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Ill Wind of


It comes replete with verve and belief

Full blown in its gusto and rote of surety 

Yet its goal is to confound and mislead

And bury all the true faces of love

It’s an ill wind that disguises the truth


Sanctimonious it will spout with rhetoric

Yet, does not have the single iota of concept

To fathom the soul

Instead it will feed you on hope filled lies

And abuse you in moralities disguise


It will strip you bare of your life

And suffocate you in its righteousness

Nail you up on suffering cross

And bleed you dry

For the sake of words


It will steel from you every ounce of an earthly haven

And pretend the promise of heaven

While casting you down into the pits of guilt

Sinner

Blasphemer

How dare do you dare to dream


Or dare to embrace the flesh and life

Given to you, in your awareness, only once

How dare you partake of this, creations abundance


Immoral.

Un-immortal

Bone

Of death

You eat 

As punishment


And punishment

Your only deliverance

For being so fragile

So naked

And so innocent


Beggars you in the hell, the hell !

Of your lives

These you live without compassion

Without consideration

And without

A choice


And love; your ever non ending wish of

You lost and loose

Daily

Hour by hour in your non-recognition

Of what and who you are

Instead you prefer to spill your fear

In explanatory books

Of what you have not the slightest inkling of

Your Philosophies of penitence and humble servitude

Do not proclaim

Or announce

Exultant !

Or grasp the magnitude

Of your own single being


You prefer the paltry dust

On which to dine your ever starving tongue

And seek to define yourselves by idols

Of car, of cross, of nation, of race, of rich, of belief, of faith, of purpose, of television

Of  job, of chemistry, of science, of answers, 

Of puerile and un-fashioned faces of all your excuses and expectations

Of love


Woeful and pitiable

You ascend from birth to death

In an oblivion of yourselves

Without ever conceiving your right to the title

Of perfection


No instead you wallow

In the mires and swaps of your own reflection


And pronounce yourselves dead

Look at how bad !

We really are



It’s an ill wind indeed

That disguises your truth
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