothing
But silence.
Created by me on January 12th, 2020
Mikey Kania Dec 2019
concrete, metal, steel and glass
lustrous phalluses
lighting up the dark
no stars

with an iron fist
the rulers of the world
reign the world
out of the towers of babylon 8.

who are these people?
what are they doing all day and all night long?
what are we being told?

beneath the towers: a vast red light district
populated by desperate, greedy, machiavellian creatures:
driven by addiction

drugs are sold in the street 24/7
since the councilmen of babylon 8 established a drug policy
that is called "babylon's way".

it has been administered for three decades and ensures that slingers and dealers are given a set place to do what they are used to do.

in order to calm worried citizens, the police raid a stash house every couple of weeks while dealers are waiting across the street to go on as soon as the cops will be leaving.

the rulers of the world are addicted to themselves; many are using.

the slingers are faithful to any kind of mind-altering substance; many are dying right now.

close to you and close to me
while these words are written down and by the time they will be read.

people die daily because they do drugs.

most die due to abuse
some because of regular use
and even a few
trying it the first time.

what do YOU think ––
can anybody hear the addicts' last breaths inside the towers?

how do the rulers of the world perceive the world?
what's going on in babylon 8?

besides: babylon 8 is not an imaginary city.

it's real name is
frankfurt am main
located in
(a.k.a. "bankfurt" a.k.a. "krankfurt")

globally known for
its fair
its stock exchange ––
and a skyline
of bank towers
"Krank" means "sick" and "ill" in German.

The slang term "Krankfurt" describes an alienated place where barely everything is possible, regardless of the German law system.

And where illegal activity
takes place in all social environments.

The city's drug policy is called "Frankfurter Weg".
(Frankfurt's Way.)

According to several statistics, the drug trade within the red light district draws a profit of $ 1.1 million. Each day of the year.
Addiction and greed never sleep.

At the same time, Frankfurt offers a variety of museums, theaters and an opera house;
many of them being internationally popular.

The Main river and his shores are lovely; on Sundays, many people go there for a walk.

It is never about a place.
It's about the way of your life.

Today is a good day.

Babylon 8 is a composition of different poems. Read the first part:
Mikey Kania Dec 2019
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
To be continued. BABYLON 8
Chris Saitta Jun 2019
The cicada husk of the crescent moon sheds in cyclides light,
Molted whispers of life, spread like perfume behind the ear,
Or like silver earrings unadorned and scattered around the night-lit table.
Here too, the garden gown of Babylon lies heaped in soiled ruin,
Beaten down to sand at the foot of the bed of the Tigris and Euphrates.
Though the dunes are its aerial, root-bound springs,
Though the underground nymphs tend with cicala wings,
And underspurt of incessant summer song to lure
The resurrection rose of Jericho to bud once more,
In desert-faith for the hanging garden of a full moon.
“Cyclides” are more formally known as Dupin cyclides, which are geometric forms that can be ring-shaped, parabolic ring-shaped, or take other similar shapes.

Almost all cicadas (also called cicalas), including periodical cicadas, live primarily as underground nymphs until they emerge above ground in the adult form for several weeks to months.

The resurrection rose or rose of Jericho is the name for two varieties of resurrection plants, one of which grows in Iraq (modern-day Babylon).  The hardy plants can survive extended droughts and like the Biblical city of Jericho, from which they take their name, are thought to be reborn from ash.
PoserPersona May 2018
This bridge spans two worlds... No, two realities, though where gone?!
Mirrors the mythological beauty of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon
Endorsing the clout and stoicism of Zeus's Statue on Mount Olympus
Parallels the grieving love that built the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus
Evokes the envy of the world as did the Great Library of Alexandria
Rescues forlorn souls, unrivaled since the Lighthouse of Alexandria
Embodies Giza's Pyramid's genius and their incorporated golden ratios
Shorter lived and more vulnerable than the Colossus of Rhodes

      Most impressive, though, is that this bridge was only built by two
         Abandoned the 8th wonder of the ancient world... Dare who?

Horatius Cocles, sole guardian of its last half, despairs at the disrepair.  
  Mind forever enveloped and enthralled by shadow's legendary glare!

Horatius Cocles, despondent, knowing that glory days are long lost, 
  but more so bearing knowledge that Venus will never once more cross!

Horatius Cocles, tortured by this bridge, yet impotent to torch it ablaze.
   Disabled evermore by visceral love, yet would do it all the same.
"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." -Alfred Lord Tennyson
of times long
Persian poets did write
along the Euphrates River
where a shimmering sun
put atop its waters
a glimmering

since these ancient
many a poet has scribe verse
beside other river
Shakespeare thinking of an Avon love
who caught his thoughts
in such deeply abiding

Boney M's lyrical
by the Rivers of Babylon
is a modern
of the writers eternal feel
for a river streaming
wordage of
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