Skin DeepFriends extol beauty of roses An image she tries not to shatter As her father did dinner plates Hurling the discus of rage At ever-flinching spouse Childhood was no playground Except for drunken fornicators Too strong and angry for her to resist. Avoidance of their breath remains elusive In solitary hours of darkness What alms can be proffered To innocents like this? Figurative hand and literal ear Long wished for in the heart But empty as a robin’s nest in winter. LimitationUnseen lariat Ensnares my ankles Frustrating cautious steps Stretching in pursuit Of invisible something But arms are far too short And fingers yet unlinked And if it once was there No trace remains Or is there more That far eludes Dapper primates And baits my eyes With seductive Illusions I begin to suspect Reality is nothing But evanescent thoughts Blown by zephyrs Glistening in sunrise On dewy morning grass In my HeadThere is no comfort To be found within Walls of golden palaces Long vacated by mortals Who learned too late The lessons of material pursuit That end in ultimate despair. Seek within the mind’s infinite realm Perennial truths that bear fruit For all future seasons: Herein lies the trail Most sentient beings fear treading, Far easier to yield to basic instinct And customary social pressure All to the detriment Of Homo Sapiens Sapiens Chasing his absent tail. Read All About ItOne boy stabs another Over a disputed pair of Jordans, A grievous wound inflicted By greed’s sharp-pointed blade. The next page tells me In screaming agate type Stories of myopic Midas Who strips forests bare And drains the waning watershed. Further on, captions trumpet The false prophet’s lechery. What clarion proclaims New tales of hope and goodness? Eyes and fingers search, Probing deep inside Finding solitary tale Of average humans Dirt under their nails Bathing neighbors In altruism’s syrup, Welcoming the pilgrim And his unknown story While building arks Of wood and spirit. Through spectacles, hope’s Epaulets shine through Recycled squid-ink tabloids. HatefulWhen did cherubic infant
Full of hugs and laughter change to seeker of bloodlust and retribution? Once you were small and passions simple - an ice cream cone, baseball on TV. But now that fervor twists into a ball, clenched fists and teeth fueled by malice Objects of disaffection Molotovs and maledictions Launched toward the youthful other Just as pure of heart as you once were.
0 Comments
|
Categories
All
|