on Earth, we are many, damned...

'Christus in de Limbus', circa 1575
Follower of Hieronymus Bosch

       on Earth, we are many, damned...

part 1
(chorused still lives, decomposed recompensed faces)

we're gremlin-esque, secret 
and not so secret parishioners
of a sacred 'Atlas shrugged' 
schadenfreude inevitability 
a functionality 
of lowest common 
denominating divine...

a tillable scent 
of emotional need
so rife and ripe 
throughout the eons 
of a thirsty human history 
that thought and every life 
no matter how bright 
could quickly find 
shadows and erode...

this is where
we start to ride
where the children 
of Herculaneum
sought shelter 
and died...

we sight night shades 
to parse meanings ad nauseam 
attempting to mend all the fences 
with white spectrum mouth wash
some pretty words, maybe flowers, sweets 
and tiny soft peddled disorientation(s)...

our iris-ed acts of near humanity 
were almost always an accident
they were unbalanced bird-soars  
our leaps in the dark off a building
sounded like a sacks of flour
hitting an unseen pavement
many stories below
where that poem abruptly ended...

part 2
(a continuance of parlor legerdemain with so many vices)

tales and lore
there are many 
humans that still revere 
their every perched 
and pedestal-ed 
glorious thing...

we shot at these 
with deep magazine bb guns 
pretending our lives 
depended on this,
our tablature hymnal
and rituals...

we wanted to keep 
others under
knock them down 
control the things 
our bones in this life 
had so far failed to achieve...

bellow, wail and hum 
we low mutter-ed 
a theater of tricks-or-treats
as April's crawl back 
to the light 
doth fool some 

we grieve 
an infernal eternity
we make believe 
we're at church 
all the time 
praying, preying 
and playing 
every game 
we can rig, where
no one deserves 
a happy fate more 
than we do here...

EJR ©