The Temple
In my early, disruptive thirties,
I wondered through
An aimless, broken land,
With a slew of past sins as my guide.
Along my travels,
I found a temple made of marble stone
Standing in the middle of nowhere.
Inside, nine disciples
Of Man, Woman and Beast
Sat around a table,
Feasting upon cuisine from their respected lands
While sharing stories of wonderment and loss.
They welcomed me into their ranks,
Offering food and wine
And a chair to rest upon.
Between the melancholy and merriment,
They looked to me and asked
Where my travels would take me.
I spoke of wondering
With no end in sight,
Ready to sleep upon the ground
So I would free myself
Of all my past sins.
One-by-one, they drank in my honor
And said,
“We’ve seen you fall
A hundred times.
And in those hundred, we’ve seen you rise
Ninety-nine times.
We were once as lost as you,
But through the company of friends and strangers,
We brought ourselves back to the light.
Never falter.
When the road isn’t clear and the light is twisted,
Look to us, and we will help
Guide your way.
As we finished our meals and said our farewells.
As I left, I turned to ask
If we should meet again,
And found the temple vanished
With no trace of its existence.
I continued onward,
Wondering to this very day
If what I saw was real or not.
Alexandria
Who would have thought
That a land with philosophers, thinkers, scholars and teachers,
Passing down treasured purveyor to life’s many ideas,
Would have transformed into
A multicultural, religious zealot infused cesspool
Of violent disagreements?
Who would have thought it?
Did it ever occur to those
Pagans, Christians, Jews and Muslims
To take their violent tenancies
Outside the boundaries of their home,
So well to do, like minded beings
May share a cup of knowledge after a day of thought?
Did they stop and think?
Were the streets ever crowded
With chanters, preachers, fascists and solders
Protesting justice against unwanted invaders,
While rioters disguised themselves
Crafting bonfires filled with knowledge
And deporting innocents into a pit called religious transformation?
Was it ever crowded?
How hard was it
For those deities of Egypt and Greece
To watch their temples and statues
Become smeared with racial graffiti,
Or broken down into dust and debris
Just to be replaced by the next generation’s beliefs?
How hard was it for them?
How would the king,
Who showed the world his smarts and divinity
Through pure, unrelenting willpower,
Would have felt knowing that
His once great bastion of open wisdom
Became a controversial pit of societal dysfunction to the world?
How would he have felt?
Mother’s Lament
Poor Grendel.
I understood you.
Once, I ran to catch the sun
So spring would always stay.
The more I gave chase,
The less I embrace
All the pleasures of home for my mind.
Poor Grendel.
Running from your home,
Chasing the universe for knowledge to hold
Between both your fingers.
Like the ox and boar,
We’re beasts, nothing more.
Why fool yourself thinking you’re better?
Poor Grendel.
Humans have always
Designed the world into their own making
So they can be happy.
Truth is always plain.
It drives Men insane
When their reality is broken.
Poor Grendel.
What will I do now
That you are gone, and I remain
In dark isolation?
Shall I catch a Dane
And bear one more Cain
To clean your bed of your existence?
Poor Grendel.
Let men know nothing
Of the cosmos you've chased,
While dirt and weeds claim you.
Your face now appealed
Throughout the King's halls,
Trading a son for a wild beast.