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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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Executioner's Business

I have not come here
To put back together
The Guinea fowl egg
That was broken on Her Majesty's sandals.

I am an Executioner.
The why and the how matters not,
It's the Who.

Those who in malice
Destroy good food in fits of pettiness
Then turn to mock the distended bellies
Of hungry children
Shall know no peace.

But today,
It is not scoffing egg breakers that vex me.

It is,
Those who in silence watched
While the dirty deed was done,
Unconcerned about hungry mouths,
Then proceeded to,
on the miscreants
behalf, plead for mercy,
It is they who stir my bile.

So may I not be blamed
When in swinging my blade
I, accidentally, chop off the heads
Of wailers who stand too close to the guilty.

The Executioner's job is urgent business
I have no time for the niceties
Of giving, those who loiter, final warnings.

***** August 3, 2016*****

Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

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,

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...

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

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.

the Vulture
pays any mind
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*****
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