Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret ,Kenya ;aopicho@yahoo.com)

On 13th January 2014 Dr. Wafula Chesoli of Mt Kenya University, at Lodwar campus in the north western part of Kenya published a scathing attack against homosexuality in the Neighbourhood, a daily circulating paper of the River Delta state in Nigeria.Dr Chesoli justified his contumelious position against human homosexuality by basing his stand on the scriptural citations of the Bible. The Bible which  Dr. Chesoli has operationally defined as the word of God in  this article that he entitled Strong holds of Homosexuality ;Biblical Persapectives.Chesoli’s argument has a depth of Biblical groundings, however I beg to differ with him in principle, given the  scientific scintillations on humanity of homosexuality from the recent researches of health education and psychology.
Firstly, I humbly remember that about three years ago I also published an article in the East African standard which harshly condemned social and behavioral position of gay and lesbian marriages. This was when the Anglican archbishop Dr. Eliud Wabukala of Kenya had in a similar tone lambasted the archbishop of Canterbury for suggesting that there was need for the office of the gay Bishop in the Anglican Church. I strongly supported Wabukala in that I even called gay and lesbian behavior as cultic and satanic hence to be condemned with all forms of capital nemesis. Some of the contents of my article in which I condemned homosexuality are here;
Let us support Wabukala stand on gays and morality
(January 13th 2011 at 00:00 GMT; By Alexander Opicho, Eldoret)
Practice of psychology and Christianity operates on a universal principle of unconditional positive regard for all. However, there has been a twist in this convention when media in Kenya at the start of this week carried a story that depicted moral fortitude of Bishop Eliud Wabukala; who has out-rightly dismissed the idea of establishing the office of a gay bishop in the leadership of the Anglican Church. Wabukala has come out boldly on this against the strong currents in support of gay marriages from his superiors in the Church. The efforts by Wabukala befit all manner of felicitation from all of us who believe in morality as a basis of humanity. The basis of gay relationships is legalistic and political. African culture conscientiously discourages a cult of gayism. And in Kenya living as a gay is living in contradiction to the Constitution. These collectively fall in an agreement with basic teachings of Christianity. Gayism, lesbianism, celibacy and trans-species ****** behaviour are admonished by Biblical teachings. Gayism is social deviance that originates from degradation in ****** behavior; it is a state of ****** depravement. Read more at;
http://www.standardmedia.co.ke/?articleID=2000074879&story;_title=-Let-us-support-Wabukala-stand-on-gays-and-morality.­
Little did I know that as I was publishing this article two percent of my friends and my family members are victims of ****** behavioural disability, which we are calling homosexuality in the above juncture. As university teacher in the departments of social sciences where student populations is usually high, I again came to discover sometimes later that ten percent of my students always have disordered ****** or gender conditions. I found these to be substantial revelations that provoked me to carry out both desk research and investigative *** socialization researches into this bamboozling human phenomenon of homosexuality and other related disordered ****** behaviours.
The order of explanation would first require a position which posits that; religions both Christianity and Islam don’t have any intellectual nor social machinery to carry out a socially ameliorative process in relation to disordered gender and ****** behavior in any society. Their approach have been and would still be parochial in the sense that the only outcome to be achieved is prejudice, bigotry and discrimination with full harassment against Christians or Moslems with ****** or gender disability. Thus religion should pave way for other competent social players over this matter.
