January 14th, 2011

blackheart in hand

war torn

The ground is soaked in gasoline
The citizens carry matches
Enamored of the power of fire
The whole place is a tinderbox
And the white folk ask
Why do they burn down their own neighborhoods?

The house is abandoned
Shattered windows are dark
The door hangs open on its hinges
Where once the rooms in my imagination
Were candle lit and incensed
Shining wood floors overlayed with oriental carpets
A feast upon the table
Each room held delight
If you could get in

The street outside's a minefield
Terrorists and gansters
Where preists once prayed
Everybody's right and nobody's wrong
Staking ground.  Defending.
War songs and sirens penetrate the night

Seeking solace I come back to my body
Carrying tea to the altar
I see the cats have torn down the banner
Pissed all over it and broken the leg
Of a blue faery girl wearing peacock feathers
Her wisdom unhooked, passion defiled
I clean the mess
Place the offering
Make my petition
I hear wailing in response
Long nails drag across the chalkboard
And the pulsing silence as the razors blade glistens

Holy Mother
Bless this life.
Make it right.
From you all things emerge even this.
Unto you all things return--even this.



  • Current Mood
    discontent discontent