August 2006
I return as I came into life and expanse.
I return as I came with love more enhanced
To learn from the source of the greater in need–
To spurn the discarding of tradition and lore.
Story tellers are weavers of the still yet unwoven things.
I made my major society climbs in achievements,
Misplaced in working out concepts of face,
Inwardly yearning for changing of pace.
Outwardly burning a flame then fading to flicker–
Creeping further inside the denial enraging–
The darkness ensnarling and turning me over–
The darkness has grown inside those with disease.
How are you neighbor? I too am a man,
With family and cousins and unwitting
Brothers and sisters in war in this land.
I sit down these days and I put through my head:
The dead with their dying are just dying to live
Till the living are dead.
And we deal then in death with touching
Its head, feeling down and tearing off
Pieces of “she said” and “we said” and “they would do that.”
The saints are not coming to march for our freedom.
Sins of the Pater keep ‘us’ goose-stepping hotter
Hotter the flame, “turn it up, let it fry,’
Hell must be hotter than we ever conceived,
You very bad boy with plutonian course,
Don’t forget your black empty heart to start.’”
Fears of the tears and the years out of place
Fears of their peers and eating pork, being base.
What do I fear of moving
With harmonies of pain.
What do I fear being in some different attire–
Seeing, but not assigning a blame.
Guilt is the fig leaf sold by the spiritually insane.
Why does the eye need a clearing
When there’s no one to blame?
If the eye is only a mirror then–
Are we all just the same?
Copyright, John R Pigate 2006
