unlimited

You have made the eternal decision
my brother
casting yourself upon another
to love and protect.

Please follow the lead set for you
by our elders
the generation who committed themselves fully
allowing nothing to breach the bonds of holy love.

Not war, famine, immigration, holocaust
could break their connections
for the union which binds you
let no man or women break.

Yet do not forget the man you have become
do not cast yourself
to the fate of blue collar Americana
living in personal misery at the cost of love.

Your gift of thought and inquisition
should not be cast aside
for you cannot truly love another
until you live your life in the direction of hope and fufillment.

One cup of life cannot remain full of bounty
while the others are putrid and foul
rotting away at the love
which you run to at full speed.

She can only be your north and south
if you take the time to find your seed of life
and plant it in the garden of personal fufillment
beyond the love that aches your soul and strains your bones.

She will be more than you can ever imagine
and I hope the world of happiness for you
my brother
yet heed my sliver of wisdom.

She will lose you to the abyss of pain and loathing
if you do not find your own way
if you are not fufilled in all aspects of your life,
neither will she.

You are unlimited, my brother
do not squander your hope and visions
because you will feel the deepest loss
if love leaves your heart
at the expense of the man you can become.

You are unlimited, my brother.

forgotten feet

In this supposed great nation,
a place of wealth and power
acts of disgrace and immoral treatment
occur
upon my fellow man.

In a nation where clothes make the man,
we continue to allow man and child
to fall asleep on our streets
and search for offal and scraps in our waste.

We the healers I believe,
are the unfortunate souls who keep the pain
of the homeless and helpless in our souls.

We see the sadness and agony of disease
ravishing man's body merely for the fact
that he belongs to the caste of the untouchable.

Yet, I will place my hands upon you my friend,
I will attempt to heal your pain and treat your wounds
despite the raging infection licking its lips upon your legs.

I will expire the sanguine pustulence,
from the fluctuent masses,
I will tease the maggots from your wound
and wash your feet
long tired from miles without shoes.

We will house you from the bitter cold,
save your skin from the torment of the beating sun
and feed your empty heart
and satiate your bellowing bowels.

For it is the healers in this nation of gluttony and greed
who face the unending flood of forgotten souls
and dying minds who roam
these wealthy streets.

ink

I want
your sultry tattoo
in the darkness
of my pitch black heaven.

Whisper your fantasy
deep into my soul.
The unspeakable hunger
that burns inside.

Tell me you want me
inside your dreams.
Craving my addiction of you
relapses in the night.

You are my downward spiral,
the torture of lust
and masochistic compulsion:
bound by a diamond ring.

You are a lingering taste
a finish of eternity;
my sensual palate
only desires your sweet essence.

Sit, and let me kiss those lips,
feeling the cold countertop beneath you,
my breath millimeters from suffocation;
intoxicating nectar of trust.

Steam the mirrors
and hide our carnal act
beneath the torrent of rushing water
and the gusts of blowing wind.

Take me to the edge
and never let me return.

I want your skin
inked to perfection
twisted about my soul
accepting each tantric advance.

blasphemy

Do you believe in a God?
Do you follow him/her blindly into the night?
Do you ask questions that mortals claim to answer from beyond?
Can you let your life be ruled by "a good book?"

Have you read a good book lately?
Has it changed your mind?
Driven you to alter your course and modify your path?
Would you want your book to be the only book?

The book around which all life revolves?

The recipe:
Wage war in the name of your book.
Rape and plunder in the name of your book.
Commit "unworthy" souls to "hell" and damnation in the name of your book.
Hate in the name of your book.

Hell, preach to others to live their lives in the image of your protagonist.
The main character: a carpenter.
"Act, think, feel, imagine, and live as this man and redemption will be yours!"

Prostrate yourself to the mortal men,
those who have raped,
those who have plundered,
those who have hated...in the name of your book.

Blasphemy!

The final chapter: "life, ever lasting."
The goal, the finish line of life: heaven.
A mother's teaching:
"It must be a nice place, no one has ever come back to complain."

Dead people cannot complain mother.
They decay and return to the earth
upon which they evolved.

I will expire: exhale the final breath of life and die.

I do not seek an "eternal life" among the "people of the book."
For I am merely a small chapter in a book of poems,
as the revolutions of this earthly orb turn my pages,
until this chapter ends.

I exist only in the fiction of carbon and nitrogen.
A mortal attempt to ease the pain, suffering, and disease
of the walking dead.