"jericho" poems
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan
Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while
These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****
I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Meaningful is the wayward child that is found,
For he or she finds favor in thus adoring praise.
Replenishing spiritual vines that spread messages
of hope above and beyond.
Therefore, the third eye knoweth all.
Whose breath gives life to the faint hearted.
As barriers are tore down, crossing over...
Anointed one, where, the precious angel entered.
You are the brothers and sisters in faith building.
They do preserver as the battle of Jericho.
In a molding guidance of clay made hands...
For their is hope of feeding the milk as well as the flesh.
Kisses of glory befall unto your good graces.
Thou wisdom quench the hell like rain pour puddles.
His world! His judgment! His wrath!
Bestow thou honor, in hills of perfect talk.
Fatherless child! Fatherless child! Beware of the dragon den.
Slay your enemies with delicate wings:the cup of kindness.
As you are humbled in purple linens, fading all unseemly.
The soldier of bravery, when thou hour come, there is a home.
Cross over into the well enlightened pathways.
Make the rough roads a gateway to the everlasting promise.
Sing in jubilation, for tribulation is done and your vision seen.
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee,
A rose of joy and happy love and peace,
A rose with scarce a thorn:
But in the chillness of a second morn
My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase
Was but one thorn that wounded me.
I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee;
And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace,
Not joy this mortal morn:
If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn,
Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase
Of gladness, and all sweets to me?
My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee
I offer; and I set my heart in peace,
And rest upon my thorn:
For verily I think to-morrow morn
Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase,
Yea, give Thy very Self to me.
3.3k
You are looking for the kind of love that I cannot give.
In fact, it is the kind of love that cannot be given by anybody else,
But you.
I know you think you've been through the seven circles of hell
That everyday it seems like the entire universe is conspiring against you
That as if the moment you step out of your home, the ground starts to crumble beneath your feet.
But love,
Do not be afraid.
You were made to conquer the army of Palestines
And climb atop the tower of Babel
You were made to crush the walls of Jericho and part the waters of the red sea
You are meant to be so much more than a pawn
You are a king
But a king knows the pain of becoming a servant
For he himself is a servant of the people
Do not forget that your strength comes from within you
Not from the foul words of those who envy
Or from the empty bullet cases of those who desire your failure
Your inviolability comes from yourself
Do not let anyone, ever, make you feel less of who you are
You are a king
You
Are my king
And all I wish for you is happiness beyond measure
Joy that fills the deepest holes in your hollowed heart
Courage that you may step out of your comfort zone and do amazing things
And most of all
Security
You do not need words of validation from your peers
You do not need claps and screams of praises from the crowd just to prove that you are worth something
Do not change for anyone
Not even for me
You are worth more than a thousand diamonds or a million bricks of gold just because you are who you are
I cannot tell you that it will all be good days
Because I am sure that there will be days that feel like ****
You will feel burdened with the weight of the world
You will kneel at the guns of those who criticize your gifts
You will doubt yourself
And you will doubt me
I am sure of that
And there will be times when I would want to let go of your hand
When I will scream at the absence of your attention
When I will run away from the problems WE have to face
But love,
Know that I won't.
I will run the race with you, and carry you if your feet start to fail
I will sing to you when the music stops playing
I will remind you every single day that
You are loved
When you smile
You are loved
When you fail an exam
You are loved
When you are betrayed by your friends
You are loved
When you are at your worst
You are loved
When you don't love me anymore
You are loved
And when the time comes when you want silence from my side
I will willingly give it to you
I will shut up
I will close my eyes
I will take the pain
I will catch your punches
I will receive your harsh words
I will stand up
I will walk away
I will let go
IF you want me to
I will.
You know what is best for you
And I know what is best for me
For now
I just know
That what is best for me
Is you.
On a last note, don't let anyone, ever
Make you feel like you don't deserve what you want
Thank you love
For everything
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Under his mighty authority, he sent forth a pair of spies
Hidden by a harlot they now became Joshua’s eyes.
