Life and Violence I saw the violence stop. It petered out Muttering - ‘no more...’ The violence of friendships The violence of belief, like a lunatic, cannibal hurricane Took stock of itself And died: This shallow, faceless hurricane compacted itself, dissected itself and petered out. Fading it cried but this is just a dream and I am just a dream. Beliefs become a mission a slap in the face to those we can’t persuade. Revenge is just contrition out of place; a waste of a crusade. I catch the mirror, an unavoidable truth, a face fractioned for a second in glass that’s been shot rearranging the character, searching for identity. An autopsy in the dark Friends of our span come and go. some more pressed to the art of flattery than ivy to the wall; and some addicted to a type of truth: The crime of absolute honesty, smiling the words they think you want mouthing a lie they hope you will hear and preying on truths that poke at your fears.. Numbed both ways we have groped for the infinite : A guardian angel to massage our hearts. The gods in a game of chess ponder the dilemma of a crucifixion. The whipping boy - Nemesis’ toy cries Fill me with your nectar love until I break for there’s none to be found elsewhere. Life played out - life and death. Bird song may end the atheist’s day. The protozoic clay had no such decisions: Just struggling upwards creating gods, Cruel, thus human, Blind and faceless. Striving for purpose, pulsing for meaning. |
