Intervision
Written By,Opus.
The mythic, bloody struggles of a thousand dreary days
Like Poseidon in his rapture seems to summon up the dreary rains
That cheapen with a sighing sound the fear of losing love and pain.
Heed the tattooed monoliths that loom upon the pier,
The frank and unassuming grizzled hopeless scope less drowning in their beer,
Smoking on their heaven-sent like lying children lost in years.
Peace less in his time of dying, at the mercy of his god,
Sad and silly are his prayers for forgiveness of his wrongs.
He should have been a better mortal insect living for his lusts,
Though all that means but little to the soul ground into finest dust.
The sea was hungry, so it swallowed all our vanities and love,
Hopeless, we were, but for praying to be saved by the sea above.
A sea above, and one below, and in between lies Man,
With a sword and a cross and an hourglass and the drifting tides of sand.
And no one could say what heaven holds with both feet firmly on the land.
Strange and weary children to be crying for their toys,
What affected boorish puppets we must seem to trade away our joy.
Sensation dull now, slowly sleeping, pass we on to greater things,
Frivolities like airy rhythms, caviar and diamond rings.
Coined in silver-whispered language, threats, or worse, a plea for love,
Cheaply bought and cheaply tethered, sensation made of God above.
Piebald priests we are become, blinded by the light of day,
Night becomes our inner struggle, at least we cannot see us pray.
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