Skip to main content

remember your Teacher?

think not what you need, said once the Teacher
but he wasn't as fashionable as Nietzsche
so you turned around and imagined you were crowned
and believed all was due to you as a tribute
for your highness' will to power so abound

buried so deeply under deception of greed and pride
you forgot what God-given talents were
and where you hid them from yourself
while meditating new luxury heights
and what war to wage with who to get there
or maybe stealing from the thieves is not sin?
maybe they will make legal what is not?
and, maybe you should recite more prayers?
who do you kiss up to, to grant you all that?

yes, for a time, you can deceive anyone
with any act and any disguise
but you cannot stand before God and say:
"me and the Prince, we successfully compromised"
how long can you live split like that?
can you avoid both, truth and pain?
can you live on a parched land
and pretend to know the rain?

i labored for your sight to be restored
even though you didn't deserve it
i labored for your heart to be healed
even thou you kept reviling me
i labored to save your soul
while you didn't know you needed it
and you kept praying to your golden calf
and kept asking for more and more wealth
oblivious to the peril of losing your life

but if the book of life does not have
your name written down
you might have pounds of gold on your head
shaped anyway you like
yet, you won't have a real crown


Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

long stormy night

 one mississippi ...a bitter star is falling down... two mississippi ...I argued with the devil and i won... three mississippi ...and when trees don't anymore let the violins speak to me... kaboom! familiarity with falsehood is not a stairway to heaven your head may look as fine as gold but your feet are made of clay nothing but dust under the power of the Rock that fills the earth how will you not fall? you are but a murder of crows meticulously glued into a grandiose idol by the promise of fame within the will-less bundles of muscles in the network of shame blinded by the unpromised luxury heights inflamed by the gluey years of resentment of rejected lovers beggars of love, however misunderstood and their idols of age defiance and lust downgraded by the glowing rectangles with their images of envy betrayed by the happily hand-clapping crowds of fake jesuses and fake madonnas by neurotic parents of monkeys evolving into crafty profit maker...
Read more

iron-y

why burn the bridge? so that no wounded birds could live under it to keep their wounds alive your irony is like sulfur “no” is a burning word takes the iron rod giver to say it right they undo every right and fight for every wrong like that recalled letter of apology drop-dead bird mockingly unsent ungone, unknowing of its power ironic like dried sunflower on a blue chalkboard the art of death reigns in their hearts there is only defiance of dessicated flowers  between acknowledgment of rain  given in the right season and the first hydrating sip of life as it were to be fractions matter, splits of seconds are life ages of stubborn magma buildup can crumble in a blink of an eye, when you see how many grand personas brake down between saying thank you and being grateful always
Read more

don't pray for me

when the thieves pray for more loot, who can hear them? in heaven or in hell? let the wind know, let the wind know if you forget your name the wind will still blow your thoughts away when the whores pray for more wages, who can hear them? whose job is it to care? in heaven or in hell? let the clouds know, let the clouds know if you forget your name the rain will wet your hair anyway please, love me not the teddy bears and dolls are all asleep now this factory of dreams is a delusion there is no path through the house of terrors the neon signs were all lying tell me what pay is worth playing a nameless agent a role with so many angry lines in a play called "I wish I were rich" befriended and adored only by the three-headed snake of familiar spirit? [weeping is heard in the clouds but the streets are dry] please, love me not when the hands tired of work and hearts hardened by adversity rise in thanksgiving prayer why is the snake still speak...
Read more