wonder

the devil serves up a heady brew.
a couple of swigs and i’ve ‘thought it through.’
my eyes dim, i’m losing my cool;
the lines begin to blur – between false and true.

and in a while i wake up, hungover with rue.

i sobered up, with tears blue and a wounded heart.
i asked the lord if i may understand in time due:
my many miseries, both old and new,
the locusts’ years, and how they played their part.

and thus i prayed for the lord to chasten me;
when i am impudent to discipline me.
for though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,
and i, your child, am anything but meek.

so, father i pray for you to lay me low,
when i return to the old to rebuke me so.
hide me away whence the strong winds blow,
i plead to you, the shepherd of my soul.

life is fleeting, life is short,
but in you my soul found a place to hide.
whether in deed, in word, or in thought,
i pray thy grace in me abide.

 —

Q

we the human race

humans

we the human race.
waged wars since time immemorial.
we burnt and blazed, still we plunder and raze.
made a living off the dead; built careers off of fear.

if we have to, we kill.
when it comes to ourselves there’s never a lack of zeal.
and though they always say, ‘these wounds will heal.’
the scars are there for all to feel.

it’s inescapable what colour it is you have on your hair,
no one will miss that your skin is a little less fair,
and soon, the built up illusion of harmony will rend and tear,
and tear, and tear, and tear, and tear.
’til we realise, in truth, how much everyone actually cares,
cares about us.

they care about us,
whether we would cause harm to them;
they’ll stay a little further.

they care about us,
whether we would swindle and cheat them;
they’ll clutch their bags a little closer.

they care about us,
whether we are going to threaten them,
whether we are going to be an obstacle,
they care about us.

why would it matter if i’ve got darker skin?
why should it matter that i’ve got hair on my chin?
why does society think of me as a walking sin,
and forget that, ultimately, we’re all one kin?

why does everybody care what it is that i wear?
why can’t they accept that i live with a little flair?
why do we have to make life a living nightmare
when sometimes, all we need to do is care?

i cannot fathom for the life of me,
why society has to think such things of me.
label me, denounce me and treat me
as if i’m some creature that needs to be locked up with a key?


o, future where i long to be!
thy blissful days of jubilee!
are thou over the hills or across the sea!?
… will i live long enough to ever see thee?


we the human race…
why do we deface ourselves?

on the surface we may all seem nice,
but underneath we’re all full of knives.
we live in a state of lies;
what a sorry state of life.

new hubris // adam icarus

Image

sinking your teeth in, it bursts.
a succulence so incomparable; it blurs,
the lines which define the comprehensible,
and the lines which held back the detestable;
you let the fruit through your mandibles.

with your wax wings you took flight,
gloriously, at height and with might!
but in arrogance you forgot your limits…
and in blindness you drowned in flames.

when you can no longer recall your own visage,
feel free to reign as… the god of a world
where no mirror will acknowledge you.
where you can never see what you have become.

the sinner laments

in meekness, his soul desired;
in weakness, his flesh retired.
yet so easily, he set his soul on fire,
again succumbing to his fleshly desire,
bogging himself in this swampy mire.

despite the cognizance,
of the need for repentance,
he led a life of reluctance;
one which reeked of repugnance,
one in need of penitence.

‘ye almighty!’
he cried out in melancholy.
‘has this pitiful life sated your ennui?
a vile slave that’s chained to iniquity?’

this enmity,
was just another daft futility.
‘depravity…’
he came to terms with reality.

***

nothingness breathed into life; created.
to be our own gods; we rebelled.
from dust to dust; we were condemned.
an outpouring of grace; we were saved.

at the end of the pilgrimage of sanctification
lay the casket that ended all persecution
yet this resting place will not be my last;
and this beatific smile will merely be my first.

brought back to life;
we were arraigned.
acquitted of vice;
we were justified.