Unquenching thirst in scorching sands
With doleful steps as if once banned,
From mother home, lost paradise
While wandering wayward days and nights.
As scorpions sting and vipers’ hiss
With broken bones and loneliness,
Filled with weeping, creeping, seeking
More, crawling ‘long the desert floor.
While raining rockets fill the skies
Smoke and ashes blind the eyes,
Hoping all the hellishness will end
Praying silently to ascend.
As dreams no longer ease the mind
And all the saints you once thought kind,
Have left you here to drift, bereft
A solitary soul, misfit.
In search of that lost pot of gold
The one they say is Mighty old,
And glistens with the light of love
Ubiquitous mystery, soaring dove.
Still stumbling, tumbling, moving on
Faith shattered, battered, nearly gone,
Yet mercifully a dimly lit discerning,
Incessant, quiescent,
Great yearning.
© Terrell Martin, 02/10/2025
Seriously Jealous,
inherently over-zealous,
a calculation of the wellness-
of present day hellishness...
Seriously sophomoric,
traumatically important,
radical-
a spaceship uninhabitable.
Playing a game,
never would have guessed I was a lame...
Being insane,
while people are on their way.
Driving the plains,
with wheel chairs with sprains,
going to work on the veins,
with fangs,
from behind brains,
I withstand the shame,
and accept my fame.
Sharing the Graciousness
outside the window
echoes of the fabulous
and as some linger in distress
soon we'll be put to the final test
where those of the blessed
shall pass without such hellishness...
but still we seek to
share this graciousness
10-1-09
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