Amen to the Call
by stein forster
When you cry
When your dog notices and nuzzles,
then you know your not alone.
And you know you are not alone without your dog.
But still, you feel you are.
You feel like a Sow.
Lying on herself. Short breaths to reluctant sleep.
In the wet glory of a sodden Friday night.
When your head aches and stretches to answers not asked for.
It came from nowhere.
And that makes it somewhere.
Rejection from one who doesn’t do love well.
Been parched for so long.
Joy lost in the sea of the mundane.
Rain soaked up to dry again.
A castle with no view.
The one with gun holes looking out, looking in.
The one with 10ft walls. That stand tall for the fall.
Scream from outside. Slide a poem on the farside.
Throw a flower over the top. It lands with a flop.
Into the earthly inside. The place you can see. But don’t touch. It’ll sting. You’ll see.
One of the worst pains for sure to be mistaken for the jaw
of a past you haven’t lived.
To think you’re showing love, at worst an aware care.
To be ousted and jousted out of the Kings chair.
You think you can see it right. Shine the light. Create delight.
Maybe she just doesn’t want you. Maybe she just can’t say.
Maybe she’s scared of what the preacher would say.
The one that taught her “godly” truths from a mantle of flufflebears.
That raised the heavens and crashed them to despair.
Do you wait and see what the clouds will expose?
For how long I wonder will this dark shimmy transpose.
A paradox so real it’s convoluted zeal,
Fucks my head up
Turns it to steel.
But not before it’s pounded by my hand. The biggest in the land. The only one allowed to torture grand.
To peck and pick and feel abandonment thick. To wallow and swallow a bloody farmers pick.
To think it’s all me. So much I crave.
No justice in a cave marked with a sign ” my own slave”
And we walk in circles round the streets of known towns.
Each with our name on borders frowned.
There’s truth just beyond. Can see the glow from here. No chains stopping you just the gates of fear.
Of losing the known to freedoms thrown and being so more of who you are.
But we choose to stay in the pit
and squash our heads with a razor like bar.
The circles will ground a deepening dirt rut,
The circled will stride a mournful strut.
By accident or fate or conscious formulate, a sudden mood or spiritual coup
We may just may venture lost beyond our groove.
Better still to practise and move our souls our feet.
A journey to meet for all.
Amen to the call.