Ill Wind Of
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
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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