The Gods' dance

The God swells up inside me as I struggle to find a connection.

I’m awaiting thunder to reveal when the lightening will come,

so that I may dip a finger into its’ fantastic current,

feeling its’ flow channel through my spirit and back out to the night,

recharging the beautiful soul that has long been dim.

With no storms on the horizon, my journey continues,

to an alley in the boondocks free from the taints

of modernity’s brilliant skills that are keeping me lulled.

I spy one swatch of deep red on the concrete wall,

momentarily igniting a spark of the connection I seek

but becomes fleeting when the flame does not catch.

I place one foot in front of the other indefinitely,

resigning to contentment of monotony,

Until war cries and wild howls break my stride.

In front of my gaze is a poor man with a rich smile,

engaged in his best improvisational dance routine

to a song that is carried upon the wind

and accompanied by the birds and electric buzz

of the streetlights that are prepping for the oncoming eve.

His eyes are illuminated with a bright radiance

and I realize he is connected to the source I seek.

I join his dance and we can only smile gigantic,

language aches to profess this moment of creation.

A wayward passer-by veers toward us inquisitively,

unable to fight the magnetism of our dance duo.

Overcome with dance, the passer-by is now three and our light is brilliant.

More wanderers and seekers begin to descend into the trio,

quickly growing our numbers and quietly converting lives

from the darkness of singularity to the beauty of unity.

Our Gods dance, we dance, in this moment, all as one.

EMBRACER OR DESTROYER?

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Discarded into the trenches of American family values,

I taste mustard gas moralities on the breeze and it stings.

Weaponized bible-bombs explode unholy notions,

impaling the innocent and guilty equally

with shards of hate and the shrapnel of panic.

We that God created equal are now somehow different.

Our colored skins, figure shapes, mystic visions, and location, location, location

separate us siblings into rivals by our trivial factions.

Even as the bayonet bleeds the enemies dry,

the rivers of blood remain unnoticed by all.

No one seeing that each rivulet of death flows together

and in its' bloody delta, creates an identical sea of red.

Until death do us part, as we all are dying alone,

right here, right now, on this battlefield of life,

our brothers and our sisters, realizing at the end

that each of us was a treasure to be adored.

We realize, that each who slip away at the hands of the wrathful,

the survivors become weakened in the heart and in the soul.

We realize, that these arms were not meant to destroy,

they were meant to reach out and embrace each other.

And finally, we realize that in the reflection of each other’s eye

we are able to see ourselves staring back.

When you see yourself in my eyes,

will you be the embracer or will you be the destroyer?

ON THE MARCH

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None were glad about
the stretching of omission,
the stretching of her skirt,
she started for the door.
What was she doing?
They were a procession of specters,
gasping to catch their breath,
the young men to train,
they will see you,
after watching awhile.
We had never seen so many people,
forked by this winter's prophecy.
Straddling the arms and legs
are the needle sharp fangs,
so you will be at the mercy of the flow.
It will be light soon,
the two images will converge.
Trying to escape the encroaching haze,
a building hoard sweeps discreetly
to start a war,
to break the truce.
The things she knew,
what he had told her to wear...
she sighed to herself,
stuffing the blanket into the corner.
You are all children.
We are all soldiers.
Everyday, led by the collar,
before we have a chance
to reach the walls.

RANDOM GENERATION #1

Google image photo compilation

(The below piece was creating using random numbers generated and applied systematically to find the words within the book "Stone of Tears" by Terry Goodkind)


I won't, for this.
Been people and males, hit that
right determination side
touched without numbered ascension
as before.
You clothe rage...
You, at the coming,
at the above.
She wouldn't.
The yes up touch,
if that in,
ready I am.
We chair footprint.
I, if death to credit weapons,
magic to the protecting know
exchanged of temper,
was not to bring the dead