Dr Chesoli’s Position that the Bible is the word of God and the Quran is the word of Allah and hence those with physiological conditions in contrast to the word of God and Word of Allah are satanic, only to face wrath of God on the judgment day is simply devoid of modern logic. I want to sensitize Dr Chesoli on the fact that not every thing in the Bible is the word of God neither   every thing in the Quran is the word of God otherwise called Allah. To support my position before I just explain scientific position of homosexuality, I want Dr. Chesoli to learn that; 159 psalms in the Bible are poetries of Kind David, Kind David whose leadership was full of Machiavellian tricks just like the current leadership of Yoweri Museven of Uganda. The book of Job is theatrical and poetical literary creation of Moses. But not the word of God. This is so because the land of Uz in which Job lived is pure fiction. All papyrological surveys have never established geographical evidence of this land. The last part of the Bible is made up of 21 epistles or letters of Paul the benjaminite. Paul’s writings display eminence of intellect as a lawyer and a person schooled in the Greek classics of Homer’s Iliad and Odysseus as well as Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex.The idea that the words which Paul wrote was the word of God is not founded ,perhaps the last stage of Jewish casuistry.
Homosexuality has to be understood as lameness or disability like any other animal or human disability. I am aware that Dr. Chesoli belongs to the old school which only appreciated the fact that lameness is limited to physical, mental, eye and hearing impairment.However, this position is now scientifically obsolete. Humanity is now understood to be sometimes a victim of ****** lameness, intellectual lameness, emotional lameness, racial relational lameness and other plethorae of lameness to be uncovered, courtesy of science and research.
Like the condition of ****** disability can be heterosexual disability or homosexual disability. Heterosexual disability can be indicated by misfortunate human ****** conditions like; early *******, erectile disfucntion,oversize *****,undersize *****,frigidity,phobia of opposite ***, oral ***, **** ***,****** appetite for your own child, ****** appetite for your sisters, brothers, uncles or aunts, frigidity, small ******, abnormally big ******,insatiable libido or insatiable appetite for ***.
But on the other  hand  homosexual disability are often indicated in the perverted ****** behavioural positions like male to male *** also known as gay and female to female *** also known as lesbian, or female to male to female to male *** also known as bisexuality. We also have other ****** phenomena like celibacy, voyeurism, *** with non human creatures, *** with inanimate objects, *** with ghosts and *** with spiritual creatures like the one accounted in the Bible between Mary the mother of Jesus and an Angel Known as Gabriel. There is also *** with dead family members. Dear reader just accepts that the list in this line is long.
Now labeling above positions as satanic or ungodly can be misleading in the modern sense. The motivation for all the above behaviours is sensual satisfaction. But the physiological cause of the behaviour is few and far between. Some of these conditions are caused by genetic misprogramming or mutation; some are due to body malformation. Like having female reproductive system in a male human casing or male female reproductive system in a female human casing. But the sorriest part of this human experience is that victims of these conditions always feel that they are right human creatures in the wrong body from which they struggle to jump out but they have never succeed.
This is why the Journal of Pan African Voices known as Pambuzuka news has a platform for anti – homophobic journalism, which actually purport to promote social and intellectual awareness among the Africa societies about matters relating to ****** and gender disabilities. This journal strives to minimize homophobic positions like the one taken by Dr. Chesoli in a smokescreen of Christianity or Islam which will ultimately only end up as heinous violations of human rights.
An empirical position has facts that gender and ****** disability conditions is rampart in urban areas than rural areas and more rampart in industrialized or developed countries than peasant rural based countries. Thus logic will tell you that we have most gays and lesbians in America and United Kingdom than in Kenya or Malawi. This is why President Barrack Obama in an imperial stretch conditioned the govermenent of Uganda to make a legislation that favour gays and lesbians. This was also reflected three years ago in the United kingdom when David Cameroon warned the government of Ghana that if they don’t make a legislation that appreciate homosexuals then United Kingdom would not give economic aid to Ghana.Contextually,both Cameroon and Obama were wrong. We don’t use vents of desperate imperialism to manage a misfortunate social condition. We first of all begin by educating our people, then socializing the idea among our people then we finalize by positioning the idea among our people. Thanks for your audience.
Alexander K Opicho, is a social researcher with sanctuary research agencies in Eldoret, Kenya.He is also a lecturer for Research Methods in Governance and Leadership.

Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Hatred, utter mutiny is around each corner,
Or however, maybe even a marauder.
Making the best of what’s given,
Our whole lives, everything we do is of course,
Mistaken.

Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Standing still, waiting for each misfortune.
However, feeling trapped, engulfed by the pain,
Of others who have no sense of pain, no sense of empathy.
Our whole lives, everything we do is of course,
Misfortune.

Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Breaking free of the grasp, long, tired days,
However, free.
The cameras are lying.
Each breath being taken, everything taken the wrong way.
There’s always…
Misfortunate you.

Engulfed in the utter entrapment of your words,
There’s misfortunate me,
Standing still, waiting for the mutiny, the terrifying marauder.
Making the best of what’s given to me.
Thinking there’s a chance,
However, free.
There be…
Misfortunate me.

Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia
The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony
Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes,
Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus
To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee
Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry.

That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured
Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta,
Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition,
And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly
Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity
Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth
To untimely half the yellow Sun
That juxtaposed planet of poetry
Behind the star of tribe as a priority
Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated,
in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis.

Ever predated on when tribes form nations.
A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins
Of white humanity, battling cynosure
Historically evinced in Antony and his father,
Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio,
Or Macbeth and counterparts
Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother,
As the white blood cells of the white blood,
Militantly attack the white corpuscles
Of the misfortunate chimpanzee,
Converting the later into
A chewer of misfortune.

Have you ever come to my country to Russia?
It may be nay or yes, but Russia is a strange country,
It is people are funny and lively, with strong sense for success,
Those from Moscow are tall and confidently walking in a bounce,
Those from hinterland Russia often display inferiority on the face,
But conventional Russian has a keen nose for property and success,
A scientist in Russia is a beacon of interest like a pastor in Africa,
All Russians are somehow intelligent with humour and strong success motive,
Like once the case of a Russian barren woman, in the city of Moscow,
She was a Muzhik by class disposition, but proselytized into Bolshevism,
By the then Bush fire of Vladimir Ilyanov Lenin through his song of workers,
She was thus a dear comrade or comradess? Her Name was Sofia Ludwickfna,
She had been barren, o no! Childless for generations and generations,
Her marriage had been on-off and on-off due to this misfortunate pale,
Of inability to bear a child at most a son to be name after Lenin,
Every Russian man condemned her after a short while of marriage
To public distaste whenever it was discovered that Sofia was barren,
As usual, Russian men hinge their love manners on the native wisdom that;
Bogy Vysoky Tsar Dalyko; meaning God is far a way but the tsar is near,
But one day when Sofia had celebrated her menopausal day of 40th birthday,
She realized that something like a lump is felt in her tummy,
She rushed to the medic at the high street Moscow
For clinical service lest the lump grows in to cancerous tumor,
But to her stark surprise; the medic declared her pregnant,
In fact two months pregnant, and nothing else,
She asked if the pregnancy carried a boy or a girl,
For she feared to sire a boy as it was only a peasant,
That mated her in the fields during the previous full moon,
But the medic declined a comment, as his technology was not fit,
To establish the fetal gender, may be she better tries America or Germany,
But any way, she walked home happy, whistling her best lyrical
Perhaps a sonnet to the revolution and Vladimir Lenin,
The ninth month came, and Sofia delivered peacefully,
In fact a bouncing baby boy, with strong jaws like a Moscow Muzhik,
It was a moment of her joy as the gods of Russia had remembered her,
The baby grew and developed so well, it suckled and swallowed with sound,
It kicked nicely and waved its spatulate hands; a young son of Russia,
And indeed the joy of the baby made Sofia to grow fat and fat,
She named the baby four names; Tsar Alexander Tolstoy Vladimir Lenin,
On one warm after noon, Sofia chose to have a nap under the jacaranda tree,
To feel the breeze as her baby suckled, light slumber over took her nerves,
Then she fell into a deep sleep, the baby was on her teats suckling and waving,
Making soft nice sounds of thaa thaa thaaaaaaaa!
Sofia began dreaming; she saw a very huge African man,
Utterly naked with bush hair on his deeply black ***** skin,
He was not circumcised; he came unto her making stupid sound,
Like wild Russian swine chasing a rhino, he came straight to her,
She began fighting and kicking the ***** away,
She kicked mightily in the style of Russian woman,
But the ***** was strong; he began biting off her *******,
One by on, he was biting and making gnomish ***** abracadabra,
She jumped at the *****’s kneck, she began strangulating him,
She pressed tight and tight, the ***** began making stupid sounds
Like a chimpanzee, again and again as she pressed hard into his Adams’ apple
Finally Sofia managed to **** the *****, and then she woke up from her sleep,
Only to realize it was not a ***** that she had killed, but her baby, it was dead!
She was a arrested by the KOSMOSOL and taken to the judge, accused for infanticide,
She recounted the ***** story on her defense, the judge and all Russians were agog,
They uniformly blamed the misfortune of Sofia on the increasing number of Negros in Moscow,
The judge ruled that all Negroes to be thoroughly beaten and chased out of Moscow,
To be confined in a more remote bushy area in the hinterland beyond the prison of Siberia.

