mercy trumps all

September 22, 2010

with the boredom of a billy goat…
the blaze` of the loon…
the melancholly of the mink,
the indifference of the baboon…

who really cares,
about the parallel of things,
when the world is full of curvy lines,
and fraying, knotted strings?

Can you try
to rhyme the sky,
or mirror rigidity?

Treasures lost,
shoes to untie,
unwritten mystery…

who will play the part,
oh no, who will play the tune,
who will know what’s to be known,
who will shine the noon?

Look, the moon is setting,
look the rising suns.
For the north-south seers,
from right to left, hope runs.

Warmer of the winters,
Bringer of the days,
Counter of the eons,
Lighter of all ways…

the bane of long-drawn darkness…
the oracle, twilight, 
‘t’s been said before,
once -maybe more-
hope runs, left to right,

for those shown up and down,
while side to side, sits out.
And those who hear a song of love,
when grief-drown hearts try-shout!

With ears of softest skin,
With hearts of sun-tanned flesh.
Are heard such agony-cries,
As pain trickling down, afresh.

Oh bitter, broken, wounded world,
Tortured, created, beseiged…
To think once you were beautiful,
“Good” Who would’ve believed?

And yet…
oh, and yet!

Mercy trumps all
From our fall.


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