The Silence of the Natural

 

     I am having trouble stemming the flow of truth

That's engaging your conscience,

That's devouring the heart you and I say

We have,

     For it is plausible,

More than in fact,

That your denial be

My heartbreak,

 

     There are so many fakes

So many playing to the gallery

Mistaking the audience’s

Cruelty for adoration!

     For they’re not

The blindest the slightest

Bit interested in your experience

Or belief,

      They are merely looking

At you and hedging bets –

When and where your act

Will flaw,-

Where it will bowl itself

Into battered broken

Bits of wood

 

     Substance has been

Replaced with a wanton need

To see each other fall,

     And like the fox

Ripped by a thousand

Hounds they will cruelly

Give you your confidence

Before their incisors gorge,

     Their canines

Seeking the heart

You thought was adored

As society folds in with

A meltdown that emulates

Our decaying world,

 

     And if the Lord

Has cursed you too,

You will inadvertently bow

To their needs,

     You will bleed

From public galleries

Of ridicule,

Where the fox

Will dip his head

At the monster we’ve become

 

     This is it my friend,

This is the best of blend

From ape and alien

That condemns us all

To confusion,

     We don’t like

Each other too well in hell,

We don’t tell each other this

We court each other’s platitudes

And affect a gait of concern

But we’re writhing on top

Of each other – feeling

The incursion upon our

Person state – then its war,

     And the hate,

The hate is everywhere for all

And passing we look

Within each other,

And find only a brawl

In eyes where colour

Is never recognized until

Stated, and that’s us;

     Skin deep and two

Dimensional, and it’s everywhere

You dare to look.

 

     Shallow and fast

Be a populous pointing

Fingers and declaring

Depth be a place of madness,

And the sadness prevailing

Thought wells tears

Within thine eyes where shine

Has long left to die,

     And their tools for killing

Grow longer still, sharper

Until the wolf itself

Fears their onslaught,

And we’re all;

At the mercy of the kill!

 

Michael J Waite 17th September 2015