Unaffected

Is He the provider, the master of the worlds
Or do we christen Him so
That our fortunes turn
That our fantasies precipitate

Is He the manifestation of hope
Or the Catalyst that breeds it
The Excuse for our excesses
An Illusion why we choose to suffer

Is evolution really Him peaking
Outdoing Himself at every step
And like all good Things
What peaks must descend

Is He an Idea whose time has come
Now that we merrily self destruct
An Idea that will surface
As a Miracle or perhaps a plague

Is He a creation of egotism
His Traits as varied as our imagination
Or a reflex of our defeats
A justification for satanic triumphs

Is He not in our subconscience
A woman we seat beside us
Adorn Her with pearls and emeralds;
Assume the right to Her violation

Or is He beyond comprehension
His Justice unaffected by love nor detest
That both saint and sinner are born
That both saint and sinner must die

:(

Just when you're about to start writing, the idea escapes from your head like a puff of dust!

Dilemna

There was a sense of mechanical purpose about him; the kind of energy a volkswagon running at a 100mph exudes, complete with flashing headlights trying to make up for an empty soul. He looked the 'subject' in the eyes. Not that he was new to this. He had done this many times before - his precision and nerves were the stuff of folklore.

But today was different. He was struck by a sudden feeling of awe at what he saw. A miracle of nature perhaps? This was the first time he was thinking of it this way. Today he didn't see a 'subject'. He saw a living figure, the curvacious body, the smooth fingers, the heaving of the torso as every breath grew stronger. And yes, the eyes.

What was it about those eyes? The fact that they weren't blinking or asking for mercy. Had they accepted their fate? Mocking him that if he went ahead with it, he would have a guilt ridden existence for the rest of his years? Or was it the last bravado of a flame about to go off, almost saying 'There's more where I came from brother'.

Or was it him? Was the blood on his hands getting harder and harder to wipe off? Was it a tussle between conscience and occupation? Or worse still, was a it a lone battle that conscience was waging to kep itself alive? To resurrect itself within a body that had forgotten its very existence?

And then, there was what my friend Jimmy Weed would refer to as a moment of clarity. To another person, his motives may be frivolous and without merit. But he knew what he was worth and believed that redemption would finally be his. And besides, if he didn't dissect that frog, he would fail the term.

Happy!

That last post...made me real happy!

One of those times

It's one of those times when I want to write
Just want to rant
To smoke
To bike

It's one of times when I want to ponder
When I want to take stock
Of death; of life
Of wrong; of right

It's one of those times when I want to breathe
To hold your hand
And hold it tight

It's one of those times that I realize
That 90 mins is a waste of time
That the final score's what's on my mind

It's one of those times that I realize
Thats we're runnin' like crazy, at light's speed
When what needs attention, is our need for weed.

Circle

I asked God for solace and peace
That He patch the tear in my fabric.

That He give me love
And the sense to appreciate it.

That He give me sorrow
And the strength to overcome it.

That He give me wealth
And the ability to live without it.

God gave me a sign today
Sorry son, I have nothing for you.

A beggar pleaded with me yesterday
Sorry, I have nothing for you.

Drop out

Maybe you want others to suffer
Perhaps you like it
Taking solace in that you're not the only one

You like being a victim, don't you
An excuse for your malevolence

You're closest to the reflection in the wine
Coz it takes you away from yourself

What are you?
The distance between what you are and what you want to be

Get in the race, and you're a prisoner
Drop out, a bird