Never mind the physics (molten steel
that ran like tears down stories never told)
of demolitions secretly controlled
and falsely waving flags that sealed the deal.
Never mind the motives (black and gold
and greedy hearts of war too cold to feel
the pain of innocents who'll NEVER heal)
of those corrupt enough to be so bold.
Never mind the casualties, reveal
the truth that 9/11 was foretold --
a "new Pearl Harbor" waiting to unfold
the flag of so-called patriotic zeal...
Keep Off the 'Shrooms
(The Revelation of John the Divine)
Munching on some mushrooms, suddenly...
I saw a beast rise up out of the sea
with seven heads, ten horns (on each a crown),
and on the heads the name of blasphemy.
The pelt was kind of like a leopard's, brown
and spotted up; but oddly, looking down,
I saw his feet were much more like a bear's,
then up again to see a lion's frown!
Some dragon gave him power and an air
of great authority upon a chair,
because, I think, of his horrendous scar --
a wound that must have left him dead, I swear!
The world began to marvel, near and far,
and worship both the dragon and the scarred.
"Who's like this beast!", I heard somebody say,
"Can anyone defeat this Mourning Star?!"
And then was given him a certain way
to speak abominations night and day
to anyone with ears with which to hear
the blasphemies he wanted to convey:
"Who leads into captivity
shall go into captivity!
Who lives by clinging to the sword
shall perish by the ringing sword!
Here is the patience and the faith of saints!"
And then I saw another beast was coming from the earth,
with horns of lamb or ram descent, a voice of dragon birth,
he exercised the power of the first to break the seal,
and caused the Earth to worship one whose deadly wound was healed.
He conjured fire in the sky within the sight of men,
deceiving them to spread the word to every nation's kin.
For great or small, and rich or poor, and free or bond alike,
the time had come to take a mark or die on hunger strike;
for nobody could buy or sell without that little mark within their brows or in their hands, embracing in The Dark
the name or number of the beast (whichever one they picked)
numeric'ly denoted as "six hundred, sixty-six".
Then waking from that juicy trip, a final vision came to me:
the purple vomit, blowing chunks of funky mushrooms by the sea.
Let's walk between the cemetery stones
inscribed with all that matters in the end:
the names and dates above the buried bones
of lovers, family members, and our friends.
Let's pause before the smallest one of those:
a crumbling little block of chalky white
atop the grave for whom god only knows,
whose epitaph has faded out of site.
An Eagle, once majestic, soared above
all other birds of prey, of song, or flight,
on massive wings propelling (left and right) together for the sake of life and love.
An Eagle, once majestic, fed her young,
atop the craggy cliffs above the sea,
to help them grow to self-sufficiency
and independence from their mother's tongue.
An Eagle, once majestic, fluttered down--
her right wing wouldn't flap beside her left,
not even though it brought her certain death
among the lowly creatures on the ground.
An Eagle, once majestic, now decays
beneath the sky she ruled in better days.
Learning daily of the devastation,
lessons wrought as total deprivation,
teaching elementary desolation,
failing in the social revelation,
doomed to mirror the passing generation:
educating this (abomi)nation.
And in affect, that bleak abomination,
perpetuated future devastation,
by leaving heirs of total deprivation
the ethics of their moral desolation…
to crush the hope of any revelation
for students of the coming generation --
the hope, in fact, of every generation.
But can we heal the sore abomination?
Reverse the Inquisition's devastation?
Construct, amid the literal deprivation,
a learned oasis in this desolation?
Can we beget a 'Holy' revelation,
whose nature is a human revelation?
Spontaneously push our generation
away from dogma-based abomination,
beyond the shadows cast by devastation
from crosses of Golgothic deprivation,
where not a soul would feel the desolation?
And from the absence of that desolation,
renewed divinely in our revelation,
Humanity might spark the generation
of education sans abomination,
without the fear of future devastation.
If not a total lack of deprivation,
at least a lack of total deprivation
would finally erase the “desolation”
that's bound within the Book of Revelation;
as students of the Final Generation
would understand the true “abomination”
had always been RELIGION's devastation.
This is my generation’s Revelation
to The Abomination's Desolation:
your deprivation was your devastation.
A lonely, everlasting point of view
amid the ebb and flow of lapping waves
that bear the palls to underwater graves
of all created near the restless blue,
a sculptor works alone upon the shore;
a low-tide architect of watered sands;
a master, notwithstanding filthy hands
that shape the 'scrapers of medieval lore...
to CRASH back down to Earth in tidal highs...
to drown the castles in the lowest lows...
to cause the precious work to decompose,
denying only "Him" that sweet demise.
My God, how fucking helpless must you be...
to watch as your creation's swept to sea?
Where children learn to teach the old,
the weak to bear the strong;
where those who can will give up hope,
and those who can't will carry on;
where brave men run away and hide,
and cowards stay to face their fears;
where those who talk and listen well
to hear the deathly silence: HERE.