Saving her and all that she has for what she hath done
Later when they come to burn down the city
Her and her family will be spared, there the only one.
Assembling a band of seven priest’s in those strange lands
He’s ordering them to encompass and circle the city
While carrying the Ark of Covenant in their holy hands.
Preparations now begin for a symphony of destruction
it is for all the other inhabitants, due to all the corruption.
Commanded until the appointed time to remain in silence
After that, scream and shout loud with ragging violence.
Marching with the trumpets at their side and on their hips
It’s the seventh day, and now, they must make seven trips.
The walls then came crumbling down,
After they blew through those ram horns with their lips.
Taking there treasures, the spoils of war...
They took it for the Lord's treasury,
That is who they took it for.
AMEN
(SirCARSr. 11-25-13)
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe,
Now that my symbols have outelbowed space,
Time at the city spectacles, and half
The dear, daft time I take to nudge the sentence,
In trust and tale I have divided sense,
Slapped down the guillotine, the blood-red double
Of head and tail made witnesses to this
****** of Eden and green genesis.
The insect certain is the plague of fables.
This story's monster has a serpent caul,
Blind in the coil scrams round the blazing outline,
Measures his own length on the garden wall
And breaks his shell in the last shocked beginning;
A crocodile before the chrysalis,
Before the fall from love the flying heartbone,
Winged like a sabbath *** this children's piece
Uncredited blows Jericho on Eden.
The insect fable is the certain promise.
Death: death of Hamlet and the nightmare madmen,
An air-drawn windmill on a wooden horse,
John's beast, Job's patience, and the fibs of vision,
Greek in the Irish sea the ageless voice:
'Adam I love, my madmen's love is endless,
No tell-tale lover has an end more certain,
All legends' sweethearts on a tree of stories,
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain.'
2.9k
Maybe men labored under a yellow sky
bent under barley sheaves they’d cut,
returned behind limestone walls and leaned
to splash water on each other at the well.
You can see its crumbling curve today, in one
city as old when Cheops' pyramid was built
as pyramids are to us right now.
Jericho, not so far away from Egypt and,
our archaeologists tell us, likely really didn’t hear
the blare of Joshua’s trumpets shuddering down
old Canaan-cursed by-Noah, coaxing walls
to shudder, teeter, list from Israelite raids.
You see one barley-bearer shaking dry,
descend stair-tunnels to his flat to kneel
before his hungry daughter, hungry wife,
waiting for evening’s barley bread to cool.
He joins as they resume their business of the day
to gently set the cowrie eyes in Grandma’s face,
two priests removed the rest of her last year,
but left the precious head to decompose at home
scented in the wall with sweet Netufian herbs,
And now the family gathers near small fire,
desert nightbreeze filtering through the cracks
tenderly to soften Mother’s bony head
with daubs of plaster re-create her nose,
and gaping eye sockets, softening too
those black orbits with white plaster.
Slowly her death’s head touched tenderly
by younger finger tips becomes
something like a human head again,
If not quite living, cowrie shells complete
this vision of a vacant queenly stare
befits a family shrine. When things are done,
small granddaughter now squeals with delight
her own dark eyes reflect the fire-light.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
Alas, I am only moments away
Be quick and painless should you be
Coward I may be but sweet
Departure will set me free
Evergreen my soul shall remain
Forgotten my name so let it befall
Go my shadows and run free
Hurt I shall no longer feel
Iapetus bids me farewell
Janus takes my hand
Keres caroled hymns of a psyche finally joining the band
Loving the way that fate has been cruel
My steps begin to falter as
Nostalgia suddenly embraces me
Once more I am at the cross roads
Played by to suffer forever I will be
Quest of mine, I failed you
Reaching for eternal bliss
Seduced to cut loose
To be far away from my own inferno
Understood my reasons will never be
Vain your pleas will become
Walls of Jericho crumbled down as did my spirit
Xenophobic our world has turned out
Young and carefree cease to exist
Zealotry towards living shall soon come to pass
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
The cicada husk of the crescent moon sheds in cyclides light,
Molted whispers of life, spread like perfume behind the ear,
Or like silver earrings unadorned and scattered around the night-lit table.
