To be;
to grit thine teeth and bare a misunderstanding,
so painful that on those dark nights
I ponder what questions can not answer.
Although the tired wolf pelts hail at the elf
nothing appears in the dark.
A dark form, only, seems to ride with bags full of dollars,
ever - nothing more.
It is but folly, I propose.
Ivy dripping from my estranged lover's neck,
all is a joke and yet I do not laugh.
No moralistic answer,
no all encompassing son or God that smiles upon
the unwary.
I propose an apology to the sea's enyclopedia,
which shifts with the tide,
which is ever changing, yet, ever same.
My teachers all seemed to agree,
I am a scruff,
I am a dragon with a broken compass, yet -
I did not ask to be born in a broken timetable,
I do not want you to judge my cracked and limitedhourglass shot.
Why do they blow spittal upon me,
for not knowing the definite up in the revolving set?
Why am I the bad seed,
when I am a seed, too, of your compromised bloom?
One million apologies
below street lights that punch my cheek bones,
ache for my belongings
which I deserve not to own.
If you, thy special moon,
with beautiful untouched smile,
could lace me a scripture
I would speak it, endless, from a volcano,
set to blow.
Yet who art thou,
Who presents no art yet who screams?
Who lets me feel torment but not the heights,
of which you promise?
Yet who art thou,
who thumps books yet does not describe the crease in the snow ball glass globe,
the one million plus snow drops
who plunder solitary icicle loneliness,
blessed not with western, sick, abundance
of material goods and paternal green notes.
There is a revolving man,
who revolves upon the javelin of prejudice,
being sick upon my brow.
I move to the sound of an ill underground but no whirlwind does embrace me,
no snowstorm does prevail as the singular,
wisdomic,
lord.
I dance with two crooked yet blessed with athletic ability limbs,
two shakes to the subwoofers cry of anonymity,
it is painful relief to dance to confusion,
it is with guilt that I feel anything but sadness.
There are snowmen
in desserts,
who hold hands of rusted bronze -
who beg meekly for bread and fish.
How I wish I were Jesus,
with a face not white, a face not black,
yet a face of universal love -
who fed not the whip cracker but the hungry in times of need.
How I wish I were simply Him,
who feels fine when sleeping in his God given bed yet does not prey,
who feels no pain of consciousness,
who grows scruffy with no guilt -
for who easier is life for those with no higher burden?
The atheistic sick rock,
who does not feel for it's fellow magnets,
what a sad yet free organ -
glowing, brown, unanimated, snob, who claims he is not -
I ask...what do you feel when you see those greater than you choke on gravel?
Do you feel,
or do you simply not care,
that the third wolrd Zeus is motherless and fatherless,
peniless and sick.
Is your horizon spirits, not spiritual,
or should you enjoy enjoy your golden box in sick arrogance,
betting on gameshows which flirt with funds which could save precious life.
Why can the tree, which I see as a burning bush,not present me a blasphemous dove?
I ask in utter arrogance,
I seek as tears stream in self hate,
self absorbed yearning.
I, in humulity, ask for nothing but a life for those living,
for those two lads in Ethiopia, who asked and did not beg,
for an education which I take for granted.
I, in humility, apologise for my arrogant and sick ways,
for I am, in this sorry world,
the most privelaged of ignorant beasts -
yet often I forget to say thanks for a meal.
I, in humility, cry,
at God's need to seemingly fight with a so called Devil,
is the problem not beyond good and evil?
Is the problem, and indeed the blessing,
not existence its self - which no self aware being can comprehend,
yet can always be thankful for.
Through epic grandiose battles,
and folly verbal fights,
I simply say "Thank You" to something I shall never understand.
Thank you, eternally,
for the strange energy which I consciously feel,
I am nothing without thee,
nor is the ant and nor is the ape.
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