The prayer for the living and the dead.

(with apologies to T.S. Eliot and Alan Ginsberg)

Moloch Shantih
Shantih Moloch

We burn to burn
That which we had yearned
To erase from our mind,
And as the smoke rises
To the firmament,
And our memories that we cannot bear
To recognize as our self,
Are blown as ash
And returned to be buried underfoot.

I wish you peace
My brother,
My sister,
My other,
I just may not wish to remember
That moment
You recognized beyond my rictus
Smile and stare,
I was
At my weakest.
I lack the grace
To accept your kindness and
Rebuff your humanity as I
Tremble to look at my own.

The rain can cleanse if it has a drain to go down and
Hide the unfiltered filth.
Elsewise the eddys
Just swirl different shades of and the
Ash that once rose to the sky
(A sacrifice to (g)ods that never see
Unless a stray wind not only blows
The privileged lock outta place
And ‘crost the face
But a speck into the eye,
Unseen but surely felt)
Falls to earth and
Dirties the view
Of once fantasized potential
Now only perfect
For the moment of stillness.
A moment of stillness
And held breath
As they stare across
The empty void that divides
Each eye
Collecting the divine of the other
The rise and fall of the breast
And the parted lip
That should be swollen
With the action
Of mad passion
But merely sits unfulfilled,
A pillow of delayed satisfaction.

And years later,
The names forgotten
And the divide undefined
But the regret, stinging and biting
Was still sharp as the freshly honed
Blade
Sitting underhand as he chopped parsley
And stared off into the beast named Void.

She lay abed
And felt another pressed to her from behind
One whose name she knew well over the years
But still held the hand of the stranger
Wrapped around her now untaut
But well taught
Waist. And she saw the bright red nine
Turn to Zero for the fifth time,
As the void stared back.

The void is cold, dark and fateful
If you aren’t dressed right and protected.
And so we walk through our life
Helmeted with the mirror visor,
So we can see, and others can look away
To avoid the doppleganger
Of our own mortality.

Peace Devourer. I wish you peace
And if needed offer a small tip of the finger
From a sharp knife, if it will sate thee.
I only need a moment longer.

It's only fair to share...Share on FacebookShare on Google+Tweet about this on TwitterShare on LinkedInShare on TumblrEmail this to someone

Erik K.

Owner, Curator, Writer of this blog.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Someone say something.