Quiet night it is, as if it still
keeps the mystery in it's womb,
under the starlit sky we relive
the divine happening yet again.

Some, yes never miss the crux,
the truth of the story told in light;
but the fact remains that most of us
are only obsessed with the light.

So the stars hung high up shed
light in many hues different,
we just repeat the customs of yore
or add some more, feel contented.

The effect now is just ritualistic,
where does the mind hide?
allowing rampant darkens rule
making one another fight , it's sad.

A silver star is again born
in a far corner of the blue sky
and sheds it's light on all,we see
sky of our mind keeps on shining.

Do we remember to imbibe,the spirit?
of the rays of the cleansing star
are we aware that there is no
shadow to the star's light.

My confession
I'm a wretch
A miserable
Broken soul
Stained black in sin
I am shattered

But I am reborn
Scarred, yes
But reborn
Cleansed in fire
Washed
Clean
Pure crimson

I will dive
Deeper
Swallowed whole by the sea
The purifying surf
I will never surface
Yet I will never drown

I The Wicked Son
Drenched in Saving Scarlet

At night I lay on my bed
and I stare at the ceiling.
Sometimes I swear I can
see a pinprick light receding.

As if I'm Alice and this
is all part of my wonderland.
In the world at the bottom of
the rabbit hole lay the ******.

Like Dante's gluttonous fools
we lie in blood, mud, and pain.
Not all of my guilt can be
cleaned away by the rain.

Some darkness must be purged
from flesh with a harsher method.
We would wash it out of our
souls using our blood if we could.

Once an addict always an addict
And I'm back in the attic
Blowing dust off picture frames and knickknacks
Stirring up old feelings and panic attacks
These memories so fragile
These demons so quick and agile
None of it ever goes away
Just covered until a cloudy day
When my soul decides to do some housekeeping
But this is something no spring cleaning
Could ever completely sanitize
Until I come to realize
That this is no longer me
Just remnants of what I used to be

The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept

To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call

We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you

This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse

A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me

It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band

The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin

The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess

He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show

The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black

Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door

The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie

Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end

Bent over the stream
of laundrywomen drench
words that flitter to and fro,
rinsing and revising spoken prose
across whispered conversations

Fading away into the piercing gaze
of an endless summer’s haze
the laundrywomen have mastered
the art of washing the soul with only water
and well-meant poems as soap
as if it were the cloth in their hands