Moths in Search of Celestial Guidance
What I don’t like could fill the bible
What turns me off could waste a billion
Spheres of personal experience.
What I hate could make the
Oceans sour, the bees drop like raisins, the shadows melt.
What I abhor could keep the door
Shut on the horrors of the tabloid press
And the actual news combined.
What I tolerate is you
What I abide is your incessant friendliness
What I suffer are your convictions and your love
And your way of being.
What I put myself through is a torrent
Of well-meaning chatter AND OFFERS OF HELP
And smiles and coos of sympathy
As if you understood
What I love is the half-percent
The practical application held-back by the remainder
The knowledge that unshackles the burden
The brief puff of air to a lung long crushed.
What I feel is the bedrock and the ball of iron.
What I think is the beat, the pulse, the thread
Running through the force-field, joining both distinctions
Searing like a hot knife through shit.
Destroy all the antidotes and let the snakes run loose
The Regime’s prison cells would serve as well for them.
Interrogate the innocent and hang them all in shame
Bust the un-hatched egg, the budded flower, the soldier’s Pandora
We are all the same, we are all the same
Political divides the left and right in leaning
Axioms reduce and shrive and suck and spurn and strangle
Rely not on hope till you’ve fixed what’s what.
Punch-out all philosophers and sit down with the poor
And sup on beer and chant and jeer and fuck a whore.
Why try? Why try in this world?
Even if you make it to the pinnacle you’ll simply
Be standing upon the fingers of those less able to
Even when you try to help you will fail and thus perpetuate the problem.
The sheen of a flower’s beauty is false distraction
And babies only cry if it effects action
Your unthinking attempts at humanity are not evil
But we all know what good intentions yield, you burrowed weevil.
Whilst moths fly into flame in search of celestial guidance
You have a mind with which to reason, see through contrivance.
People have burned themselves to death in protest, to find an ear;
Don’t claim a higher God than Thou.