The other day I saw a child,
while others saw, none.
I watched him laugh, loud and wild,
and smile like the sun.
And when I saw his face so near -
for a moment on the screen,
I realized then what some may fear:
that even God has dreams.
Sonogram
Maps of Hell
In hell, the skies are blue as here,
while the gardens, green and green.
The air is crisp, and cool, and clear,
and no smoke is ever seen.
In hell, no demon eats of meat,
of cow, or of fish, or deer,
though each is known to lust to eat,
the rind of children’s ears.
In hell, men grow old and round,
and tire from the lust and mirth.
They live and pass without a sound,
and leave nothing on hell’s earth.
In hell, each dog evokes a smile -
while in fields the cowbells ring,
and pets dance a mad, and wild,
to the sound of children’s screams.
Near hell, there rests an aged sign -
with words I know, now, too well:
“No children past this line.
You’ve found the road to hell.”
The Forty-Five Million
I smile when I see their faces,
forty-five million, black and white,
those who rest softly in their places,
and keep women up at night.
Now, I’m not one for mighty thoughts,
nor those laws written by older men.
But why have love and hold it not?
And when does love begin?
And I may be simple. I may be trite.
(I know not when this all will end).
I just know that without this plight,
I’d have another friend.
I want another friend.
Moloch
“Hail, Moloch!” the priestess cries tonight,
on her knees, and with her soul aflame,
as the priest with eyes raised towards the sky,
slays another of the nation with no name.
And on and on the trumpets blow their tune,
while each flute flairs upon its merry way:
They cry for glory – for the sun, or moon -
and worship those who preach the same.
Yet though blood has flowed, ’tis no repose,
for Baal smiles not upon this child’s hide,
And so on and on the blood must flow,
And another dream of God – must die.
