The blessed have no lips and tongues
and never get misquoted
If they use signs
They are quickly forgiven
For each gathering is a minefield
Each question a booby-trap,
As manna falls from wrong heaven
Blessed are the blind,
As judgement is not by sight
They think all are beautiful
And don’t judge by height
Although they doubt, if
friend didn’t grab double-portion
Of that sweetest cake
The blessed lived among scorpions
And got wisdom in time
Not to lead or follow
To ditch the sight and fright
Sting and bite, backbite called sting
Whether friend or foe
They surely learn to fly
Blessed are the dump, the daft
For they are last to know
Who laughed at, or with them
They surely inhabit their own heaven
And piece-meal,
they gather their pieces of peace
Unaware of the toxic artwork,
Scribed on backs of their jackets
As they sat and drool
The blessed are drunk with patience
Giggling in pain when hope is abused,
and scream with joy
Collecting bowls of hail,
Near the cave of a thousand chameleons
Praising long gone angels
For the sugar that Sheol poisoned
Blessings of some kind
But Holy heaven is in tears
No comments:
Post a Comment