Let’s dance with the ghosts of yesterday,
Precipitation of our charred memories
Sired with the milk of the firstborns
And sealed with kisses of angels
Where bellies full of untold misery
Churn deep threads of love and loyalty
Is there anything there to fear anymore?
If our shadows can dance in the dark
And our children’s milk teeth have turned brown
From the rust of their mothers’ breasts
Take a sip of the vile
Stretch on the hard bench of life
Inhale the fumes of our choices,
The world is a stage of the insane
The unafraid and the mavericks
Crowded in clandestine contours
What is there in your heart?
That should make you see the world with a spectrum?
Hatred, fear, color, shriveled mindset, what?
Or is it the sour-bitter after-taste of barley and smoothies
Churned from grapes plucked in the graveyards
Is the world a garden of memories?
Or a theatre of sad humor?
Or is it a footstool of the gods;
Where earthlings are to feast on the remains
and spit of they that dwell in the high places-
For theirs is the kingdom, the power and the glory?