the book of dying 2:2…

greed blinds men this death knew
so offered wealth instead of freedom
so men submitted for personal gain
so their dreams were easily raped

 

self-preservation…

nothing like love
she
said
this was just
a
convenient
relationship
we
shared
rent
utilities
food
and
such
as well as
a
bed
but
this wasn’t
about
love
tho
he was here
for
the last
ten years
or
so
but
this
still
wasn’t
about
love
did
you know
he
left his wife
for
me
but
he was
old school
catholic
and
wouldn’t divorce
well
couldn’t
since
she wouldn’t agree
this
wasn’t
about
love
but
he
cried
when
i
died
no
this
wasn’t
about
love
it
was about
two
becoming
one

 

 

wearer beware…

there were
oceans
of
dreams
spilling over
my
youthful hours
hours
spent
naively blind
to
to my own
history
and
constrained beliefs
that
social propaganda
applied
to
my
thinking
webs
of
lies
spun
into
history books
and
daily routines
webs
of
deceit
molded
into
invisible
leg irons
lighter
than
air
so
we wearers
were
unaware
of
their presence
but
they
have been
far
more
confining
than
those cast
of
iron
for
if one
controls
the soul
then
there is
no
escape

 

monitoring the situation…

brunch new york cafe
un officials discuss
ground level zero
all the world’s dying children
until the poached eggs arrive

 

dead on arrival…

i lie
in
an open grave
the
stars stare
at
me
in amazement
of
my foolish beliefs
that
i was
free
and could
become
and
attain
anything
but
the stars
know
for they have watched
men
for
centuries
and
understand
that few
are
free
and that
most
are slaves
to
the desires
of
others
though
vassals believe
it
is their desires
that
command
the course
of
their future
but
that
is mere
delusion
a systemic inculcation
carefully
crafted
for
the benefit
of
those in power
a lie
repeated
so
many times
that
like a child
told
to believe
in
the unbelievable
believes
a sandstone dream
the banks
of
one’s soul
on
a raging river
of
greed
only
recognized
when
the shore
of
faith
gives way
and
you end up
in
an
open grave
being
stared at
by
the stars