indeed

indeed

the “Better than Thous”

carving out the finite errancies

from the ways of men

exploiting that which is dark

that they may celebrate their own lustre

casting dispersion

upon that which yearns to bloom

is their specialty

stabbing the dreams of the good intent

for they have none of worth

of their own

the puss from their despondent souls

are festering

and contaminating

with a certain deliberateness

their lack of goals

of high esteem

and substance

their soulful absence

maintains their self reflections

and the worms who stand beside them

in the slime of their existence

shall this be their consistent demeanor

forever

i wonder

they see it as a meaningful endeavor

don’t they

what say you |?

they forgive themselves not

and surely not the ways

of others

for their hearts have calcified

hardened

and their brothers

are no more

they stand alone

on their soapboxes

adorning

homemade crowns of thorns

yelling to the world

persecute me

but nail them to the cross

their souls are tossed

into the abyss

of nothingness

save for what stir of mess

they may create

to disturb the peace

and solace

of those who would do well

dispelling truths

telling of lies dreamed up

hoping to stitch

and seam up

the glory

with stories

from the hauntings

of their own illicit shadows

yet still

they are required

don’t you see

for it is they who confirm

the dichotomy

of this dense vibration

compelling the unjustly condemned

to vie to escape them

and leave this putrid stench behind

dust the feet off

he told the disciples

and let the dead bury the dead

for soon come the time

when the weed

shall be harvested

along with the wheat crops

and the dividing will come

exposing their lack of sum

there is no hiding

they will be cast into the fire

of their own passions

to manifest an illness

upon the fair soils of men

who would plant a good seed

indeed

take heed

© 12 April 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

indeed

the “Better than Thous”

cutting the finite errancies

from the ways of men

exploiting that which is dark

that they may celebrate their own lustre

casting dispersion

upon that which yearns to bloom

is their specialty

stabbing the dreams of the good intent

for they have none of worth

of their own

the puss from their despondent souls

are festering

and contaminating

with a certain deliberateness

their lack of goals

of high esteem

maintains their self reflections

and the worms who stand beside them

in the slime of their existence

shall this be their consistent demeanor

forever

i wonder

they forgive themselves not

and surely not the ways

of others

for their hearts have calcified

hardened

and their brothers

are no more

they stand alone

on their soapboxes

adorning

homemade crowns of thorns

yelling to the world

persecute me

but nail them to the cross

their souls are tossed

into the abyss

of nothingness

save for what stir of mess

they may create

to disturb the peace

and solace

of those who would do well

dispelling truths

telling of lies dreamed up

hoping to stitch

and seam up

the glory

with stories

from the hauntings

of their own illicit shadows

yet still

they are required

don’t you see

for it is they who confirm

the dichotomy

of this dense vibration

compelling the unjustly condemned

to vie to escape them

and leave this putrid stench behind

dust the feet off

he told the disciples

and let the dead bury the dead

for soon come the time

when the weed

shall be harvested

with the wheat crops

and the dividing will come

there is no hiding

they will be cast into the fire

of their own passions

to manifest an illness

upon the fair soils of men

who would plant a good seed

indeed