Ther Vine Keeper

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Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Zion come home to me

Zion come home to me

from the 3rd to the 5th
our oddity becomes us
as we prepare to shift across
the place where boundaries
once existed

the consistence of the fabric
is failing
falling at our feet
that we may tread
and leave invisible footprints
upon our past

a new consciousness is being birthed
within old minds
and we are babes
once again

there is a twinkle
within the eye of our soul
seeking to behold
it’s own reflective truth

Glory Be !

the glass has been cleaned
the hull has been gleaned
the weak are being weaned
and the crippled teats
of false solace
are drying up
for we were never ever nourished
by the lies

and we the children prayed
“now i lay me down to sleep . . .”
but it never came
until the dawn
when we were called
to turn our chatter off
close the portals to our awareness
that they could not poison
the divine seed
held in hidden hugs
within our inner sacredness

and now the procession begins

the clowns have painted their faces
with exaggerated smiles
and cloaked themselves
in oversized pantaloons
of pastels and silks

it is time to march
in the piper’s parade

the cymbals are crashing
and the crowds are jeering
cheering on the brave amongst us
hoping they will sacrifice their fears
and thus validate
their over inflated false esteems

are we there yet ?

the bets are being placed
on a Cosmic Roulette Wheel
and we are Rushing
to load the guns

wanna play ?

i got one in the chamber
just for you
it has my name on it
etched faintly in a surreality
this is my gift
because i love you
will you hurry and pull the trigger please

down on my bleeding knees
i am still praying for God
to quicken me
quicken his pace
and come and tell us the combination
to the lock to Eden’s gate
before we die

i do not wish to perform the task any more
of having to bury our brethren
The Christed One did say
“let the dead bury the dead”
well . . . i am tired of digging holes

i am sweating rivulets of melancholy
a strange blood drips
profusely from my brow
it blinds me

like a Taurean wanting to charge
i am seeing red
but there is no anger for me to embrace
not for the Tailor
nor the Weaver of this cloth of existence

my slothful ways are fading
as if they never were
and i must gather a new reason
to possibly justify
my spiritual procrastinations
and i know i can not
for i have smiled in the face
of my delusions
once too often

tell me a story
sing me a lullaby Mommy
that i may slumber

this is the wantonness of the anxious
but She is at rest
and wishes not to be disturbed
so ssshhhhhhhhhhhh
lest you invoke her wrath
and she then will quell
your Harp-ing

the Doves are circling like Vultures
seeking but a solitary Olive Branch
that they may return
to the place of pairing
where all wait permission
to exit the Ark

has your Twin Flame spoken  ?

has it stopped raining yet ?

i the Lion begin to hunger
but they told me
to not bite the hand that feeds me
... but i am carnivorous
and i have a taste
for Blood and uncooked meat

feed me your body
you self declared Christ
that i may be sanctified
by the false Doctrines you have fed
the other inhabitants
who voluntarily attended this carnival

you are but a man
as am i

and as we both cling to the myths
of our belief systems
created for man
by man

we step across the path of righteousness
killing in the name of some God
whom we have never met
but yet
carried within our breast
all of our misunderstood lives

and they incessantly ask me
“What’s in your wallet”?

does it really matter ?

in the meantime
there is an awakening taking place
the coded strands of the ancient “Lore”
of our construct
is beginning to resonate
within the memories of us
who are paying attention

we were told we were mere mortals

but how can that be
when He / She / It
which was perfect and beyond
made me

the only light that has failed me
is the one you gave me control of
and i have yet to flip the switch
but i know it does exist
somewhere in this abyss
of my exponential-ness

so i stand here with but my intentions
not to mention
my power
and i refuse to cower anymore
be it death
or transition
it is all the same

and the crippled
the lame
shall walk again
and claim their thrones
as we the drones
take responsibility
for our own possible demise

my eyes are open now
and i smile within
in a “knowing”
a certainty
as Zion comes home . . . to me

© 23 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

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