I hear them there in mist of my depths
In silence like a whisper next to you
Speaking familiar tone, occasional stranger
Truth, say listen to gut feel
But are they illusion of times passing
Sounding real, wait; depths are not silent
What is edge to which one is push
The bond and spirit broken away to insanity
When is it we listen not to our own
That we follow idle talk our portrait be
Voices say kill while love spare hatred
Revenger of iniquity one's reduced to flesh
I sleep, sometimes waking to the cries echo
Who's there, who is it I am corresponding
Who's there that I am not alone in myself
Perhaps conscience or imagination run wild
Or just another voice of life leading us on the journey
s/he hasn’t an aggressive bone
in her/his body, at least not one you
can see &
when you pass him/her on the street,
you’d thing s/he had ****ing angel
wings on her/his back,
even if, as i, you’d not believe that
such things exist
even if there was a gun barrel pressed
to your
temple---
the passive revenger puts his/her
hope in
“karma,”
believing that there is some kind of
personal boomerang which will
come flying round
after an ******* has left one’s life
to crack them upside the head
when they least expect it---
said individual things that
there is some kind of
“divine justice,”
even if they don’t put a label on it,
because they want to make things
“right,”
without getting their own hands
dirty---
such is the sullen violence of a
coward,
such is the quiet & ridiculous nature of
a hypocrite who
tells us that they “forgive”
whilst holding the want for blood
close to their heart &
glowing like roaring red embers in
their mind.
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