The moon is still hanging low
since it came down so close.

The seven seas dance
beneath her polished feet
but could never touch it.

Then the intact moon,
in fact, did unleash
only when one popped
out ahead of the rest.
Down from the earth
luminary Muhammad
Peace be upon him
pointed his finger towards it
and into two halves did the Moon split!

But the man wouldn’t touch it
and remained with us all
with every human the Moon dwarfs!

What he says may roar through the crowd
But on deaf ears it falls
eventually
after years of sunken silence
The profit becomes an equal
His thoughts remain untill
they don't
The rain falls a new
and out of the pool more musings rise
To which music is played
respect is shown and hands are thrown up
He too does revel
in his following, his pool of delight
it's turned to acid, by God
of course.
An image is shown
All who gaze upon it shall remember
untill no one does
and long after
one thousand cycles past
We are all shown as equal
as no one is left to remember
what is good or bad
the creator of words is gone
There is only what is
but meaning there is not
for we too
upon taking that first breath
we too were fooled

Without it, the earth is no earth,
I (the primeval feminine)
have no doubt, the prophet
circle is my witness I touched
the bottom of her water!

Zeroed into her zero neigh
and circled it with my hair,
laid down for it the foundation
hardwired with my circle.

Close Enough To Sunday

It’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

written about 10 books,
multiple international best sellers,
#1 Poetry Book in The World,
4 times in a row for worse or for better but whatever,

I mean really,
what am I even saying,
and really,
what are you even saying?

It’s all fckt up,
and we all know it,
still we pretend it’s all good till the end,
we had a Chance to save us just needed to not blow it,

but we did,
we neglected the earth,
even though we all knew and know,
that that Moment of Truth is coming and it’ll hurt,

can’t even have a drink at a club,
without feeling guilty for the pollution we’ve caused,
even when those drinks are free and served with a smile,
because I know that smile is usually covering some recently retreated sores,

we’ve neglected the poor,
and caused significant scars,
on the skin of Mother Earth,
meanwhile Musk just wants to colonize Mars,

and that’s not a shot at Elon,
I trust him and respect his vision,
he’s a creative visionary genius creation,
a creative genius that generally makes good decisions,

I’m just saying,
given the current position,
whether Elon Musk or a homeless vagrant,
we’re all fckt equally and that’s the fckn situation,

it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

Still I put in work,
verse after verse,
cliche after cliche,
The Gift & The Curse,

like somehow,
I’ll be able to write all our wrongs,
answer all the questions,
and celebrate with victorious songs,

make Love and make Mysteries,
with a Stranger in a Strange Town,
and I’ve been up till way too Late:30 lately,
too tired to debate or hesitate when it’s high time to get down,

down,
here,
the sky looks so beautiful,
the mushroom clouds,
from the ground,
are everything I choose to show,

so,
whatever,
what more can we say,
let’s go,
wherever,
‘cause we've got it all but the only thing we want to get is away,

want for nothing else,
hey it’s Close Enough to Sunday anyways,
so let’s just take this day to rest,
no need to worry about the one thing that comes to everyone eventually,

let’s take some time to take some time,
no need to go right now ‘cause we all go one way or another anyways,

one day,
soon,
high as,
noon,

so,
so what,
so,
we’re fckt,

it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to all these events,
where everyone’s all dressed up,

but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

from '777: Alphas & Numerics'
available worldwide here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746

You have forgotten God,
but somehow somewhere deep within
                    still you know
you are His prophet.
spraying holy graffiti on the abandoned midnight walls
of the eternal buildings of the city,
up in smoke the dreams of your yesterdays,
crushing emptied beer cans against railroad tracks,
screaming as the whistle blows,
longing to be,
               longing to be…
just not quite so **** infinitesimal,
driven to insanity in the obscene love for now,
     until your mind collapses into castrophic silent reverie.

Now,
                            now,
                                                   now.
i love you,
     I love you,
           i love you,
you are the prophet,
o lovely singular soul of everything,
               you know what must be.

why have your eyes gone dark,
         why are your visions no more,
you long for the starry magnitude of infinity,
and yet can only make it to the door.
you search in the sounds of the night
in the threads of your carpet,
in the creaks in the walls,
in the hum of the air,
       in the sad blue jazz soul of the yellow-light sidewalks
that cry to the sky, “why this eternity,”
therein lies the mystery of everything,
you know it,
but where is it.
    o prophet, o soul,
why have your eyes gone dark?

i am not afraid of my Holy Father
i am afraid of my Merciless God who keeps me awake at night towering over me in an unassuming sort

omniscient

all knowing

after all,
how can you run
from someone who knows exactly where you'll be?

no amount of prayers will make the whispers stop
so you may as well write them down
as they're echoing in your mind

.
'The wall on which the Prophets wrote is cracking at the seams'
King Crimson - Epitaph (In The Court of the Crimson King).

.
I have no God.
I have no religion.
But one thing I do know ...

Any self-respecting Prophet
would be spinning in their grave
if they knew about
the atrocities and violence,
the fanaticism and ****,
carried out in their name.

Any self-respecting Prophet
would be crying through time
if they heard how
their thoughts and teachings,
their messages and words,
were used to justify hate.

© Pagan Paul (25/05/17)