Tales of a Poor Poge by Richard Palmer - HTML preview

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DARK SOJOURN

 

Within the Godhead dwells the Dreamer.
Embrace the Dreamer and your soul will fly free.

 

Dogma builds illusions.
Lies politicians are paid to say;
Always speaking of a good life
That always seems to come another day.
Love builds illusions;
Joy and pleasure will not cheat mortality.                                    

We find mostly torment and turmoil; seldom tranquility.                                     

Lies upon lies spin a lethal web;
Lies waiting to trap us at birth, death and marriage bed.                  

Illusion birthing illusion, one lie begetting another                          

Choking us little by little until we smother
For need of real life.

 

Hurried lovers in a car;
Curfew is coming and they have little time.
Their need is urgent:

New life is born
Through bursting seed into a heaving body
Sweating on upholstered foam.

Real love is lost to a moment of frenzied lust.

Blood feast in an offering bowl

Butchered lives and souls

Given mortal breath and now

Born to die a living death.
All is dust.