Here too, the garden gown of Babylon lies heaped in soiled ruin,
Beaten down to sand at the foot of the bed of the Tigris and Euphrates.
Though the dunes are its aerial, root-bound springs,
Though the underground nymphs tend with cicala wings,
And underspurt of incessant summer song to lure
The resurrection rose of Jericho to bud once more,
In desert-faith for the hanging garden of a full moon.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
I don't know how anyone would feel about this.
I bet they would stop reading me if I do this.
But this is one of the things that I really love.
And I'd be able to write about it for hours.
So if you are a wrestling fan, then keep reading.
If you're not, the you might wanna stop.
Alright, if you are still reading this, thank you.
Now I can get started and tell you what I know.
I know what a bunch of the moves are called.
And I can tell you who my favorite wrestlers are.
I can even tell you what my favorite storylines are.
I have a variety of wrestlers that I like to watch.
There are some that I don't, but I like the music.
You know, the music they use when they come out.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like to watch are:
Jeff Hardy, Shawn Michaels, Triple H, John Cena,
The Bella Twins, Kelly Kelly, Mickey James, AJ Lee,
The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Santino Marella,
Trish Stratus, and Brie Bella (on her own).
I love these wrestlers for a lot of reasons.
And if you want, I'll make a separate thing for each.
Just like this if you want me to, and I will.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like the music to are:
Randy Orton, Edge, RVD, Christian, Eve Torres,
Brie Bella, Trish Stratus, The Rock, Jeff Hardy,
Kelly Kelly, Shawn Michaels, and Mickie James.
Alright. the names are practically the same.
But that's because the music is very catchy.
My favorite storylines are the following:
Shawn Michaels and JBL (late 08 - early 09)
Brie and Nikki Bella (Happening right now)
Jeff and Matt Hardy (2009)
Shawn Michaels and Chris Jericho (2008)
Triple H and Randy Orton (Mid 2009)
The Rock and CM Punk (2012)
Jeff Hardy and CM Punk (2010)
And I'm sure that there are more.
I just can't recall them at the moment.
But I think that this will do for now.
I hope you liked this.
Please give it a like you want me to get
into more detail about the wrestlers.
And if you want me to get into more
detail about the storylines.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
~
*A scribbled note passed
from one insider to the next.
The day she runs out of people
she'll conference with birds,
fall asleep a child
and wake up a woman,
broadcasting from home
on the night in question.
A hundred years from today,
she'll hold on to dead flowers
from the fairground encounter.
She will avoid the bridge,
circle instead around
the walls of Jericho.
She'll write upon the wall
like it was her heart.*
~
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 1:34 PM UTC
There are some pro wrestlers
Who always have to get all their **** in
There are people who expect things from them
And they give those things to those people
But for the rest of us
The match becomes predictable
As we await their signature moves
Which is why I think we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
He never had to get all his **** in
He served the story
Not his glory
He displayed the petulance of man
And showed us how we can say the right things
In the wrong way
Yes, we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
Someone who can host a talk show or headline Wrestlemania
Someone who can be comedic or vicious
We need people who understand the importance of looking foolish
As well as the obligation to maintain an edge
And people who can mentor the rookies
While hanging with the veterans
Yes, wrestling needs more people like Chris Jericho
People who don't depend on wrestling
He makes music
And has a podcast
Avenues being paved
For the crossroads many wrestlers face
Between business, art, physicality, and mentality
Where the road being left behind is physicality
It is hard to watch people hang on for the business
Yes, the world needs more people like Chris Jericho
He never cured a disease
Neither did he make one
He's a performer who creates
He creates for the benefit of himself and others
He's not a wrestler who has to get all his **** in
He understands signature moves can become crutches
On the path to a boring finisher
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 4:37 AM UTC
In those strawberry fields, it seemed
They all marched too alive and real.