When the papers finally arrived and the seals were sealed and the law that had made had unmade he took off his wedding ring and felt truly naked for the first time in years. But in that nakedness rage boiled. He wanted revenge on women. And for seven misfortunate years he took it.

Seventeen or sixty, no matter. Meet them, charm them, tell them the lies they yearned to hear and then **** them. The ******* was extraneous, no more ****** than doing push-ups or eating  apples. Even as he ****** them he lied, telling them how **** and desirable they were, how he never felt this way before. Convince a woman that you believe what she wants to hear and her legs will be on your shoulders in no time.

Mission accomplished, he would simply vanish.Not take their calls, their texts or emails. He didn't just want to hurt them, he wanted to make sure they knew they had been hurt on purpose. He wanted them to know they had been ****** in the worst, truest, most brutal sense of the word. Degraded, used like a ******, taken like a **** and discarded. It is hard to say how many guiltless woman he punished this way. He didn't feel bad or guilty; he felt nothing.

There is no excuse for his behavior other than he was a strong person and when a strong person ***** up, he ***** up in a big way.

Then suddenly the nothingness closed on him like a clamp. All the manipulation, lies, and corruption exploded into his brain. He felt like a guard at Auschwitz directing jews into the gas chambers. For the first time in his life he was truly ashamed. So he did what had to be done. He simply gave up women. It was nowhere near as hard as he had imagined. After a while, it became peaceful, restful, satisfying. He invented his own Order and became a monk. He imagined this a permanent state that would last his life.

And then, wholly by accident, he stumbled across a woman. Her words ****** the breath from him; he swooned. It is an alarming thing to imagine yourself sexually dead for years only to wake up and discover that you aren't. Afraid for his very soul, he became smitten. But fear lurked in his *****. What if this was pay back for his sins. What if she did to him what he had done to so many others? It would be just, but he did not know if he could survive it.

But he held his breath and took the leap back into the world. He put his heart in her hands. He does not know how this will turn out or even if it will. But for the first time in years he feels like an entire man. It is worth flying too near the sun even if destruction is its end; better to be fully alive for a while than completely dead forever.

Redemption? That can only be bestowed by the gods.

Hallelujah, I’ve found you
one I could have chosen.
Were your body pliant, capable
more slight, more saudrey
a subjectivity
easily disposed

I would be able to hold your breath, capture your voice
contemptuous, mocking and wholly undue
spending more than a half a day
being who you are would make me hate you--

But for a morning, maybe from eight to noon
I’d take on your face, look straight in you,
my mirror.
Shout out my name three times
with hope, I would appear,

without your bated breath
from jagged mirror, foggy-eyed by shower
I'd be able see me touch your body, glistening
parting your quivering lips for
myself inside, to feel your smile.

A phantasm to myself.

I want you, my significant other
my lover,
my ontological
displacement
of
milky
misfortunate
malaise.

Your substance is my fortuitous down-going.
My ship-sinking speculum.
Desire, mediated by a lack of being-there.

Klage.

What is insanity?
Why is it constantly blamed on clamity?
I feel as if the word and it's definition is to blame,
That crazy is just a stereotype to make people think you have to be and see things a certain way,
To build boundaries around people's minds,
And anything outside of that is evidence of insane signs,
The misfortunate ones are those who change,
Who think the brainwashing media is right and they should mold into a certain way,
But I disagree, STRONGLY disagree
Because why be something you weren't meant to be,
It's a sad cycle that humanity will never seem to learn,
But from that I've come to a realization that id rather be the black sheep of the herd

to all the men who said i love you:
no, you don’t.
nobody ever loves a shipwreck, a graveyard
places of unrest and deathless suffering
the epitome of solitude to those misfortunate enough
to have made a home out of the debris of tragedy

to love someone is to know them
and you know nothing of the storm,
of the names carved into the tombstones
still oozing blood after years of heartache and grief.
you think of shipwrecks and graveyards
and can only imagine the sublime aftermath of poems,
pretending not to hear the screaming and wailing
that echoes off of every wretched line
the gnawing of teeth still tearing at the rotten flesh
the scraping of nails against the hard, cold cement
desperate to latch unto anything if it means keeping afloat.

