_____
More Beautiful Than
Figure.
Conjure up in your mind
the absolute worst
image.
Imagine it fully in
your numbest brain cells.
Do you have it? Do you
understand what that says
about you?
How do you live with
yourself
thinking the kinds of
things that you do?
Worse yet -
How does a holy, perfect, loving
awful
God
live. With you on His mind?
Pieces of dirt formed
into the most beautiful
of images.
Words
spilled
out onto the ground
to form your face.
sincerely sighing silence
forms into
your soul. Yuh wuh
Yuch wuch
Yehh Wehh
Silence just breathing?
Proclamation of breath
constantly revealing.
Reliving.
Reviving his beautiful essence.
You can't escape it. Stop
trying so hard to ignore
His words on your lips,
your trachea forcing you
to mutter His undimmable Name.
Accept the fate He wants
So desperately
for you.
That horrible thing you thought?
He made it
more beautiful
than.
__________
At the Feet of Lenin
An imposition, though perhaps warranted.
The concrete is shaded and feels cool
to my touch.
My backpack rests beside me, tilted back,
looking into the fires of socialist art.
His red hands are daunting, graffiti bespeaking
his politics and despotism - blood of the martyrs.
I cannot help but be silent.
For those who wander there may yet
be some hope in our eyes.
For those who cry, we may yet
see redemption in the shadows.
Dappling tree-branch sunlight
causes his eyes to blink. His minute
smile showing wisdom and
knowledge - full knowledge of what
he did to his country. Where he was.
His feet flat, solid on the metal ground,
his chest thrust emphatically into an
impossible future. Little could he
have know his impact.
Nor do those sitting on little metal chairs
eating falafel at little metal tables.
The red flag stone of the courtyard
eerily echoes his birthplace, tourists
call it quaint.
Staring at his plaque with "oohs" and "ahhs"
they call it history - removed from them.
Walking away they remember their well-
loved welfare and mother's voices telling
them to share.
The all-seeing eye from a masonic lodge
looks upon the whole scene bemused,
having worked opposing for centuries,
now forced to recall its weariness
minute to hour to day to century.
Its moral compass spinning in vain,
unable to face its fear.
Amusing. Lovely, sunshining day lavishes
the wealth of summer as I sit and
wallow in decades of philosophy, my
mind awash in wonder.
The imposing figure at my back
calls to me. It asks me to work.
It asks me to hold the human race
to a higher standard.
It asks for peace.
________
Frisbee in the Loop
Watching those who love me most
playing the sport they love the most.
Contentment.
Hearing their shouts of joy, cries of defeat,
switching sides as points are won for posterity.
Boundaries.
Flashes of skin as slick fabric uncovers stomachs,
legs and arms in its haste to allow for movement.
Beautiful.
Passersby smiling, taking in the sights of
gleeful barreling through two-inch grass.
Flexibility.
Neon shades among various blacks, blues, and whites,
visually calling out everything they hope for.
Excitement.
Green - green as far as the eye can see in this town.
The end-zone cones stand in stark contrast.
Quizzical.
Forwards caps, backwards hats, personifying
attitudes and fervor for this aural art.
Fantasy.
How wondrous to be among people with light
in the right places of their minds and games.
Christ.
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