Hospice for the False Prophets
Photo by Michael Jerrard on Unsplash
February 2025
Time is a spiral
I’m dying for survival
To rival the pursuit of pride
Though my eyes go
Glossy from the tidal
Waves that hit my home
When all i want is flames
To break open the pine cones
The seeds of new life
Sown in destruction
I’m honing my judgment
Against tough men
Who don’t bend
Who won’t lend
A hand to the broken
I don’t interrupt them
I clutch pens
Construct hymns
That upend
Assumptions
We’re all
on a sinking ship
What we resist
Continues
I’m seeking a venue
To speak to my kin who
Seek to be in truth
And breathe while we induce
Hospice
for the false prophets
Who got us
Locked into logic that’s
Fraught with deposits
of toxins more monstrous
than Loch Ness
We got this
Brief window to
See all the symbols
That point where the wind blows
Anoint a new tempo
Where slow and gentle
Are the chosen lens through
Which we filter our actions
Immune to distractions
Tapped in
to something greater
than hope and fear