Ther Vine Keeper

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Tuesday, April 24, 2012

rest in peace

rest in  peace

slippery silk knots of indifference
have formed a noose
around the neck
of my reason
and they are cinched tightly
when my convictions
comes for a visit
to my monogrammed gallows
to bid adieu
to what i once held
as my sacred righteousness

no, i do not wish to die
this day
nor any other
though i realize
it is required of me

i will pretend to acquiesce
to your ways
that i not be persecuted
in the streets
that all may see
and jeer at me

false light
from man made lanterns
illumines the path . . .back
herding us swineful
woeful ones
to the meat packing houses

we are weighed
and numbers are statistically crunched
that our collective worth
for the market
be quantified

there is strength in numbers
for those whose wishes
sets before us
the fixed
we imbibe

with sorrowful deliberation
we garner self effacing credos
feigning a determined conformity
that we not be found out
knowingly sacrificing possibilities
that our children
may one day escape
the asylum we have endured
and made impregnable
just for them

the madness . . .

we submit to conjured fervors
and allow malcontent spirits
to seduce us
with logics
of no basis

the foundations of reason
that of the homes
where our hearts once resided
have crumbled
into our selfish little pools
of etheric tears

tell me
can not we see ?

it was once told us
“if thy eye offend thee
then pluck it out”

and perhaps the time has come
to mount the steed
this type of courage rides
for i no longer can bear
my reflection
nor that of this self righteousness
which characterizes
these Earth Borne Gods
that have taken root
and flourishes
within me
within you

a madness, a sickness
for which i pray to for cures
speaks to me
and tells me
with a questionable reassurance
that a cure is on the way

i wonder . . .
did i have the right zip code
when i addressed
my letters of supplication . . .
when i redressed my faithful bequest ?

did He get it yet ?

Can He Read  .. .
my language of anguish
in the expressive writings
i regurgitate and ingest
time after time

it pains me to think
i have brothers
who suffer as i do,
for though Love is not dead
somewhere in my head
i too am calculating
to exacerbating conclusions
of my confusion

i see no light
at the end of your tunnel . . .
and mine . . .
it has collapsed
along with those doctrines of gall
you fed me

i hear the desperate whispers
from the dismal shadows
of hopelessness
but i shall not listen

the noose is tightened once again
and i gulp
i swallow
hoping to clear
a bit of space
a passageway
while fighting to give breath . . .
just one Holy Breath
to my reason
that it too may be resurrected

while we are yearning
for divine intervention
and praying again for an end
to our forsaken statures
they are in the lab
new board games
to maintain our occupation
with the ideologies

they tell us that
those “knee born” offerings
 and supplications
to some unseen force
without us
is what we should trust in
is that Sin .. .  hhhhmmmmmm

and like you i too
do pray
offering the miniscule seeds
of desirous intent
to deliver me
from this state of lament
where our latent memories
remind us of our eclectic
and all the other mess
we enjoy wallowing in
as we lay to rest
with our indifference
without deference

i say . .
rest in peace

22 April 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

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