Genesis

Oceans cascade

From unfathomable heights

Into the vast sculptured crevices

Of the planet’s bosom.

Numerous energies

Transmutated by tempest

Thrashed and torn asunder

Into pools of perfect chaos.

Writhing molecules

Repeatedly rearranged

In unprecedented forms

Of which many are miscarried.

Fortune’s devices

Favor but a few

Particular arrangements

To persist amid such tumultuousness.

Fluctuating forces

Pound vitality into matter,

Precipitating its progress

In discordant detumescence.

Patterns emerge

Inevitably in chance variables

Until at long last

A seedling erupts.

Implanted erection

Upon a rugged stone surface

Surfacing into the light

And its first growing pains.

Searing agony,

The flower’s contorted face

Gazing towards the sky

And screaming

“I’m Alive!”

 

 

 

The One That’s Hanging

Blind, with an overpowered sense of smell,

The one that feeds on the diseased.

Sliding in and out the gates of mental health,

Recycling flesh from the depressed and deceased.

The worm, a gargantuan behemoth,

An omnipresent filter of the lost.

Endlessly seeking the scent of suffering,

Transference of feeling at energies cost.

So the child in the trees, that one that is hanging,

The one that’s dripping wet with remorse,

That sways listlessly in the torrential rain,

With the seductive scent of suicide dispersed,

Attracts the sightless hungering mouth,

Who surfaces from the Earth to be fed,

Whose bloated body consumes her corpse,

Satisfied, swallowing the saddest of the dead.

The casualties caused by tormented minds,

The sick, the unstable, the neurotic and depressed.

The casualties consumed by the careless and blind,

Basted unwittingly in the flavors of distress.

The one that’s hanging and dead in the trees,

The tantalizing sadness that floats on the breeze.

The one who gorges on those passions released,

The final transference, Flesh and Feeling, it Eats.