godliness

Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 










Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 

 

 



Her guises were stripped off

Like paint;

 

I had wondered where she could 

have gotten to—to act like a saint

 

The earthquakes have multiple meanings, after all:

 

There are moments of truth. 

But our attitudes, in facing them, such are several.

 

Why should we try to act on certain

situations, just to make us huge?

 

Her views of change mattered to

me, for lacking subterfuge

 

'Tis so raw, so fresh, 

so debilitatingly godly

 

When fake media is stressed, let all

disdain blasphemy.

 

Are we just spirits in human bodies,—

in the physicality?—

 

 

For, when— it makes it clear,

our true selves gather up

a multitudes' spirituality!











Author's Notes/Comments: 

"Transcendence (And Body Politic)", w/c is also an affected poem, previously titled "Transcendence", is a repost from my Twitter platform (inevitably composed on April 29, 2017/at around "06:58"...based from the deemed quirky causes & that perhaps had sprung from thoughts of a possible love interest (rather assumptive [on my part] & my motivations were unclear; thus, a type of a poem like this was done).  Also, I had edited this version (a little bit by modifying the use of punctuation marks & perhaps the stanzas/form, those were minor tweaks).

 

 

Holier Than Thou

Forgiveness is something needed,

For oneself, when we know we have hurt another,

Some people think they're perfect,

And that they only hurt others when they intend to.

 

Truth is, we hurt each other every day,

In one way or another, reason being,

No one IS perfect, just born blind about being human,

And having flaws, making mistakes,

And being the same, but different.

 

Men hate their differences 

And glorify their religions

Instead of glorifying the gods.

We have built ourselves up to be

Something great in our minds,

But so small in reality, 

That we can no longer even see,

We are nothing we claim to be.

 

Too much talk and no action,

Allowing money in the hand to mean satisfaction,

We all have blood on our hands,

Our prints on the gallows,

We've all murdered you know,

As we chant 'Hail Marys' 

And His name be 'Hallowed',

As long as innocent men,

Are murdered on death row, 

Better talk to yourself about forgiveness,

Cause anyone could be next ....you know?

 

Preachers and teachers,

All the blessed ones,

Get in line on Sundays,

And then go home to clean their guns,

Running their mouths,

About things that they read,

Never finding out for sure,

If it's even true, indeed,

The way to compassion 

Is through examples, not your mouth,

And a good place to start might be 

To start with yourself.

 

You may want to tell me

This is one big croc of s*it,

And that's ok, because it works for me,

And that's why I wrote it.

 

 

 

8:43 PM 7/2/2013 ©