The worlds of our ancestors remain at war.
I saw this endless misery on an old globe,
where battles and front lines, though faint,
bled into blood-red delineations
where borders trafficked the endless dead.
I spread an historical map,
saw the suffering of much minuscule life,
wounded bodies charging or retreating,
body parts everywhere; a Lilliputian carnage,
yet loud enough to end any tune
in a songbird's throat
Old warriors returned again and again
as young men,
the mark of an early death
already seared across their foreheads,
their eyes flashing, reflecting
a world long buried
in mounds of bloody yesterdays,
and red stained tomorrows.
Then I overheard
(horror upon horror),
the yet unborn,
screaming
they were like
little birds
on fire.
The worlds of our ancestors remain at war.
I saw this endless misery on an old globe,
where battles and front lines, though faint,
bled into blood-red delineations
where borders trafficked the endless dead.
I spread an historical map,
saw the suffering of much minuscule life,
wounded bodies charging or retreating,
body parts everywhere; a Lilliputian carnage,
yet loud enough to end any tune
in a songbird's throat
Old warriors returned again and again
as young men,
the mark of an early death
already seared across their foreheads,
their eyes flashing, reflecting
a world long buried
in mounds of bloody yesterdays,
and red stained tomorrows.
Then I overheard
(horror upon horror),
the yet unborn,
screaming
they were like
little birds
on fire.
Surrealistic impulses
create songs impositions
upon the sphere of
evening coincidences
that beckon truth
beyond the scope
of reality as
you finally realize
that to some
it's just a problem
upon their realm
of personal satisfaction
Inter-relationships surface
amidst the turmoils
of daily excursions
siphoned through kaleidoscopic
determinations that have
no basis in justice
but are constructed
amidst contemporary delineations
that stifle happiness
The world of our ancestors
keeps rolling around.
I watched it on an old globe
bought from a pawn shop.
The front lines, though faint,
led to blood-red delineations.
The glob made me dream.
I was spreading a map
over a wide table
I could see minuscule life
running forward or retreating.
I saw armies charging here and there
body parts everywhere.
Back in the wide-awake world
some old warriors ended up in Florida
tanned but terribly wounded
they send me pleading letters
not to say another word.
picturesque theories
fields in floods
reflections of trees
in water
waterfalls
decorations
delineations
contemporary passion
&obsessions
compelling creations
of extreme beauty
in
colours&monchromes
compositions of grandeur
in
screens of imagination
of
flowing designs
become
lasting
impressions
a certain strangeness
harmonies of colour
in a even tenour
caring nothing
for the past
present or future
vague influences
in mood&movement
open loose
conquests of light
original feelings
of
light&shadow
melodramatic
exaggerated
visible
with vitality
charmed by new ideas
in sensibility&zeal
changing traditions
magnifying the present
alarmed&then
convinced
descriptive
inspired
deprivations of the eye
looking
beyond
art
for Bebe Rexha
There's one thing
that's constant
"you've got yourself for life"
Eveything else
comes and fades:
recriminations, repercussions,
delineations, manifestations,
life, death - - - - -
All altered with fluctuations
permeating the flow.
You can always
look in the mirror,
What you see
will never change,
except for age.
It's a comfort
to know that you'll
effortlessly be there
for yourself
No matter what calamities
are thrown your way - - - - -
It's divine intervention.
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