Smashed out a new poem today,Yesterdays Cold Pizza is Todays Breakfast: History viciously blots out the names that were numbed by ironed sheets and clean jeans while the brave strut on pages tripping their bravado, or at least teasing with the notion of change. 401ks and 1099s lift their skirts so society can rest their hand on the warm thighs but fidelity is only guaranteed if autonomy is abandoned and the Christmas tree is full of gifts. Happiness alludes to miming the words of the constitution without realizing that freedom takes irritation. Open up your tickling ears and you will hear that Hitler and Stalin are laughing at the masses standing mummified in lines to cash their checks on Fridays and their hands stay sweaty until the pills are placed into their mouths. Addiction and debt are the graduation gifts that await students wrapped neatly with the Sunday newspapers and perfected sermons. Give and it shall be given: the government and the Godliness for gain beds are made together leaving many, or maybe just the narrow road travelers, to ask if we are responding to a culture cultivated by the rich for the sake of the paradise of bachelors. A cross of shame and an empty grave grieve those in need of fitted suits and expensive suites while the widow gives the last dime to see the healing promised by those walking paved roads with shined shoes. Is it possible that the men that turned the world upside down can depict what lives sold out to a Kingdom beyond sight demonstrates? Is it possible that the poor can be an inheritance and eternity longs to kiss the temporal on the cheek? Judas sits and looks at what his betrayal created, aghast that his demise has bought luxury cars and haughty prophets. The resurrection assimilates itself with limp wrists, the blind eyes only hear of the one who said “let there be light” and Pentecost becomes the rallying cry for disorder rather than a charge being sent out to the broken to find rest. We worry not, for our eyes our fixated on the clouds that shall part never worrying about the record that is not being written and the stories being told to the youth that we created but do not inspire. Maybe when West gave birth to North he did so asking the right questions: “Hey, teacher, teacher/Tell me how do you respond to students?/ And refresh the page and restart the memory?/Respark the soul and rebuild the energy?”
Posted on: Thu, 14 Nov 2013 23:17:19 +0000
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