By: Russell from the WWW

Healing Wounding Water

Tears rain down upon this human Eden,
Softly washing the blood out of the gutters;
Caressing a monstrosity so ungrateful,
Whetting the heart that beats so viciously.

Angels weep for the struggle; we writhe,
Ignorant, march foolishly onward
Wading through the mud of the Garden,
Hoping to escape the sudden invisible downpour.

Faster! This heart must beat two-fold:
Stretched to the limit, threatening to burst...
The gutters have filled, are brimming again.
The salty flood has ended - we are bleeding once more.

Man With Wings to Man

"Art thou my sainted messenger?" said Man to Man With Wings.
"Not I," said He, "for thou art me - save I am winged unlike thee!"
"How now?" said Man "With holy wings doth thou perform mortality?
Thou are not me - for Man can see - thy wings say thou art heavenly!"
"Ah, for Man is blind," said He, "Why not see thou that I am thee?
I stand for thee - and shall ever be the side of Man not here to see.
Think not from Heaven cometh me, for my heart and soul are sprung from
Thy mind doth form my sanctity - unleash me now and fly like me.
Thou thinkest me as Heavenly - doth thou now see that I am thee?"
"Why, yes!" said Man too thoughtfully, "For I am thee and thou art me!
I'll set thou free and soar with thee. Oh what great powers shall have we!"

"But beware", said Man With Wings to Man;

"Thou art to gain through knowing me. Thy wings are great yet new to thee.
Let not they wings to soar too high, nor touch the edges of the sky.
For if thou challenge Heavenly, torn from thy body thy wings shall be -
And thy life for all eternity shall be as before thou knewest me.
I warn thee Man: watch how we fly - as thou not knowest the heights too
For Wise Man shall fly for answers he needs;
While Fool shall be punished for flights made in greed."

One Large

One large mask, dripping deceit,
Hides the ugly, repulsive face
Of a man who kills his brother.
One large play, acted so well,
Projects the dreams and fantasies
Of a thief who knows the truth.
One large story, told with vigour,
Drums the barricade to permanence
By a prisoner with hope of escape.
One large world, fashioned so nicely,
By a race of fleeting, lying cannibals
Refusing to step outside and look in.

The Sport of Being

It's a viscious game;
No rules apply.
The traps are set:
Come role the die.
The aim is plain -
To win you bet.
To lose if fine,
We'll soon forget.
You pay a price -
Nothing's free.
Return again;

Go tell your friends and family:
This age-old game played wilfully
Shall bring you loss and pain.
Our children shall contest again:
Blame ourselves - we bought the game.

Always A Way Home


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