#wickedness
The witch vanishes in a mystical flash.
The house lies awkwardly on two legs,
With shrivelled feet.
Soon, the small crowd chants,
"Follow the yellow-brick road!"
There lies a contiguous
Red-brick road.
Where does it lead?
Not to the Emerald City.
No one acknowledges the Ruby red swirl.
It does, nonetheless, lead in the opposite direction,
Away from Xenophobic Land,
The shortcomings of an equivocating sneak-thief.
Away from what lies behind the curtain,
Not following.
Like Frost, lead the way on the "red-brick road,"
And in this case, an unfamiliar route,
Not returning to home.
And always bring water.
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 11:13 AM UTC
marrying and given in marriage
wickedness breeds greater wickedness
each generation stinkier than the last
and every child born a greater evil
the scattered righteous are few and hated
overwhelmed and drowning in deep sea
sparing the unborn from sorrows and griefs
gifted with the Comforter for courage and help
time is shortened for their sake
in half a time shall they be rescued
in three days and not a week
and in a week and not a year
buds have blossomed and harvest’s not delayed
we mined the Moon and harnessed the Sun
decay’s stench unmistakable but blindly persuaded
as freedom’s necessary aroma, even sacred
the wicked disintegrate where they stand
in utter terror and panic slay one another
earth terraformed in a day without end
and buying and selling cease
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 3:47 AM UTC
I’m caught in a game
Of hide-and-seek…
Where the run-from One
Haunts my every thought,
And calls out to me
With seductive roars
[And I know her too well;
I know her too often]
While the chase-after Other
Graces my every dream,
And dances upon the earth
With footsteps as soft as a whisper
[And, oh, this Other I long to know;
Oh, this Other I long to hold]
I’m caught in a game
Of hide-and-seek…
.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 12:01 PM UTC
Once you've sat at Wisdom's feet
and heard her teach the Truth
Light's unbearable and dark
and Teachers most grievously painful
For there is no error in the plumb line
Any tilt and crookedness is exposed
Every hearts' wickedness and deceitfulness
cries out and stinks as dead men's sores
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
tattoos, the mark of Cain
instinctively inducing revulsion
stirring a mix of fear and hate
and of contempt and pity
today a common mark of man
mistaking individuality for identity
abhorrence for affirmation of being
and grotesque debasement for beauty
the mark of exile, rejection, and wickedness
now of fellowship, freedom, and choice
embracing the perverse to shock as all children do
now permanently etched, defiant without understanding
perhaps it is fitting and timely now
for the world is going the way of Cain
the mark of man is yet another sign
manifesting openly for those given to see
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 5:37 AM UTC
So blind, the blind despairs.
So wicked, ***** grieves.
So indistinguishable from evil,
their judgement of evil, truly just.
So indistinguishable from their ruthless enemy,
the utter destruction decreed shall befall both suddenly.
The aggrieved weeps.
The wicked hardens.
Wickedness upon wickedness.
Endurance beyond Lot's,
given, the righteous' lot.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 3:42 AM UTC
On the verge of innocence
But you was so meticulous
In your vicious wickedness
I had no idea of your fecklesness
Then you left me there to die
I could see the evil in your eyes
You tried so hard your evil to impart
But I'm not as weak as you had thought
In your wickedness I will take no part
Instead I'll forgive you and steal that power
That you thought over me would tower
For no one can take my empathy
For I have tasted the agony
Of many lifes and many years
I've cried a million tears
And I can see the pain in others
Even when they try to cover
With happy smiles that don't reach the eyes
I see the tears that they lock inside
And always I'll stand by their side
That in our agony we can connect
I'll never be one that will reject
For I've traveled the road their going down
Many times in fact, I know the bumps and the sounds
Even been chased by the devils hounds
But every time I do rebound
But with the passing years it's getting harder
And soon one day I know, I'll be counted as just another martyr
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
I can't stand to become that person again.
I can be strong as long as I keep this blade close to my skin.
Locking away each deep little thought.
Accidentally remembering the ones I forgot.
The darkness is a consuming the very essence of my mind.
Searching for the light, but I'm becoming more blind.
Coming to terms with who I crave to become.
Stripping away any remaining innocence, immorality impossible to overcome.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
A man kills a man. A ****** blasphemes the resplendent soul of the angelic; ravaging the virtuous house by way of his wicked rapine. Yet the effulgent heart has relinquished the curse of enmity - the noble finds no solace amid the rancor of Hate. Hatred is naught but a vile curse, a bane which plagues the wielder with strife.
Truly I maintain, a condign response commands grace and repose. Do not tolerate the sedative pleasure Hatred bears, for alike an ****** the analgesic peculiarities will soon turn to misery - unloosing the very wickedness the righteous heart held in such abhorrent contempt.
Only Love can oppose the venom of Hatred and lead the wicked to righteousness. Love will invariably triumph.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
Hatred replaced the beating
The violent vibrations hollowed
Once lush and lively places
Carved in feelings I cannot understand
Conflicting with virtues
Asking what is the right thing
Introspection reveals the fear
Of the shameful devil in the mirror
Transformed from the wickedness
Which has grown wild and cruel
Bloom these demon eyes
Luminating into the might with pride.
Beckon down deep, the cold echoes
An evil mind holds the truth
Toxic lifeblood eroded away
The former, the King of Beast in my stay
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
When the sun will cease to shine,
And the moon hides behind the clouds.
When all the stars have fallen
It will prevail, Darkness will.
What should I do by then?
Should I wait with arms wide open?
Let darkness be embraced by me
And be bound together for whole eternity?
Even before, I have known darkness
It kept me away from loneliness.
So darkness be embraced by me,
Come to me and set me free.
Bathe my heart with sadness
Take my mind too, fill it with madness
Drop my soul in the abyss of wickedness
And lead my life to nothingness
I can already hear it coming
The nearer it comes, the greater the fear I’m feeling
But I won’t let these petty emotions overcome me
For in the place I’ll be going, Fear and Courage wears the same face
It is already here, now come and take me
Set my spirit free
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
I’ve seen enough **** and ***** for a lifetime.
It’s growing old now.
It’s a mix of lust, addiction, and fantasy.
Mixed together seeing the same thing
And not having love.
It’s confusing and misplaced attention.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.
No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.
The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.
I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta. I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC