::
Sugar Tongues.
If it does not happen now, it is not going to.
If you do not get up now, you are not going to.
Well, I don’t want to.
I do not want to promise myself away to the
years-years-years-years
Of meaninglessness.
“What are you going to be? What are you going to be? What are you going to be?”
I want and need nothing of your counterfeit inquiries. You don’t care and it’s too much to believe that you ever really will. And it’s painfully obvious. So, spare me of them. Spare me of them and pull them out of your mouth and off of your tongue and teeth and throw them in the garbage with the rest of the peels of the things you’ve cut on.
I only wish to worry the “who.”
Now leave me the hell alone.
::
The Verse.
Quote The Verse. Over-and-over-and-over-and-over.
Pretend like you know what you’re saying. Say it again-and-again-and-again.
Promise to believe it. Promise to believe it. Promise to believe it.
I can’t.
But it will set you free! The Gospel will hang! It will love! It will endure!
I can’t.
He knows you! He knows me!
I can’t.
You must. You must. You must.
I should.
You should. You should. You should.
I did.
Why ever would you now denounce the He?
I didn’t. You did.
Damn you for such falsity! You heathen, you child, you fool! Believe it now!
I used to. I want to again. In fact, I do. Yes, I do, but what we believe, it is not the same. My He is a Love. It is a version of the He that you cannot possibly understand. I wish you could roll away your stone. I wish you could come out of your Cave. I wish you could lay down that leather-bound weapon you keep in your back-pocket.
I have no weapon! (he thuds on the Gospel)
That is your weapon. That Book is nothing more than a means for you to fight. It is not your Faith. It is not your Love. It is your firearm, and it tickles and delights you inside to pull the trigger. Does it make you feel important? Does it make you feel Nearer-My-God-To-Thee?
You denounce in this House-Of-The-Lord!
I have not denounced. We both know I am speaking The Truth. The Love. The Love. The Love. That is all there is. That is all He would have wanted.
(he nods his head)
So, tell me, Brother, does it make you feel safe?
Yes.
Me, too.
::
Rime.
Cold was the War. And your heart was already frozen-like-ice.
Yes, the ice already hung in your chamber and turned itself into a winding shaft and stabbed you.
And it stabbed you over-and-over.
Every time you took a deep breath.
Every time you bent over to tie-your-laces.
Every time you rolled over in your sleep.
It stabbed you.
And you knew it.
And you asked for someone to melt it.
Yes, we tried to melt the icicle, born of your youth, born of the War, born of the time.
We were too late.
The Sun was going down and the Winter was coming up around The Bend.
But why did you go so long?
Why didn’t you try and melt it sooner?
We would never know, but we asked it over and over as we laid down our shovels,
And the rain dripped itself into the fresh soil over his grave.
And we stood there, staring, asking, wondering.
And the children in the field, somewhere over The Bend,
Started laughing and dancing as the rain turned to snow.
We gathered them, took them into the houses and watched through the thick glass of our windows as the snow turned into ice.
The ground froze that night. And we couldn’t plant a crop. We couldn’t get our shovels to do their work.
And the icicles hung around our awnings. And they threatened to stab as the sun rose again and melted them like honey dripping through the curves of the comb. And they dropped. And they dropped loud. And they shattered.
We had never seen a Winter so cold.
::
Flora’s Wind-Up.
The Wind started whipping, whooping, hurling itself into the moon.
The Sirens started blaring, blurring our judgement.
They grabbed their bags and ran into the ground.
But we weren’t prepared,
So we blocked-it-all-out.
And we started to dance.
And we held each other,
The night the world was coming to an end.
And they shouted at us from their burrows,
But we weren’t listening,
So we kept-on holding one another.
And we talked about the first time we met, and how it rained.
And we talked about the Summer,
The night the world was coming to an end.
They gave up on us. They called us fools.
So, we called out to the Wind and we told him to give up.
And we called out to the Sirens and we told all of them to shut-the-hell-up.
And they both listened.
The wind died down.
The sirens stopped.
They came out of their burrows and joined in the dance,
The night the world was coming to an end.
And we all met up around the fire the next night and we danced again.
And that’s all we did for the rest of our nights and we-tried-our-best to forget
The night the world was coming to an end.
Quote The Verse. Over-and-over-and-over-and-over.
Pretend like you know what you’re saying. Say it again-and-again-and-again.
Promise to believe it. Promise to believe it. Promise to believe it.
I can’t.
But it will set you free! The Gospel will hang! It will love! It will endure!
I can’t.
He knows you! He knows me!
I can’t.
You must. You must. You must.
I should.
You should. You should. You should.
I did.
Why ever would you now denounce the He?
I didn’t. You did.
Damn you for such falsity! You heathen, you child, you fool! Believe it now!
I used to. I want to again. In fact, I do. Yes, I do, but what we believe, it is not the same. My He is a Love. It is a version of the He that you cannot possibly understand. I wish you could roll away your stone. I wish you could come out of your Cave. I wish you could lay down that leather-bound weapon you keep in your back-pocket.
I have no weapon! (he thuds on the Gospel)
That is your weapon. That Book is nothing more than a means for you to fight. It is not your Faith. It is not your Love. It is your firearm, and it tickles and delights you inside to pull the trigger. Does it make you feel important? Does it make you feel Nearer-My-God-To-Thee?
You denounce in this House-Of-The-Lord!
I have not denounced. We both know I am speaking The Truth. The Love. The Love. The Love. That is all there is. That is all He would have wanted.
(he nods his head)
So, tell me, Brother, does it make you feel safe?
Yes.
Me, too.
::
Rime.
Cold was the War. And your heart was already frozen-like-ice.
Yes, the ice already hung in your chamber and turned itself into a winding shaft and stabbed you.
And it stabbed you over-and-over.
Every time you took a deep breath.
Every time you bent over to tie-your-laces.
Every time you rolled over in your sleep.
It stabbed you.
And you knew it.
And you asked for someone to melt it.
Yes, we tried to melt the icicle, born of your youth, born of the War, born of the time.
We were too late.
The Sun was going down and the Winter was coming up around The Bend.
But why did you go so long?
Why didn’t you try and melt it sooner?
We would never know, but we asked it over and over as we laid down our shovels,
And the rain dripped itself into the fresh soil over his grave.
And we stood there, staring, asking, wondering.
And the children in the field, somewhere over The Bend,
Started laughing and dancing as the rain turned to snow.
We gathered them, took them into the houses and watched through the thick glass of our windows as the snow turned into ice.
The ground froze that night. And we couldn’t plant a crop. We couldn’t get our shovels to do their work.
And the icicles hung around our awnings. And they threatened to stab as the sun rose again and melted them like honey dripping through the curves of the comb. And they dropped. And they dropped loud. And they shattered.
We had never seen a Winter so cold.
::
Flora’s Wind-Up.
The Wind started whipping, whooping, hurling itself into the moon.
The Sirens started blaring, blurring our judgement.
They grabbed their bags and ran into the ground.
But we weren’t prepared,
So we blocked-it-all-out.
And we started to dance.
And we held each other,
The night the world was coming to an end.
And they shouted at us from their burrows,
But we weren’t listening,
So we kept-on holding one another.
And we talked about the first time we met, and how it rained.
And we talked about the Summer,
The night the world was coming to an end.
They gave up on us. They called us fools.
So, we called out to the Wind and we told him to give up.
And we called out to the Sirens and we told all of them to shut-the-hell-up.
And they both listened.
The wind died down.
The sirens stopped.
They came out of their burrows and joined in the dance,
The night the world was coming to an end.
And we all met up around the fire the next night and we danced again.
And that’s all we did for the rest of our nights and we-tried-our-best to forget
The night the world was coming to an end.
::
Lunar + Solar.
Night pushes up Day.
He lifts Her into our reality and He shrouds Her from the darkness on the other-side-of-the-world.
Day pulls down Night.
And She tells Him to wait for Her on the other-side-of-the-world.
And that’s all they do. They push-and-pull-and-push-and-pull.
Sweetly dancing up-and-down.
And they go on-and-on playing hide-and-seek with each other from the other-side-of-the-world.
Night pushes up Day.
He lifts Her into our reality and He shrouds Her from the darkness on the other-side-of-the-world.
Day pulls down Night.
And She tells Him to wait for Her on the other-side-of-the-world.
And that’s all they do. They push-and-pull-and-push-and-pull.
Sweetly dancing up-and-down.
And they go on-and-on playing hide-and-seek with each other from the other-side-of-the-world.
::
Veracity: DCT.
If the Forms are God,
And the Concepts are Wisdom,
And the Things are Knowledge,
And the Images are Sensation,
And if I exist only because my parents existed,
And back-back-back into the eons,
They all existed,
And if Anselm says, “That Than Which Nothing Greater Can Be Thought,”
Well, I can define things, too.
Is that The Proof?
And if Aquinas says, “MOTION!”
And if I have The Potential to Move,
Well, who will start The Movement?
And whose digit was it that first flicked that first domino with great fervor and hope...
And that effect led it down-down-down and we all fell,
Well, was it The-Hand-of-God?
Was there only Void before?
And if I am a Necessary Being,
But there was a time when I was not necessary, and there will come a time when I will no longer be necessary to anyone or to anyone’s memory.
Oh, I do need Order. I need a More-Intelligent-Being to give me direction to move me towards My End.
Yes, I need it like the way the archer needs to direct his arrow to the bull’s-eye.
And if He only requires, or, rather, commands the Morally Right Actions, then I suppose I’ll just sit-and-wait.
I hate to question The Verse. I hate it. And I hate to question The Minds. I hate it.
Lead me to The Truth and I will follow you with my whole life,
Because it all makes me pretty tired.
If the Forms are God,
And the Concepts are Wisdom,
And the Things are Knowledge,
And the Images are Sensation,
And if I exist only because my parents existed,
And back-back-back into the eons,
They all existed,
And if Anselm says, “That Than Which Nothing Greater Can Be Thought,”
Well, I can define things, too.
Is that The Proof?
And if Aquinas says, “MOTION!”
And if I have The Potential to Move,
Well, who will start The Movement?
And whose digit was it that first flicked that first domino with great fervor and hope...
And that effect led it down-down-down and we all fell,
Well, was it The-Hand-of-God?
Was there only Void before?
And if I am a Necessary Being,
But there was a time when I was not necessary, and there will come a time when I will no longer be necessary to anyone or to anyone’s memory.
Oh, I do need Order. I need a More-Intelligent-Being to give me direction to move me towards My End.
Yes, I need it like the way the archer needs to direct his arrow to the bull’s-eye.
And if He only requires, or, rather, commands the Morally Right Actions, then I suppose I’ll just sit-and-wait.
I hate to question The Verse. I hate it. And I hate to question The Minds. I hate it.
Lead me to The Truth and I will follow you with my whole life,
Because it all makes me pretty tired.
::
I sure do hope that you liked this post and my second attempt at saying something important through literary works of verse. Because, it is important for you to remember that this is important stuff we’re doing here.
Yours,
katie beth
