God’s Gospel Treason

It takes a helluva lot of conviction
to see a god on the other side, even
more I’d say, to promise to be his
bride. If god turns out to be a giant
prick that leaves their womb’s all torn,
do we the unbelievers, treat those who
worship him with scorn.

We all love our youth … splashed across the windscreen of time …none can wipe it out … nor it contain …only moms memory of love does retain… closeted into the heart’s inner core

and

that alone makes us remember moms more….

as we walk the last leg alone…
kids about now unknown …
sans all as Shakespeare did say …
sans a breath for a new life today…
hope the walk will be one worth a while ….
which will upon our face bring a smile …

http://chirb.it/9vAGfA

Heavy weights are crushing me.

Painful chains of history
locked my heavy fears inside and
flung the saving key away.

Filthy hands have built the Col'nies;
walls to part, and lawless policies.

Tanks to bomb extensive fire
burning innocents' homes and legacies.

Dozers deep in earth are digging
leaving grains of sand down squeaking .
Rooting vine and olives out
blazons farmers senescing .

tumult
the turn

gliding in the spin

alive with outstretched
wings
a chasm between
the worlds

of white
of black

not there
nor here

but in the ghost bridges
thundering
with wind
perplexed in rains
shivering
in the buffet
of passage
in a blink

like a mirror walk
to forgo
the future talk

I feel the changes
The coolness
Damp breezes
Flowing in waves
The future holds us
As does the now
As yesterday is let go

There in the distance
We feel the winters touch
Yet what's this I hear
Across the mountains
Whispered by the streams.
Even a sailing leaf
I see it touch your hand.

Spiritual What!
To my mind…
there is nothing spiritual in living life ….
all is mundane
and
each one has one’s own frame,,,
to dwell in happiness or pain …
some love to within a cocoon remain….
passed life's living vein

whilst others brave the storms…
of the those who wont to slain ….
but within senses and distance remain…
spiritualism thus beyond life …
in imagination should…
as it does and must remain…

There are gaps in heaven,
empty voids of godlessness
through which almost-angels fall
through arcs of feathers swirling
in slow spirals of building sin;
their ends are fissures rent in hell
filled with almost-demons rising up
on wafts of kindness and respite.

In the space between are mortals,
frail lives of narrow frenzies
caught by shifting moral webs
of goodness and depravity,
our prayers and curses fought over
by those above us and below
like starving jackals hungering.

Bent
existentialism
like a fender crushed
an impact
shook off

lift the volume
inhale a drone
a dearth of muse
bequeath the pallid
stickiness of a sickness
crawling
up the bones
like a lightning
strike far off
and distance
lit diffused
like a hot sucked
cigarette
caught on
the ledge of a sneer
dangerous and
loose
worn
and travelled
the colour
of gravel
in hair slept
on leather

I sped at all haste as you called my name
There in the sunrise your form came to me
It called out in colours that spoke in the quiet
The early morning rose, it started to bloom.

Creating a light of its own a word of life to come
I stood in awe of the beauty of its talking colours
Stand for me tall, it soothed as the rose opened
It showered my soul with abundant healing rays

bunch of feats
dripping dither
petals soft as a winter feather

hushed like a hot flames lash
tender as black wax
and red silk solitude
fallen crumpled
silent as a stream
a crowd

the shadow crept
to curl
stirred
in its flight
a logic flash
like a wish
lost
and dreaming

and you bend
me
my flexible
ache
sutured
to the break
the blood
and bones
these sticks
these stones
slick now
with rains
before the blows