Ther Vine Keeper

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Saturday, April 7, 2012

the clock is ticking

the clock is ticking

you could hear the growling
of their stomachs
they were hungry

the wailing sounds
of the lost children
of creation
were in need of peace

though they wore smiles
upon their faces
behind the masks
there prevailed an emptiness,
for the demons within
had sucked the essence of life
from the marrow of their bones

they now belonged to the world

for too many years of indulgence
in the game
had intoxicated them,
then possessed them
and told them
this was all real

the feelings they had
for one another
were no longer . .
not even  . . .
faint memories

too many meals of acquiescence
and compliance
fed and furthered their fears

no one wanted to be seen
or noticed

to express one’s convictions
of righteousness
had become a dangerous affair
and persecution
was sure to follow

so they wore smiles . . .

smiles of pretense
that all things in life
were fine and dandy,
but life’s candy
was a poison
they could not
would not

no one gets out alive

if you choose not
to lay down your life . . .  this life
surely it will be taken from you
just watch and see
your surreality
become reality

their eyes, those of the people
where dull and listless
evidencing the lost of connection
to the Holy World

the twinkle of wonder
that glistened in those
all seeing portals
had faded
become glazed over
and that is a stated truth

the youth were no more
for children were born
only to adorn
the burdens of life
which awaited their arrival

survival of the fittest,
get this
it did not matter
none had a vested interest
in the morrow . . .
for some stench
greater than sorrow
was rotting
and festering
the hearts of men
with it’s putrid celebrations

sin you say ?
who gave a damn
there were no plans
to span the abyss
from peoples desolations
back to salvation

there was but
and callousness . . .

oh what a mess
have we made

and as i journeyed
through the nightmare
about me fear did abide
none could hide
in nor out side
for all that was ever worthy
had died
or was in way of dying
as we were vying
for absolution
through meaningless prayer

the flowers and the butterflies
only came in Black and White
and did not show themselves
in day nor night
the total absence of light
for there was not a moon anymore

and i, with all due impunity
put forward my left foot
touching my toes
to the ground before me
flexing my arch
taking my first step
for i have kept myself
much too long

and the song
calling me
calling you
calling us all
must be heard
and acted upon
before the last vestiges
of time is gone

hear me

the clock is ticking

© Spring 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

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