‘God’s voice don’t get you too far’
what they say at and below the bar,
nourishing our suckling wide-eyed star
that should awake to one more day
if the canyon bends to what we prayed
despite what the river carved and God hath made:
An identity itself regardless the matrix
<Al Green always the preacher
and Lou Reed the rhyme judge>
their altar right despite what the lay picks,
good bad happy sad creature
with a hip wife and a-la-mode drugs.
Count on our soul sisters to give us the tools
and chalky surroundings to break all the rules,
Cheers! Tintinnabulum of Mexican jewels.
Questionable origins of a Jesus on a toast,
ama tu ritmo but you shouldn’t need to boast,
big as you get, grande the holy ghost.
Mind the pleasantries passed into a dream,
these overgrown paths are not what they seem
when you’ve been wanted for a vesperal sunbeam
like a few other crepuscular people
who accomplished the day and now can be full
becoming sky as St. Augustine’s equal.
Long sentences at dusk finally melt,
chains will drop from the raw hands that dealt,
the game will break open and spirit be felt.
Friends will desert as the light burns their skin
hoping to outrun the exposing of sin
and their long-lost unrequited conviction.
They left you because they felt they were better than you. Much like people abandon their only maker for the empty promises of a marble world. Not because you weren’t there for their housewarmings and baby births and Friday cocktail hours. You can be selfish and that is a human quality, not a malignant character defect to determine your whole identity. You are no more or less selfish than they. But you must know that you are stronger in spirit, so forgive them for succumbing to those vacuumy promises. And they are stronger in flesh.
This is what both heart-break and branching looks like.
The Sabbath honored and a Sunday mountain hike.
Letting men go and catching a pike.
The dark face of empty space,
a saintly star, faint and far,
a swirling orb: all like our Lord.
© 2013, Amaya Engleking