The unknowing, maybe sensing, screamed
“There’s no Jericho here to heal!”
In no small way, I understood,
The child watching that television,
There was more evil to match good,
When a plane made its second collision.
That’s when we realized the hardness of tomorrow
Mistakenly seen enough to tell
This was an attack our hearts had to sorrow
This, we knew, when the towers fell.
Still, we remember those things we felt
And try our best to seize the day
We remember when those watching knelt
Heart broken or fighting? Too close to say.
Beneath the rubble of the truth -
Heroes, lovers, sinners, thieves -
Beneath the terror of our youth -
We are all these things beneath.
That does not mean we are all to blame
Though, every one of us is lost
It doesn’t mean our mistakes got a name
Even still, we must pay our cost.
In our busy lives and concerning fates
There is a truth we must admit
As the prices rise and the moment rates
We must be reminded not to forget
There is a time to step back and see
At the demanding cry to all be free
That all that is asked, is a prayer to be
To Him, as He sorrows - cries…
Remember me.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
I wore her black sweater for weeks.
Something about the sweater made me feel closer to her.
It smelled amazing.
I loved her demands,
but she slightly reminded me of my mother.
I loved knowing that I can trust her,
although I doubted myself often.
We started off great & ended just as quick as we started.
Which has since left a sour taste in my mouth.
She had big walls and I hoped to be like Jericho breaking them down.
She has many layers and I longed to cypher through it all.
She's taught me many things,
it was hard to keep up with at times.
But gone to the ether she goes since she ghosted me.
It last 3 months.
May 17, 2023
May 17, 2023 at 1:56 PM UTC
Big Pounding Slithering Glowing Radioactive
Cities
Killing me with the flush of drive
and lust
Slowly riveting me into the steel
chambers of the first Architect
Cain
His howl his lust
his growing power
in bursting legs
fleeing
He must rise
He must run
He must raise
a city
to block a bloodied stun
to the head
Run Cain
and make me
a column
a filigree
a neon cut
a laughing monolith
Twist me and turn me
into the gust
of your need
I'm ready
Mix me with the dust gravel screams
of our great hanging cities
in the gardens of tar
and slick black rivers
of diesel
I see my heart
tossed and frosted
in the great winters
of a brimming Jericho
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
I watch from a distance
and cannot believe
how their lies
powerfully decieve
us
into hating each other
killing one another
sometimes I think
why even bother
but I simply had enough
of watching this every day every single time I open the television or a stupid newspaper, so much hatred and stupidity and not suprisingly, no humility.
this is a call
this is a call
to everyone, like you, like me
this is a call
to tear down the wall
smash down the towers
and watch them fall
this is a call
this is
our voice
no uniform
no shows
no act
just a voice,
and one day
just like the israelites destroyed the walls of Jericho
we will destroy them.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
Marching on thru our circuital seas:
A moat lurking beneath tremendous Facebook walls,
delineating our impalpable fortress of solitude (irony).
We slog through the trenches like Lee's troops,
drudging on a fatal course
to an awaiting Grant in Appomattox (destiny?).
Soldiers falling at the wayside,
from wounds, starvation, disease,
hashtags for dog tags draped around cadaverous necks--
Perhaps you can identify us by what's trending.
Had we the strength to shout,
and tear down the walls of Digital Jericho,
would we have been able to do it,
in 140 characters or less?
