Monday, November 15, 2010

Every Man, A Holy Man by Lucas Olson

Every Man, a Holy Man

Every man, a holy man

and every book, a bible.

For no man thinks himself as evil

or as the other, liable.

Every soul, a perfect one

and every spirit wholesome.

For purity, a subjective thing,

though subjectivity, loathsome

For is any man as pure,

in the eye of the beholder,

as when the eye's his own,

his thoughts his own to shoulder.

Evil isn't personal,

its a matter of the world.

Though however right they are

internally, its pearled.

Every man is doing good

but some may do it wrong.

Even if intentions pure,

it may be sad, the song.

For, Every man is a holy man,

no one man can do ill.

By his own rights he is perfect

but his ego, he can't fulfill.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Prompted Prayers by Sarah Zuidema

Prompted Prayers

The day was bumbling to an end.
The horizon became a taut blue line along a fast darkening ocean.
The sun's fleeing rays cast eerie shadows along lengthy sidewalks and glossy windows.
After the the day's buzzing white gyration,
The cooling fingers of a green dusk seemed to smooth the vicissitudes of life,
and wander through the city with an air of enthusiastic exploration.
The moon rose swiftly as one wide, ecstatic grin,
dragging with it the wearisomeness of night;
which ravenously consumed the gale of hysteria,
left behind by the now shattered golden sun.
Darkness, the abyss of ages,
covered the coast in a heavy molasses cloak;
stretching a somber silence throughout the once bustling city.
Somewhere in an alley, a match was struck.
The tiny flame sliced through the syrupy blackness,
revealing the faintest traces of the riotous colors of civilization.
A breeze weaves behind the towering silent giants,
its current nearly visible in the leadened air.
The small flicker shudders in virtuous recrimination.
The silent oppressor, agonized by indecision,
finally retires over the pink cliff,
plunging toward the ocean,
and leaving the stifling pollutant of disinclination in the street.
Merely by way of baffled commonsense does the math burn on,
permitting its master a glance at the sky above.
Even the stars struggle against the choking weight of darkness,
succeeding in naught but an opalescent speck here and there.
The tiny light wavered and twitched,
rapidly approaching suffocation.
Daylight leaves yearning for night,
But night's unyielding pressure bring fearful chattered prayers.