The obligatory, one martini down, after a 13 hour university day, strange daily bloviation:
The Beasts, in the Revelations,
Invite humans, to Come and See.
They invite Humans,
To see their Crimes.
This is a calling to account.
Shall we all insist,
That our own tails,
must be served up,
And we all must eat, our own selves?
Because, our Demons, and handlers,
Count on,
That we must love ourselves,
Our apathy, greed, wrath, and all the rest,
More than knowing,
That these crimes,
Have prices.
We commit these crimes,
Against our own selves.
These children, we kill,
Are our own relatives, kin, and cousins.
All children of God.
This is our own inheritance,
We burn.
This is our neighbor, we raid,
And steal from.
Those goods are not mine.
I do not want any share,
Of their plunder.
Those goods are not mine,
Those things are not mine,
I do not covet them.
I do not want slaves.
I set slaves, free.
I would rather be humble,
And a person who tries,
Than a person,
Who does not regard animals,
As my fellow living things,
Let alone children,
Who some mother loved,
Breast fed,
And changed their diapers.
How can I hate them?
They are me, and I, am them.
They are my kin, my cousins,
My fellow travelers.
I would rather offer to them,
A cup of water, or wine, if I have it,
Or to share my meal.
If they can be Peaceful,
For as long as they are at my table,
Or in my house,
Or under my protection,
as are my fellow Guests,
All those for whom I am responsible,
to Serve, and Protect.
I recited these lines, with no regard, to History, or Other's Theology.
I recite for the Moon, or the Stars, or any who hears.
Let's be honest, I recite, because, I am moved to.
Whether or not, anyone else, is so moved, or offended, or does not care, for that poetry.
Read, or don't read.
As for me, I love language, and stories,
Sometimes I am fascinated by the Kerning, of Characters,
Or other Calligraphy matters, let alone, glorious illustrations,
We may take their shoes,
We may take their clothes.
We may take their teeth,
The metals of their dental fillings,
Their rings, their jewelry,
Their Glories, Their Children,
And their lives.
But, we shame ourselves
Even if you , or we, were to kill all of them.
You, and I, if we do that,
Are not worth,
One, of their Ghosts.
And you, and I, shall be haunted all of our days,
By the Angry Dead,
And a Wrathful God,
whose Son we murdered,
And now do so again.
Raped, Starved, and Murdered.
By Transitive Property,
Those Sins,
Were yours.
Or ours,
Or mine.
Because you, or I, we said nothing.
We did nothing, to prevent it.
We are therefore, complicit, in those Sins.
As if we ourselves, had committed them,
Because surely the guilty parties rarely make the objects,
Of their predations whole agaiin,
Therefore all of us, as counter parties,
Must and should be suspect.
And those sins, by transitive property,
The Sins of the whole human race,
become our sins,
If we do not proclaim them loudly,
And set our hands against them.
Lest the world forget its misdeeds,
Or we forget our own terrible Evils.
In all the languages,
By all the Names,
God Is, or Is Not.
A Rose would still smell as sweet,
And have all of it's thorns,
No matter what human,
Recognized it's beauty,
Or their blood flowed,
On it's thorns,
Regardless of whether that human,
Said "ouch" or "aayy",
Or whatever names or languages,
They use in Prayer, or in Pain.
They all came from their mother's wombs,
Were fed, and cared for,
Or did not live.
All God's Children,
Are precious to God,
Or else God was not God,
But something else.
The God, of a Garden,
Is a Gardener.
We are the Roses.
We are also the Weeds.
That is up to us,
And the Gardener.
I am for kindness.
Not because I am sinless.
We can choose life.
We can be kind.
We don't have to kill.
Sometimes we have to,
But if we do,
When we don't have to,
We have broken our own hearts,
The hearts of their parents,
When we kill their child,
And the Heart of God,
For we kill his children,
And he loves them,
As he loves us.
They are ourselves.
We have to make amends.
We can do better.
We can choose Life.
I am not advising any of you,
To destroy your arms,
Nor pull out your teeth, or claws.
But, merely to reflect.
Pause, as there was no note,
More significant,
In any symphony,
Nor great Composition,
Than that Pause,
Which gives Piano, or Forte,
It's introduction, and authority.
Listen to that Silence!
This is the calm,
Before the Storm.
The Clouds Before Thunder,
That moment between,
Darkness and Light.
Or the Reverse.
It's up to us.
There is no calvary.
We must be our own Angels.
God has already done his part.
For you Christians,
Jesus is the Eye of the Storm,
Cling to Him.
When the Storm comes.
Do not wish it to come.
As the Angel of Death does kill the Innocent.
This was written before, and is written again.
I prefer a Round Table.
Peers, who,
Although they do not agree on many things,
Agree on such important things,
The first being,
Wholesale slaughter is NO Solution,
That all at our round table opposes.
Ready, we are always, for War.
So that we may prevent it.
Prevent, it's worst cruelties,
It's worst excesses of violence.
Because we oppose it.
There is another way.
There is a Law,
That is Fair,
True, Merciful.
And, for All.
We can do better than War.
There are countless paths,
Other than violence.
We do not have to steal,
Nor plunder, nor raid.
Nor enslave our neighbors.
We are clever apes,
I swear it,
Look at this math, and science,
Instead of making our Death,
Let us, use those Gifts,
To make our Life, Together.
Or...let us live apart, in Peace.
I have War and Death in one Hand,
And Peace and Love in the Other,
I know which I love, and which one I hate,
There are other paths,
Than Death, or Killing.
God does not like our murder,
I can promise you all, of that.
I don't either.
Do you?
I would rather feed you,
and laugh and cry with you,
Than kill you, or be killed by you,
Or see your mother or mine weep.
I have no tribe.
I have a well, and a tent.
All are welcome,
So long as they abide,
With same due courtesy,
As do the other guests,
In my tent, or at this well.
All our Welcome.
Refresh yourself, Stranger,
At this Well, and in my Tent,
leave your troubles,
Behind you,
Find Peace.
All shall be protected,
Who are peaceful, at this well.
