Category: Poem

The World is not Ours

The world is Narcissism.

The Lugbutqts are a part of it.

To cleanse the world of all narcissists

One would need become the ultimate narcissist.

To gain the whole world

To rid it of all its fascists

To rid it of all its communists

All of its would be dictators

All of its would be terrorists

All of its would be Illuminati and threats to public well being.

To destroy every double agent

To destroy every Femfascist and Nazi…

To kill every murderer

To kill every rapist

To kill every adulterer

To feel like it is needed to put the World back on its alignment.

It would take a dictator of sorts

Whose vanity would exceed all that Nero ever did.

 

I suppose the Christians would stand in his way

Like they did in the New England Tragedies.

 

The world is not ours, Christians.

Let it fall apart.

Just proclaim the Gospel to every tribe, tongue and nation.

Because the world is Narcissism

And in order to win against it

One must become the Narcissist.

Impressionism

Parisian streets

Wet with prismatic water;

The lamps bright

Flickering off of pools—

 

Walk cross paths.

Paint splatters high,

Mounds high—

Real miracles my road map—

Like a globe, running fingers down the mountains.

 

Had it not been a miracle

Suppose the book with legged Seraphim

Would suffice for my knowledge of miracles.

 

We cross paths many times.

There in the Parisian streets.—

Mounded high, over it my finger goes

Like touching a globe.

You want it, don’t you?

I do believe since the legged Seraphim

Inspired you

Those who sung in your dream

The Spanish hymn,

“We, We, We,”

I do suppose they are likely to give it to you.

I do not want you visions

But they are now mine

Because you stole from me.

 

Hairy Situation

My love…

You will talk to the priest.

You will learn to be strong.

You will learn the blasphemous doctrine.

He will teach you how to be strong

And to prosper.

That the poor, little meek man

Was sinning.

 

I’d rather be called a liar

Than be an actual liar.

For that, the wicked flock has prepped you

To steal from me.

But I had written what was right.

I strove with a priest of Baal.

 

Already I hear their accusations against me.

But I see your dreams.

I love you…

If you ask me to die for you

I shall die for you.

If you ask me for the world

I will give it to you—

If you ask me for my work

I shall give it to you.

 

Just ask the question…

For you had not written it.

I had written it.

And I know what you will be taught.

You will be taught the gospel of prosperity.

You will be turned aught against me by Ashur.

You will be told how I am weak

And am that man who betrayed Jesus.

 

Is not a meek man by a pool

Much more righteous than a man

With more power to gain the whole world?

I know the so called prophet you adhere to.

I even saw him that day.

I pinned him to the floor.

He will know it.

 

I speak this…

Because they are all just dreams.

Your life is a nightmare.

It is not mine.

I wake every day,

And strive with God just like Jacob did.

I say this to you:

To have gone further would have been a sin;

Yet you will.

My own Father declared me blameless

First Person Omniscient

In my childish mind

When first embarking on my herculean task

Of finishing my very first novel

I had seen a need to write

“First Person Omniscient.”

Write it I would try

With lots of exposition.

 

However, I realized later on when writing it

By writing first person omniscient

I had created an unreliable narrator.

Namely, my own narrations

About a nowhere.

 

The same questions posed to me

Were the same questions that destroyed

My nowhere.

 

And my nowhere was as good as this nowhere

I speak, where my foot is on the soil.

It was as real

As flawed…

And I had failed to write my Firs Person Omniscient

Because I hadn’t even understood the nowhere I wrote about.

Later on, other characters would

Which is why I’m proud to have written that cumbersome novel.

One Thousand Pages about a nowhere

Where all radicals would love to live.

And live they do

To see their radical veins of conservatism

Get destroyed by the very powers

They adhere to.

Those being the elixirs of worldlust

And desiring to change what didn’t need changed in the first place.

Only, power becomes the liberal

And radical becomes the conservative.

 

My advice to any radical reading my epic failure

Is to know that we are not able

Not even close

Not even if we wanted to

Able to write in First Person Omniscient.

Not even when dealing with a fictional world.

Complex Metaphor

Weave, o mind

Throughout my words

To draw from them succulent honey.

 

Such drawn vines

Of sap from apricot verse

Drawing down the cheek

To see wisdom,

To have eyes opened.

 

Open eyes, open.

Let the sweet, tart sting of the liquid

You taste—my apricot verse—

Open eyes

To realms of symbols

To realms of make believe,

Which draw the puckered lip

Closer to an arcane.

Drink deep,

So kiss the sweet knowledge

Of my verse’s love.

A Prisoner Stood on the Gallows

A prisoner stood on the gallows.

The rope hung beneath his neck.

Guilty of the crime he committed

Its penalty was a 500 dollar fine;

But the gallows were strung for him.

 

He began his speech:

“Here is why I’m a bad person.

“I have cursed God in my thoughts.

“I have hurt people I loved.

“I have destroyed things other people loved.

“I have said hurtful and bitter things.

“I have cursed others.

“I have manipulated others.

“I have falsely accused others.

“I have troubled my household.

“I have accused my brother.

“I have hated.

“I have made others sad.

 

“If I inherit vanity,

“I will completely understand.

“Lay my burdens in the mud

“I do not declare my sin like Sodom.

“It is not a prideful thing to me.

“It, rather, is my vanity.

“I deserve to go to hell

“But I won’t.”

 

He said this so all of us could understand

Why we need to be forgiven.

An Eerie Sight

One of the three most evil men

In modern history

Smiles, like he were a good man.

 

His book—like the same books I write

Leaf paper, black ink, what he thinks are profound insights—

Lays before me as one of the greatest ever written.

A man who starved 100 million;

A man who murdered 100 million.

 

How our words can kill.

It is why poetry deradicalized me.