#halos
The sun must have reached low to prepare
our paths, as we walked those grandeur
streets, how it simmered the wind mild
and warm, to embrace the moment as its child;
how it forged halos around your cheeks
as you smiled, painting heaven on those peaks
& august bloomed in the lake, where my hand
kissed your fluttering feet—I felt it expand
till it was too leaden for my palms, and it drained
away into a moment in time, but you remained,
steeped in memories & my deliquesced heart
whose tides would fail to let you sail apart.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
^¡^
little girl gets angry
hits a boy at school
sent home by the principle
'cos she broke the rules
this was most unfortunate
with liquor on his breath
her father pulled his belt out
and beat her half to death
*none of us have halos
none of us have wings
none of us are "there" yet
as the choir sings
our minds are set on stupid
we think of earthly things
no, none of us have halos
none of us have wings*
Johnny, feeling hurt inside,
takes his tournequet
pours his lady snow out
to fix himself a hit
he didn't know how strong it was
that it could do him harm
he dies in a public bathroom
with a needle in his arm
[CHORUS]
dad has had a kind of lapse
he had an affair
mom just up and left him
divorced him then and there
now his little girl has bruises
'cos of liquor in his head
due to a wife who left him
his son, Johnny, is dead
*have you graduated?
with a high degree
in personal perfection?
if not, then let it be
I don't claim to be flying
as my transgression clings
'cos none of have halos
none of us have wings*
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/12/2017
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Stranded in a Spectrum entirely green,
I dream; in colors clustered around blue;
We meet; in swirls of turquoise.
Subliminal codes in her lullabies,
Allow her to control my dreams;
And when she makes green tea to calm me,
She uses mouse skulls instead of leaves;
It tastes like half-remembered dreams.
Eyelid transplants
Allow me to experience her dreams,
And when my dream-self leaves messages
On the inside of my eyelids;
They are blue notes
That shimmer in the morning,
Rescued from her memory-hole.
And outside, right before that morning,
The injured moon leaves smears
Of blue-green blood across the sky;
And soon, the earth is ringed with gore striations,
Celestial entrails halos;
It will be a day to remember;
A day of turquoise.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 3:51 PM UTC
Halos are a pagan tradition
of hanging a sunlit nimbus
over the head of great people;
it’s a crown of light rays
to shed an implied importance.
The genuine humility of Christ,
will always shine more brightly
than the human ego, that insists
on sporting tilted, tarnished halos.
For Him, it’s of no consequence!
Our Lord is a spiritual high priest,
attributed with characteristics of
pureness, innocence and greatness;
these halos are nothing more than a…
fashion accessory of shiny nonsense.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Heb 7:26
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC