January 17, 2012


You and I are partners
We tap on the wall of all Souls

Extracting hope from threads of bare hands
And broken hearts

The grim sardonic faces of unloved men
Exacted their loss on us

Joined in Purgatory we wait

Let us speak plainly men of myth making

Your fields are wastelands
Of crops grown in dark cold minds

Your minions build roads of carnage
From Carthage to Stalingrad

Your crusades will not be undone
Leaving bones and wreckage

Rudiments of hate

Be still now be quiet
We have a story to tell

A mocking allegory
You will come to grapple with
Its mask of indemnity

Victims stand before us row upon row
Squandering life in demonic servitude

A tacky exchange between banal beasts of prey
And men with plain brown eyes

With your body stripped of dignity
And your mind wrenched from pride
Reconciling that fate is inextricable

The metaphor of our resistance
A wall of extinction

To whom do we appeal?

The hand slaps cold
It’s tempest a poison pill under the skin

Wrestling with sirens of unrest
And faltering images

We tangle up in our own spiritual pest
Purging religious icons
We called home

There is a blank face on God

We feel Its rancorous form
In dark corners of the room

What is left to postulate?

Death nips the onerous day
In a field almost barren

The beauty of its bleakness
Sublime and so impervious

Rising cascades of wild fauna
Bring redemption of knowing life is

A demeanor beyond one’s self
No conceit little expectation

Other than the elixir of fresh air
To anticipate

We stand will transformed
A soliloquy of transgressions
Reckoning with reason

At this moment you and I know
The unequivocal truth

that heinous acts of impious men can never restrain
the one raw moment of need to tap

‘What is held captive may never be confined’

Lorraine Borgolini