Burning Soul VII
Maybe I should just be a hermit
An aescetic in the wild, the nomadic child
Of wisdom and love, truth and light —
Years beyond your narrow conventions of time.
Like a melting clock on the wall,
Hands dripping blood as they stroke life away,
Until someone preaches to you before
The end that you can be saved.
A great mind with wise words and a message
On which to predicate, to celebrate
A new way of thought that teaches togetherness
A Oneness of all who dwell in this space.
The life we’re given as the ultimate existence
To know that our actions have an influence,
And to share in our finiteness —
The genesis of the new love movements.
Compassion and beauty, like a flag unfurled.
Then the love would spread across all the world,
And the violence would end as they embraced the word,
The Aescetic now the Shepherd of the roiling herds
The followers would hail me as the next Luther King,
Carry my Gospel throughout the uncivilized mapping.
But then some would cry out and reject my love,
Because they have their own ideas about whatever’s above.
The lines would be drawn like a scar across society,
And the people would fight to lift up my idolatry.
Hostility would break into violence and wars,
And my real message would be bastardized and torn
To satisfy the greed and the anger of the pawns,
While the King sits back on his festering thrones,
No longer a beacon of utopian light;
He’s a monster, an ego, a maniacal blight.
Until all the ruined remains bear his mark:
The sigil of false love that spawns only darkness.
The wars would rage over centuries to come.
New factions would splinter to burn down the false kingdom.
Just kindling for the prophets to stroke the self
Until another one comes to flip the shelf.
He’ll claim a new message for the peons to suckle,
Latched on like piglets just to taste his cockle.
By right or by choice, they’ll strive to give birth
To a new idea that will spread across the earth,
And their message will light the faces of the desperate
Promising that connection, that sense of hopefulness.
Until we finally reach the utopian dream,
Our violent past just a fading scene.
Asking if Utopia is real,
And can it be done?
Perhaps, instead, I’ll just stay home.