Ancient sinister fires dwell in the savage creator's eye,
Soon his fire starter will be coming for a second try,
Choosing to believe, that which cannot be seen cannot be rude,
A cloak and dagger God who spies on the prey but is not viewed,
Content to let innocent children be punished for their sins,
While his ever present servant, Death sits on the fence and grins.
With bony fingers that reach out and cut human flesh like glass,
To drain the blood from the fresh faces of once glorified men,
Who, terrified, wrestle with their anger, lost in the long grass,
They are now, blind heroes clawing at anything near their den.
The presence of Death has made them into wild beasts that destroy,
For now is the season of the killer who cannot find joy.
Some of the boys with dice ignore their fate and play lucky seven.
While outside our vengeful God is begging for lost souls to save,
Spirits, who he damned, now recent the unattainable heaven,
Asking what have the chosen to choose, here, or beyond the grave?
Sisters, brethren and the congregation, let us sing and sigh,
"Some will pray, for a peaceful parting, while others will not try,
Still others will build kindling houses and light fires and cry,
And still other sad souls will gulp and gasp forever angry."
Don't bother threatening me, God, I have not lived like a king.
I have courted too many long years of pain and suffering,
To be convinced by your son's bleeding palms and his burning heart,
How do you love and protect the typhoid children in the cart.
Oh Death, I know, will come to me as soft as a wind swept cloud,
But despair and disappointment will surround me like a shroud.
What great and wondrous plans vanish when the lonely world ends,
Will those dark and shameful, private, deadly sins be recorded?
As the cracked clock of human history unwinds and time bends,
Will the memory of the first kiss, the first love be shattered?
Will the joyous thoughts that light the soul be lost by everyone?
And what will become of the precious moments of enchantment?
Would you have them vanish like the smoke from a murderer's gun?
Could something that had no beginning ever end it's moment?
The silent, unknown spirit that beats the heart and counts the breath,
Will it just stop counting when the ghostly light of the moon wanes?
Or is there hope that the children will play on a greener Earth,
Where our sorrow is forgotten and new songs replace our pains.
The new poets with their weak messages and strong conviction,
New, rambling visionaries who know the cyclone is coming,
Will warn and yet not be able to prevent its destruction,
Their dark songs and psalms will fall on the deaf like wretched moaning.
Life is juggling broken glass, and I fear is not for the weak,
For most of us it is a slow walk too near the cliff at night,
Yet those who love God describe it as just a walk in the park,
Yet trusting children are having nightmares and waking in fright,
The gentle, see infinite waste and record their hopes in books,
But they are burdened beyond the cure, slumber embraces,
Sleep is now a sad aging prostitute, who has lost her looks,
A bowed lady who beckons us to dark disturbing places,
Promising joy, like sirens, and yet singing nothing but woes,
And still we all go to her even in our shame and despair,
We wander asleep like the sneak thief stamps to the dark gallows,
And finally we fall like the condemned man slumps to the chair.
You can stop that smiling God, no one is impressed by you here,
Even you have to realise it all falls a little short,
There are lonely dogs still howling at the distant moon for naught,
There are hapless feral cats wandering at night, dancing with fear,
As if their constant reckless movement can somehow postpone death,
And the calming thought that, as long as you don't exist, they do.
So put that lightening bolt away and stay your vengeful wrath,
I am alive, could there be any worse punishment from you,
I will welcome hell, it will be a long holiday from doubt,
So release your feathered angels trumpeting, for you have failed.
Go back and try again, open the Earth's gates and let us out,
Go now, create a new man, a new woman and a new child,
For I am not buying whatever baubles you have to sell,
In your silly game the hate is funny and the love is hell,
You cast the dice and the good men are punished with the evil,
You are not to be heard and unable to be loved at will,
An invisible God unseen in the heavenly choir,
Is seen only in the light of the invisible fire,
Therefore, I can never forgive you for this awful mistake,
So go on tempt me with the poison fruit you know I will take.
Copyright © Lachlen Smith | Year Posted 2019