to all the men who said i’m not scared of shipwrecks and graveyards,
places of unrest and deathless suffering:
no, you aren’t.
for who would ever scare of the chance to paint himself as charitable, compassionate
by just standing close enough to the ruins, never crossing the threshold
to leave flowers and sing lighthearted condolences to the corpses of a person whose voice you’ve never heard.
nothing will ever make you feel more of a good person
than grieving for this bleeding heart of mine.

to the first man who ever said he loved me, my father
who made a burial ground out of my body
before i could even think of it as anything but lifeless
staining this blank canvas before i could even think about painting anything but gravestones

finally, to me
who learned how to make a home out of the bones and damp wood
for this house may be haunted by ghosts of the past still
but it stands upon holy ground
and i will never let the termites tear their way inside again.

If love were enough to
Hold everything together
And prevent harm
The world might be better
But you know what,
Sometimes love isn't enough
Love cannot mend
Unforgivable breaks and bends
Love can't forget
Misfortunate wounds cut open
Love can't stop disease
Or cure cheating, lying, or fighting
Sometimes,
I've realized,
Love simply isn't enough

I watch him slowly deteriorate.
The first man I ever loved
Is being brought down,
Like a torrid helicopter
Caught in a hailstorm.
How much he must struggle
Against the current,
Only to be swept into unsightly circumstances,
Into a misfortunate gravity
He brings upon himself.
Homelessness, his vice,
And all I can do to help him
Is not worry so much
About all his suffering and whirlwind adventures
That make so little sense.
The delusions, the psychosis,
The wretched, wonderful mania,
It’s all so much for one person to contain,
And all I can do is watch
Him deteriorate
Before my eyes.
The first man I ever loved,
Fearful of none,
How terrible must be the parts of him
I cannot see
For his actions to be
So extreme.

You see and then connect
From rebound to rebound, it’s all in your head
these broken souls, and misfortunate events
are completely suppressed, once you take them to bed
trapped in a body of sinful debt
the beast accepts weak minds, cash and credit
The walk of shame has evolved into respect
Pictures of every person that has touched your lips
crowds your newsfeed
just like your esteem
Because a connection now is nothing more than
false affection, redirection, and copious rejection

Summer sister sends her love to the minister
A blank verse cursed eye lids pursed
Ten dollar attraction for 5 cent of a fraction
Love a friend dies like the fog of the early morning
Friends forgive themselves after they have left the home stead
Snow melts as slow as milk molds further
Centimeter sticks of solute
Streets where I was not born
Streets where I am headed full horned
Pious pity for the peasants which we all are
Scribbling for forgiveness from our dear Lord
A man unseen unheard and not to be feared
The way of the law is the way of us all
Nature needeth not the glaring eye of suspicion
The heat the head the fingers the release
The treasure of might that relieves all the stresses of the week
Of the calender
Of the foghorn of maliciousness throughout this plagued and misfortunate world
I can't take it much longer I've got to see the world
The scope of the time lapse trembles underneath the eye of a child
Underneath the fingernail of God
Skyscrapers screaming for justice for they were built by the hands of the over fed
The overworked
The tricked and the deceived
I cannot go on if this is how it all is for the rest of time
Pie eating contests with cherry filled hormones
Hot dog churches eyes bursting the soul lifeless and thirsty
These people were born into a life not embraced and unbred
Now with the hour striking double midnight
The raven cracking his beak on my skull
The water dripping like the falls I've never seen
Bursting flames of white torrent flush underneath the whisper of God's hush
To be here to be there to be anywhere underneath the sky's glare
We are specks of conversation left at the dinner table
With a red lipstick kiss and a number
A frown and a glint of the flirtatious eye
Women and men living together in imperfect harmony
Lies that lay alive and writhing and seething and high and mighty breathing
These friends of mine whom I hold dear are getting much older
As am I
As am I and yet the sky
The bright blue egg crack yellow sky
Rests in infinite
Youthful
Romance

