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zumee Oct 2018
She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil knowledge
trickling down her chin

Lungs heaving against the pane
Lungs heaving against the pain
She longs for a killer breeze
from the die-hard fan.

The yellow-eyed seconds slither out the clock
hi S S ing in rhythm as they crawl.

On the table lies the used core of a once
juicy red delicious
hourglass figure, cyanide hearts and all

She is aware of her own nakedness.

The moon watches on
bleeding silver
from stab wounds by dagger-branches
waiting for a crack in the window
through which to enter

The Tree of Life towers menacingly overhead.

He walks in
AdamAnt
intelligent-designer suit: businessgod attire
briefcase in hand
brief case in point

He knows.
She knows.
Time knows.

An Electrified goliath stirs in the depths

The Ego awakens
lifts its rod
beckoning to the waves of children behind it,
parts the folds of red sea
charges head on.

It rides long and hard
hooves pounding the riverbed
Ready
to pull out on the other side

But the branches find their crack.

The Enraged goliath stumbles
suffocating
Ego trips
relentless walls closing in,
It goes under in a seizure
frothing at the mouth
drowning
as its children swim.

Time holds the twosome breath in its constricting grip
Tree binds Life inside a cell
at the center of the evolving prison

The pane, reflecting
The pain, reflected
Window souls mirror soul's Window

Branches regain their higher dwellings.

An exhumed goliath stirs
on a distant shore.

She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil knowledge
trickling down her shin.
Mark Lecuona Feb 2017
Once he said, "I have no King but Caesar!”
And the Roman obeyed his command
Now instead he has become a believer

Once he watched him suffer a whip
And lusted for his blood to flow
Now it fills a grail for him to sip

Once he hid behind the garrison
He saw him fall on a stone road
Now he's become a good Samaritan

Once he had a hammer and a nail
And used them to fulfill a prophecy
Now he hears a mother's painful wail

Once he made a crown of thorns
He pierced his side and found only water
Now he makes halos out of horns

Once he moved a stone to seal a Tomb
He stood guard in front for Rome
Now he's born again from a holy womb

Once he was a doubting Thomas
Then he asked to see his hands
Now he believes the Lord's promise

Once it was he who would not repent
Until ashen palms blessed his skin
Now he fasts forty days for Lent

Once he was flesh upon this earth
And he was a sinner in God's sight
Now he wonders of his own worth

Once he dreamed that it was too late
And as he stood at the edge of his grave
Now he knows for whom he must wait
Just something I was thinking about; the dual nature of man within the Christian narrative.

— The End —