Mi-rage

How easy it is to die,

To close the eye in final sleep, 

Leave all the cares behind.

This frame swathed and entwined,

In the tentacles of 

Want, Age, illness and an overactive guilt;

Emotions tearing up my core,

Leaching their way out,

Fuelled by my impotence…

Trapped in the trench of inaction 

I seek

Meaning, causality, closure… 

Grabbing rotting vines 

I seek 

Refuge 

In religion and philosophy.

Hope is but a thin shaft of light or rope 

In the increasing darkness I grope...

The gods are safely housed in their temples 

And sages no longer walk the earth.

Who will hear the infant’s cry? 

Who will heal when epidemics strike?

Who will wipe the tearful sweat,

of toilers in the mud? 

Who will release the hoarded wealth? 

Who shall halt the will to kill for petty thefts? 

Who can stay the hunger deaths? 

Who can stem human depravity? 

Who will heed the shriek of a bleeding earth? 

Will Love ever again walk this earth?

Will love ever walk this Earth? 

And make your pain, your cry, your voice, mine?

Will love ever be an open mine

That bursts forth in ochre, crimson, amber, citrine…

If all of mankind’s rage fuelled a volcano, it would soar like an inferno

Ready

to burn and grind to dust,

All that is aught in this world.

A burning flavescent flame that thaws the human heart

Burns up into ash

The evil, the callousness, the disregard.

Melted in the magma of human rage

Smelted to birth Human Love 

Humane humanity’s return

Sadly, in this age, 

This image 

Is

but a mirage…