She's a natural disaster and a work of art.
Rain rushes in and out of her mind
while wind gusts through her heart.
Drifting from a tsunami to an
earthquake and everything in between-
on a good day the sun shines through her veins
as she walks on flower petals and
free spirits
but on a bad day her footsteps sound like thunder
and her words throw flames until her
misfortunate surroundings are reduced to ash.
Some days clouds pass over her eyes
and birds go still
and she doesn't say anything at all...
But stars always populate her thoughts
even on the darkest of nights
and the rings of Saturn are often mistaken
for the hypnotizing gold rings around
her irises.
She's as lovely as the first green day
of spring
but as lonely as the last red day
of autumn
and she has never once noticed
that while she was wishing on shooting stars,
everyone else had been wishing
on her.

my alternative inspiration
has long been deceased.
but the clarity of dreams so aspiring
arose from the grave
so succumbing to the doubts
formed by my misfortunate past.
there are letters written
to an empty room
where a callous man lay
in his unfurnished chair.
i breathed exhausted air
into his deserted lungs
and abided the escalation
of his deflated heart.
in time i reached a parallel conclusion
where these hollow endings between lust and love
had disconnected with hearts and heads.
i sympathized with his fevers
and disappointments in desires.
i have forgiven our distance
for solitude was only felt in our beds.
i have forgiven this silence
for it was a gift from my head.
i do not long for anyone that was-
just the feeling;
just because.
i see films of deceit
i hear time pounding through the window
and its consecutive ticking
reminds me these cursed scenes
can be repeated.
i rely on afflicted moments
as steps out the door.

He waits in ambush
Down the road of time
Around some bend
Atop some lonesome hill
That black highwayman waits
To do his loathsome task
Inexorably,
The road draws closer
To this abomination
Who waits to pounce
Some tired misfortunate
Whose time runs out
I cannot dodge his keen
And ****** scythe
I'll be tremblin
Perhaps wailing with remorse
On this untimely day
At odds with my demise
For before I go
I hope to frequent
All the taverns
Quaff the potent elixirs
And dance with all
The dark eyed girls I can
To test each proven pleasure
Invent a few myself
Until I know for sure
I've had a chance to taste
The last sweet drop of life
Before that final rasp

As the last trace of light
fades over the lake in the distance.
And as the last lamp is switched off.
The darkness is infectious.
And those lucky or misfortunate enough
to catch the sensation,
Smile.
Or gasp.
This is the end of the illuminating day.
So run.
Or play along.
Grab a match and some gasoline
Because the night has just begun.
And all the twisted, crazy and disturbed,
Are about to have some fun.

I rise to face the fanfare

forged from the instruments of those who watched conquest warfare and famine ride Dictating the rites of god flaunting the colors of their father’s land in scarlet night and burning white crushed in the talons of an eagle I from those who stood in the face of conquest for one moment the beauty of constellations and the strength of iron stood in unity

I stand apart the mountain of those who conceded in the presence of the silken pale rider and his entreating caress

My father watched as his own draped lifelessly suspended like a cruel marionette

I who stood at his feet as he was ushered into the fire home now he keeps a widow company within a ceramic cylinder

I listened intently to the failings of the present the fallen are dwarfed by the towers of man eyes of sullen milk yearning for the fire and brimstone of the yester year to course through cracked and long soured veins

I rise to face the fanfare

here I will stand unwavering in the midst of the roads lit aflame with the bodies of the crucified the persecuted the banished the punished the misfortunate the proud the many the weak the blind the meek the legends the infamous the ill-fated the youth the experiences the living and the undead

here in the palms of giants I will face the accuser as he gnashes upon the bodies of the traitorous there in the center of the unholy realm of ice and tundra he will demand of me to fall upon my knees

there I will resound:

No

Why is it easy
to casually disregard
the kind consequences
produced by
innate goodness,
that if a day may come
when a simple act
of honest, good will
would befall you,
that you would
so graciously accept.
Yet if provided
the opposite spectrum,
the few moments
of pain and betrayal,
would you assign
accountability to
the innocent majority?
Why is it that
when a good deed
is often performed, it is:
"Faith restored in humanity"?
As if we cynically
presume and accept
that the world is dark,
that all fathers abuse their sons,
that all mothers **** their daughters,
that all must fear at every second
as if good nature does not exist.
Do we take for granted
order and morality
up until misfortunate
consumes our souls?
Would it not be more appropriate
that amongst the immense
majority of good nature,
that a single occurrence
of negative circumstance
be dutifully deemed
a "Stain marked in humanity"?
I worry for those
whose perspectives
pervert and distort
the personal worlds
that there is a need
for faith to be restored.

2.1.

There ain’t a
chance
My Baby can
dance
But he’s always
looking handsome
in his black t-shirts
of 90s grunge
bands

This is a
Dead mans
land
Taking hits
I can see the
lipstick on the
back of your
hand

Snow White
flesh
My hearts
frost bitten
Noir Princess
It’s been a few
total solar
eclipse since
I’ve been
a rich mans
Mistress

Maybe God is
lonely Baby
Maybe God is
tired Baby
God is lining up
the shots
knocking on
my window
He wants me
to be his lucky
little lady

He likes a
bad *****
who can admit
she’s a little bit
egotistic

My Mother keeps
askin
“Samantha
  have the voices
  come back again”

Well ya Mom but
this time it’s moving
in a different
direction

Were singing in
harmony
Dancing in
ashes
Holding each others
with cold grip
hands

Pale sunrises
And misfortunate
lost souls are
digging for gold
Beware of the
mauvais martyrs
who sacrifice
wilted marigolds

It's all just cause and effect,
Protect and reject
Detect and defect,
Discard and collect

Trust in the trash,
Liars mix and match
Selling you the shady ****
That destroys every pact

Getting luck from a draw
The Irish in me is called
As my number is pulled
Adrenaline is pulled forth

But here is my call,
The Misfortunate fall
Around me stands doors
And all lead to closed corridors....

These Mirrors aren't so old. They beckon me to hang them up

so I can watch them reciprocate the favor.

"Such an ugly fool."
They whisper as they tie the rope I handed them.

Nevermore will these allusions stay to haunt.

Grasping at the thought of warmth. If only I could see where my shell lay; cold, misfortunate like the tide

closes in the North; I wish not once for nothing more.

*Slipping slowly into a gorge

What a world have we left behind?
Peace, prosperity, and security belong to people who lived ages and ages ago
We are left to work this dreary landscape
To sow our seeds in salt laden fields
We wander this world blind and deaf
And we see and hear none of the sufferings that plague the misfortunate
Yet we cling to our silence
But what do we have to fear?
We will all reach the golden gates of heaven
Not one of us can escape it’s pull
What do we have to fear?
Rise up my friends, and my enemies
Lift this shroud that covers our eyes and hides us from the true nature of the world
Peer into the shadows to see the oppressed
Help lift them from the ashes of their former lives
Take arms against the men with vile intentions
For words will not please their iron hearts
This is a war we must fight
We owe it to everyone we left waiting all those years ago
We are the brave and the courageous
And we will fight for those who need fighting for

stand-alone in the cold
with spotlight providing you with an open door to a vacant, dark dungeon.
take the chance
take the risk
be honest
say what you have to say
but you must stand-alone in the cold
and use your own two feet to walk forward.
in-the-moment rapid decisions
and in-the-moment thoughts that pass too fast to differentiate between right and wrong or taboo and a pat on the back.
so you must subconsciously decide between what you truly want to do or what you know is morally right.
take the first option and find yourself with several misfortunate events after another.
but at least you were honest right?
take the second option and find yourself in another uncomfortable situation followed by a loss of feelings and logic with an unreachable resolution.
burden to add to the pile or burden to add to the pile.
there is no win-win.
there is no win-lose.
there is only lose-lose and so therefore you must ask yourself which one provides you with less lost in the -.05 seconds you have to ponder on it.