Thursday, February 23, 2012

a poem, a prayer (my soul to take)

Apocalyptic poem, lone wolves

I drive. I listen. I check the rear-view.
I listen. I drive through radio-talk.

I drift.
Once dormant notions ...lone wolves
rattle among insightful words, positively spoken, dividing.
I resemble a shiver. It is not cold. 

My eyes remain on the road ahead, underlying priorities, day-to-day. 
My essence releases into hyper drive; shaking off would be scribbles, listening. 

Notions like zombies do not drop from the sky.

radio-talk invokes guillotines, apocalypses and chaos
by intent, to prepare, not
for Jesus a second coming, but that of another 
doctrine of influence to millions.

I shiver.
Dug, deep memories. Dense chill.

Christ Have Mercy
I am without practice, but influenced. 

Others pray for God to hasten the hidden.  Imam, a community led.
No more enmity, hatred. No more conflict. Positively spoken, yet dividing
as wolves are fed.

I am tempted to pray for disbelief.
Why must I pray my soul to take?
I shiver.

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