Author Information
Faith
I didn't grow up in the world of good and evil.
I grew up in the world as is;
You could call it good or evil.
They removed their masks
But continued the fantasy;
A tribute to learned blindness.
Searching for the meaning of life,
I found less irony in death.
I had a mother abstinent
In her isolation,
Who raised little boys
Weak enough that she could carry them.
She ate just to inhibit her desire,
Then cried because this had become
Her only desire.
This absorbing mass
In the center of
An aggressive and fiery family.
Fighting the natural evaporation.
So it became her stand,
The right to call a slow suicide
Her life;
The imperative to force the suicide
Onto undeveloped dependants.
After all, she named it something else.
This is the faith I grew up with,
Naming the world
Which would not willingly introduce its intentions
A faith, which wailed over reality
When the intentions we found
Rubbed against the sore and blistered bruises,
Developed by the Hope
Of childish souls
Inside disguised hells.
A hope, which cannot prevent the rot,
But manages to preserve something.
Weak bitches that assume they've embraced nihilism,
With unthinking actions,
Who search out,
Propped-churches
When thinking must be appeased.
And I knew a dying soul
Who wanted to accomplish something
Before he had to become a prisoner
To needed-meaning.
Who would read volumes in classrooms,
Amongst those who taunted him,
Who failed to play the games
Which would have given him
A passing grade.
He invented monarchs and epic wars in his head,
Just to cope with the external blows.
Who refused to cry
Because if he showed any emotion,
They'd see the erection too.