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
We saw her leaving Jericho
Tearing down the walls
Throwing a childish tantrum
Whilst ******** in the halls
We saw her chasing pigeons
In the local council park
We caught her chewing daffodils
Whilst humming 'Baby Shark'
She drank a lot
Ate nothing much
But the ice
Inside the tube
Grit her teeth
Swallowing bubbles
The plastic straw
The noxious fumes
She was forever
Chasing a high
That cost too much
And left too soon
We saw her licking batteries
Relaying messages to Earth
We caught her hiding sanitary towels
Underneath the dirt
That lined the filthy walls
Of her low-rent, low-mood high-rise
Ghosts that wraithed inside her head
Left bruises on her thighs
We saw her join the homeless men
In the shadow of the mall
She combed the streets every day
And still found sweet **** all
She sang a lot
And never slept
Beneath the weight
Of a poisoned sky
We knew she was sad
All the time
But we never saw her
Cry
We saw her live
Her lonesome life
Even saw her when she
Died
From the other side of hell
We decorate our homes
Forget the fine line
The thin divide
Between our professional smile
And the crazy inside our bones
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
A little known secret of actors:
you can force yourself to cry by
simply thinking about how badly
you want to.
Here's how it's done.
Start with fertilizer. Remember how
you felt that first year you
did so excellently at school, all-year
struggling and so devoted, woke up
Christmas to your mother's purchase,
eager for sugar plums and hedonist
things, ripped merrily into math workbooks.
The seed comes next, budding in the
open tunnels of self-worth - when
he told you that the thing you were
best used for could be done by anyone, really,
the oldest profession, and how you
liberated your oils on canvas long exiled
to make a scene of Rahab and Joshua,
and cried yourself away on alien bedding.
Water it all in whatever leaves the garden hose.
When they whistled without a name.
When your first time hosting supper was a catastrophe.
When you failed to keep certain things alive.
When the housecat burrowed in your warm
motor, and you just wanted to leave so badly.
Funerals of people you never knew, and
bugspray in your eyes.
One neglected message stays: anyone can cry.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 1:43 PM UTC
You know my name
Let me rebrand it
I then, am Joshua.
You are Jericho --
A Jericho in my hands
For God gave you to me
The task is mine now.
I was born to conquer
I was born for this
To utter words of triumph
And exalt and laud
The name above all names.
You are not alone
But I am to defeat you
Including your kings
And mighty men of valor
That the proud heart may lose control
Be angry then, yet not sin.
I, Joshua
The one who'll march around the city
And for six days,
That'll be my routine
A discipline for myself
An act of obedience
Of not letting words slip in
From my mouth that once cursed
Yet now, I'm redeemed.
The trumpets we'll blow
And the Lord was with us
The fame now is of the land
Oh victory! Yes, my victory!
(6/29/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain”
- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
Clawing at the cages of this most abdominal confine,
The twisted pulp of bitterness and confusion screams.
Upstairs lies consumed, engulfed in the comfort of self-obsession,
Whilst the walls shake and collapse with the splendour of Jericho passed.
The corruption of the temple is absolute.
Though, the officiousness of the disguise is haunting;
None put forth to rid this virus of the domain-
For it is allowed to fester. Curious be the work of the Despoiled.
Just as Lucifer: son of the morning,
We are misguided into the obsession of control;
For there is none to hurl us into this accursed damnation
Except for the selves.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
~
*cracked compass
burning atlas
no sense of direction
on a drive about
the silent forests of the heart
egressing from the shadows
that hunt for us
foot caught on the accelerator
passing escapism's plateau
like a dissolving shelf of flashbacks
kept in a glass jar
it's normal to tire out
wondering who will it be
looking in the window?
the people at the wheel
are not on the payroll
they're pierced and sheer
on the surface
but their deepest parts
still inhabit bone
and slave for mere feldspar
once again human thoughts
turn to crystalline
and still they shine for us
signs are posted:
"a time for vanishing, lay it to rest"
until the unfamiliar sound
of the walls of Jericho
collapsing
breaks the momentum
quiets the traffic
we entered a promise land
on cruise control
with too many exits
and not enough things to see
we did not end up
where we thought we'd be
those eyes at dusk
in the rearview mirror
they hunt for us
they wait for sleep*
~
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 2:26 PM UTC