Creatures of Difference
“Creatures of Difference”
The old order of things had passed away.
The first heaven and the first earth had been replaced.
There was no longer any See...
Costumes and masks
standing behind their pulpits
blooming in their new offices
with their blunt force majors
in political war and romance,
held their victorious blood chalices high -
it wasn’t a revolutionary stance - more complicit,
above those shining smart electric cities,
like marriages proposed, then erected
by young Nero in New Rafah
wheeling and dealing his new ventures,
now a shining ambassador of the Abraham Accords,
far above and removed
from the abrupt silence
of forgotten children – their slaughter,
along with their misplaced families,
simple, a necessary genocide -
there he was newly elected,
such is the life of a realtor
sending instructions to HQ
Big Apple address 666,
playing the Trump card for all its worth.
The new order rolled out like red carpet...
the sheep very easily led,
their Fates covered in blood,
by now he was sleeping in all their beds;
many sacrifices they made taking in all signs,
which were rapturously ignored, there they stood firmly in place taken,
his replaceable chess pieces baptized with their fresh irremovable marks,
all their new contracts signed and sealed.
Still, during that time,
there were strange creatures of difference,
the very odd broken ones stitched together like untouchables
listening to those strange tinny inner voices, echoing warnings
within their own mangled minds…
unheard by better others – they refused to submit to marks of any kind,
the odd ones and their strange magic, their chants like spells cast,
music like hymns irreverently sung, like prayers emanating
bleeding light like tortured savants from their broken kintsugi hearts,
like children they believed without hesitation in higher things –
to them, there existed no such thing as flight or fight …
oh they had faith - in “this too shall pass”, they'd had ample practice -
they stood impenetrable, strongly versed, rehearsed
through years of surviving poetic disassociation
from the fallout of all their tawdry little-known, well-hidden stranger wars,
marching in and out of unkind battlefields - there,
the very odd creatures of difference fought in quiet corners
below undignified carpets very well worn - streetwise,
there in that place, somewhere underneath their soiled graveyard,
they discovered well-buried magic lores written long before in ancient times -
words became other strange creatures materializing in legions, like flying pigs,
The Words like story book manna arrived, rolling cloudy -
yet creatures of difference, became unsoundly recognized;
and all the words in one book among many read, ravenously eaten up.
Taking up their burning swords,
the broken kintsugi hearts
kamikaze, left all the pain behind -
they never once looked back.
Far below them, the dedicated
second-deaths projecting their mirrors,
upwards from the dark ... flashing lights like “For Sale” signs,
were observed by other creatures –
who were drawn to them, magnetized,
spinning their believable stories like a web.
The old order of things had passed away.
The first heaven and the first earth had been replaced.
There was no longer any See...
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Rev 21 (NIV)
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