Mythatorium

Author’s Note: A fair disclaimer that this poem sounds far more anti-religion, one specific mono-theistic religion, than I actually am. However, I will act a little bit spiteful for the fun of it.

Listless from the intents of malcontention,
There insists in the obnoxious value, the holiest spirit,
An unyielding shephard with no wistfulness for death, no claimancy for vacancy,
To which the occupation of laymancy befits no better title than cursed.

Laggard, wayward hearts targeted by that damned definition,
To be and not is then worse fate than to not be.
Lasting of the pronounced preservationalists,
Reality and fantasy is refuted any obfuscation,
Lingering authority on ideality and finality,
Adjudicating Law & Order like [Commandments] from the Mountain,
“Empty, must be,” says the speaker who preaches into concave skulls,
For there is no better vantage point to pour than the [ivory towery clouds.]

There would be no such decision were there not..
These standing corpses concealing their rot,
This conviction of the decided – tearing –
The blasted secret of the confided – where-in –
None of it matters under the Wrath of God
Where his precious bread is naught but sod.

Don’t mistake my scorn for the ire of the vengeful,
My methods are too great to be mistaken for the simple.
My missing eye will mean nothing to my theocratic challenge,
So I will take more from you than what you have deemed my fair share,
For while I need nothing to be myself, to hold the essentials,
The life and love I need to laugh at the idea of my detraction, needs a bigger sample.

There is no purpose or path I need follow other than the direction I am facing.
I need no guide other than the balance that attaches me to the Earth,
I need no heart and mind to feel what ripples through my waters,
And I need no certificate of cleansing to be acknowledged as the child I did not ask to be.

I don’t need your mistakes to substitute the ones I don’t make,
I don’t need your doubt to weigh me down, I measure my value in ounces not grams.
Make plea again to me when I pretend to plead,
Then at least we can pretend I am someone to be cared for.
Lose your breath to my other cheek,
Because I truly pity your interpretation that this is war,
I know this is not love,
For my heart does not grow fonder the further I am away from you.

And I must apologize for my ruthless behavior, it is so unlike me.
I hope you accept my regret, and come away from me congenially.
Keep your stairs, your ladders, your hierarchies or whatever you believe in,
I have my own system, I have my own achievements.