Eight Years of Blood

[Stinkyfinger]

There’s hot sweltering night creeping about, giving rise to syncopation and rhyme,
Critters, in swarms, who nary a doubt, walk headlong into the oblivion of time,
Children of men, faithless and devout, seek answers from within the sublime,
Howls from the dark, I hear them shout, “We rebuke your excuses for crime”
The lights dim, with darkness throughout, the dirty wash away their grime,
As the rank and file, and all that they tout, order up death with a twist of lime,

The roses that bleed, their petals giving way, impaled in the silver moon’s light,,
Give occasion to the rise, deep among the fray, bold whisperers sharing their sight,
The generals and politicians, their eyes betray, the madness and greed of their fight,
Fear mongers and infidels compel us to pray, to the many evil gods of blight,
We like scared sheep, so easily led astray, are coaxed to deny our birthright,
And ignore, again, the price we all pay, for our unwillingness to rightfully indict,

I can hear them calling,,…. deep, black, mournful wails of misanthropy, we got no time on our side, no books to which we can refer,…..god died a thousand years ago, in a forgotten well, with no fanfare, and we’ve tried unsuccessfully to raise him, he’s gone, she has taken to the stars, leaving us unfulfilled, and struggling to keep the beasts in check,…..a quart of whiskey won’t do it, though we try, or a death grip on convention, it’s time we all grab up our voice and go take the fight to where it belongs,…..not in some mountain cave in Afghanistan, or in the rhetoric of fools bent on deicide, suicide, genocide. We have tar balls washing up in the halls of our hallowed institutions, mucking up the once clean parchments that held our greatest truths. The savage landscape, littered with the remains of a pretense of good intentions by very bad people, sings of despair and the passionate outrage of everyone who happens to have awoken from the nightmares, unleashed from the shadows and the hidden places in our own psyche.

[Stinkyfinger]

I'll probably continue this one on out a bit.

[joel]

The reference to Afghanistan only highlights the initial echoes of Arabic/Persian/Urdu longline rhyme in the inital lines here...awesome sounds, awestruck thoughts. There's something odd about the very ghazal kind of feel and the direct opposition (at least in my first readings) to the typical sufic ghazal themes. I don't know if this is on purpose...obviously I haven't been around here lately and I don't know your style, but it really has that ghazal feel to me, but free and passionate. If you haven't seen it before, you might wanna check out Gino Peregrini's "The Ghazal Page"...but that's just my thought. Awesome, again. I'll look forward to where you might continue this....