Do you ever think of the past?
on the land you stand, once
covered in blood, curiosity
of man gave birth to pride, thus
wicked is revenge, turning
fathers against sons,
wives against husbands,
brothers against brothers,
the blind prophet sees,
the jester cackles the truth,
the beggar is all-knowing,
how do I get back to Eden when everywhere man craves for more possessions,
eating, eating, eating,
his insides away,
do you ever think of the past?
“You say something?” She asked.
“Nada.”
The lust for power, the lust for control,
etches itself through history,
river of the raging angel,
heavy is the blood that flows,
visit it and see how the Greats sit side by side
blood-soaked soles,
can never sit up straight, for
their shadow still burdens them,
without flesh, just bones for what else goes with you?
they never found the road home,
neither can I,
but I think of the past,
searching, searching, searching,
my hunger grows.
“What are you saying?” She asked.
“Nothing.”
The juices from the fruit trickle down from the corner of his mouth,
the temptest wipes it away,
where did the snake bite you? she asks,
he swallowed the fruit and showed her his ribs,
she goes to feel it but he recoils from her hardened touch.
A rat crawls on the floor,
its belly dragging,
she screams saying have you ever seen something that wicked?
In paradise, he says
in Rome,
in Constantinople,
in Jerusalem,
in Marne,
in Leningrad,
in Nanjing,
in Mylai,
in the street outside,
where I saw you waiting.
A call comes for her,
someone else comes for her,
she comes for him,
and he comes home.
Home is where the blood is,
blood is in the cracks,
where’s the rat?
oh, where the mirror is,
where’s Eden? he asks his rodere reflection,
it is where you left it,
when you caved in to your hunger,
when your curiosity freed us,
when you took on the burden of living.
Learned Living 