POEM 255: WHEN PAIN’S ALL YOU HAVE LEFT
a sage believes he is as good as his God
and also, as good as god.
so he dives into a pool of sin
and cast aspersions on the papacy
but a sage forgets to remember
he is a son, a friend, a lover
ans is an enigma flawed
yet a sage would none of these acknowledge
for to death does he love his heart’s chagrin.
So much he dares the pain you inflict
and cares little like less love’s lingering plague
a sage walks bare sole
into an inferno of fleeting thighs
and dips deep his unclad soul
into dim lit life passages,
trapped, a sage’s soul sings sad lullabies
to babies made while men slept
and babies laid while none wept
a sage knows it is a sin, blasphemy
but he’s as good as god
and scribbles satire of a lovelorn rabbi
what worse pain can sin repay?
a sage doesn’t know paydays don’t postpone
and karma would none of his deed destruct,
until it beats to the rhythms of spent despair,
a sage would kneel in piety prayer
but none would heed, all gods also sin
listen, sage, like you, we see the splendor
and yes, we crave the grandeur
but for the sake of a good name,
we scribble not of nonchalance
as though our souls are immortal.
dear sage, ink-bath your gullible,
and be baptized in the blood of reason,
for all your youth spent in riotous spree
shall kiss, french style, your frailty,
when pain is all you have left.