Reason Swirls

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Reason swirls in

rippled tidal waves,

schools of thought

propelled along rip tides of random compulsion;

Mind must master momentum

or be dragged to Davy Jones’ locker,

misled by swanky salesmen.

Lies ring true when artificial authenticity

sweeps senses out to sea,

when truth is misplaced

on the shelf next to pulp fiction.

The undiscerning dragnet

will troll for all species indiscriminately;

not every fish is worth the fry.

 *

‘…take captive every thought…’

The Friday Called Good

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Which of me is real,

and which is the hoax?

Lies parading as truth,

nightmares pretending to be certain,

make down look high

and sky resemble grave.

Just such a grave once swallowed the Truth,

spat on Hope,

beat Justice into submission;

my fists flailed Saviour,

my arrogance gripped hammer.

As Dark grew blacker still,

Light split its circumference,

and the worst Friday in history

became

Good.

I

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I have been what I am not,

I have spurned what I’ve been taught;

I have buried what’s alive,

I have fed what should have died.

I have worn denial’s ring,

I have crowned deception king;

I have shouted silent lies,

I have swallowed truthful cries.

I have welcomed midnight thieves,

I have broken boundaries;

Could you love one such as I?

Yes, My love, My precious child –

I have waited long for you,

I became a child to prove

My love is big enough to free

you from yourself, so come to  Me.” 

Iron Maiden

Through the Iron Maiden’s bars

I spy a fairyland, a place

where peace grows, seeded row by row

with roots of safety, soil of grace.

But Iron Maiden bids me stay,

she bars the path to enter in;

whispers how I don’t belong,

hints at defect deep within

so here I stop, with longing gaze,

aching for the scene I spy,

wanting Eden’s leafy rest,

believing Iron Maiden’s lie.

Your Loss

Lies slip off your forked tongue like butter,

which of course wouldn’t melt in that mouth.

Simpering sweetly, you charm and hoax

and hide a heart with rotten flesh,

a fruit whose decay runs to the core

but whose skin pretends otherwise.

Ever the deflector, you shove your shame

onto passers-by with innocent gaze.

Now that I have found you out,

you snake in the grass,

you wretched, blind, diseased Edenic apple,

mine will be a Sword of Truth,

cutting through the atrophied layers to expose the blight.

If you choose,

my blow could bring your gangrene fresh air;

the inner putrescence, if allowed to contact Reality,

can become nutritious and satisfying

(after the pain of exposure fades).

But I fear that you will cover your rot with

another cloak of magical skin

and hide your maggots from Truth’s reach.

Your loss…

Lies are Rats

Image courtesy of Morris Pest Control

Lies are rats

Incessantly gnawing

Destroying and jawing

By grinding insatiable tooth

Black as night –

Disease-ridden giants

In skin of defiance

Are  vermin – unkempt and uncouth

Furtive beasts

Disappearing at will

Lurking secret and still

Invisible spectres of doom

Evil pests –

Reproducing in shame

Offspring spring off the name

Forcing Truth – their Plague – to the tomb