Holy Tithe
I saw a man today with zippers on his shoes
and platforms in the news
never stopped him from stepping in the street
I ask him why he looks at the sky
while bombs are blasting at his feet
and he turned to me and softspoke lyricly
of rainbows and starshine, moonshine
and castles in the sky
flying carpets and aladdin’s – mysterious like gempurple – lamp
I saw a boy today with gold flecks in his eyes
and in tremblehands he held a prize,
the world. at his feet; he prayed.
why god are we made this way?
and why does this pain in my chest (such heavy feeling)
set like a stone. in hurting others we hurt ourselves.
why are so many blind to this paradox?
and lock their rationaltics away for ideals and
speals surreal. like a drug is the passion worth all the pain?
I saw a mother daypregnant with worry
for her daughters and sons and in such a hurry
to love with all her heart because that was all she could give.
I told her why don’t you leave this place. this
wreaking ball place. but she smiled with a
twinkle in her eye and told me such tales of scheherazade and her arabian k(nights
and me nightpregnant with fear flee dustfloating notions
that are my present circumstances and
like shahryar immediatly suspicious
the wheel turns and burns halfmooncircles
into the skin and banishes all the compassion of the heart.
Copyright © Vienne Porter | Year Posted 2005
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