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What We Are

We were Children once, innocent,
lost in an imaginary world without bars,
confusing faraway fireflies for shooting stars,
playfully skipping on the narrow paradise road,
believing that the purity of our hearts would get us there,
but the scales on our eyes finally fell off,
thanks to Men of God who teach and scoff,
commercializing the once narrow road to paradise.

We were naive once, ignorant,
living amongst pygmies and thinking ourselves giants,
reveling in the grandness of our little world,
intoxicated as we sipped our folly by pints,
nescient of contemporary teaching,
but we met men who towered above us,
we were humbled, re-educated, joined a new bus,
Exchanging one form of ignorance for another.

We are Men now, enlightened,
ours is a world of our own machination,
having learned the ropes of this world,
harmonized with the iniquities of our time,
we shrewdly shed our simple nakedness,
found a way to be immortalized in our prime,
bribed our way through the Pearly Gate,
having finally accepted the fallacy of our fate.

We are Wise now, educated,
schooled in the ignorance of the new world,
confident in our narcissistic grandiloquence,
basking under the rays of philosophical fantasies,
unconcerned about retribution or consequence,
cocooned in our borrowed etiquette and niceties,
we are wise now, educated, enlightened Men,
no more naive, ignorant, innocent children.

We are what we are now, nothing,
completely lost to the irony though not seeing,
having no true identity to call our own,
we are chameleons mimicking not being,
we are shadows of our former forgotten selves,
we are neither one or the other, just empty shelves,
echoes from a now disjointed distant past,
we are what we are now, nothing really, just...

*****September 20, 2010*****

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Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****


God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,
Waiting...

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

So,
when it rains
And they mock him
For having no nest still,
He holds his peace,
Watching...
For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

The Vulture is not vindictive,
Those who mocked will die,
Those who didn't will die,
It matters not.
For when carcasses lay ripe
The Vulture does not ask
If his feast was once friend or foe

*****February 1, 2016*****