My prayers are now Die! Die! Die!
People asking me Why? Why? Why?
Many are against ‘Who I am’
Friendship on Earth now A Big Scam
Swarming quite The Society
Scattered Saints for variety …
So, it has to be The Die! Die! Die!
My Transcending Voice High! High! High!
Prayers by a heart oddly sly
Try to punch through Sky after Sky …
Yes, I know a Profanation
Witch of Endor’s Divination
To warrant Reincarnation
My stay here Not Last Station.
and there were those parts unknown
haunted places as they say
and the figures that parade there
turn every lament into our thought
it's inside us this dark
huge and empty hallways
and along them the connecting rooms
deception interchangeable parts
icy palace where illusion dwells
I could have harbored better feelings
something I'm sincerely proud of
at the time of final accounting
but I searched inside
and only found profanation
I asked where it ended up
what i believed to be purity
but it's probably out of date
or maybe it has already been desecrated too
Flower smiles in the morning
To overthrow any mourning,
Engendering the feeling
That begins soft healing:
Flower displays our choicest elegance,
Exuding the firmest fragrance,
Past striding the hellish gate into the territories of Hate:
All the time too good for the hovel
We’d come across in a novel.
Love miserably can fail
The head revealing with a missing tail,
If flower should be excluded from things
If things be not buoyed by its wings,
On my chest to keep feeling pressure
Of a degree one can’t measure,
When some husband in one hides a knife
And with its loveless blade kills his wife:
Clearly, an unspeakable desecration,
No more no less matrimony’s profanation.
Now we’re pushing for the tillage
Of the gardens in our village,
Vowing to make it just flower or never,
Hoping no anti-florist will be clever
Its planters enjoying the Labor,
They, considering it a favor…
Flower they sight and they‘re well
And when they don’t, in hell!
Not a little something of psychology
Being enacted without apology.
~ Certification Anticipation ~
Infestation
Germination
Mobilization
Bloviation-Condemnation
Agitation-Exhortation
Excitation
Confrontation
Profanation
Desecration
Litigation
Ruined Nation
Frag ta
men
tion
Why can't pain
Remain
Just pain?
Why must it translate
Into debate
with Fate?
What can it gain
By exposure?
Closure?
Justification
In exculpation?
We often learn too late
That love and hate
Act and react
As fact--
That explanation
May just be
A drop of toxic chemistry--
A profanation.
"...Dominus orationem meam suscepit."
Burning his little jelly bottom raw,
He blisters in his liquid greenish poop.
He has no means to summon us at all
To drain the acid swamp of split pea soup.
Except to scream, a peevish infant yawp,
And so he screams, until we take his goop.
We modestly subserve our son's ejecta.
Clean, dry and warm: his everyday trifecta.
He's not alone. I've had my days of burning.
Blistered and raw, to salve my hurt I prayed
for balm from God, ultimately learning
His summit lay on far too steep a grade.
Footless in His scree, inflamed with yearning,
My wounds combusted into wrath. I brayed
My blasphemies, then heard the Logoi fall.
I had no means to summon Him at all.
Which births a trailing thought about the sainted:
Their whispered prayers, their worshipful reclusion,
Which all the hagiographers have painted.
Don't buy it. Souls corroded with confusion,
Their love of God with hatred wholly tainted,
And Doubt the only friend to their seclusion,
With blasphemies they burnt the fetid air.
Profanation is the purest form of prayer.
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