here we are--

another day closer

to some just doom--

the slow dying

aching in every reach for life--

I read the news and sicken

each and every day--

maniacs run wild

and bring grief wherever they go--

and frustrated dreamers applaud them--

idolize them--

wish they had the guts to be like them--

while I wander--a ghost--down streets

no longer familiar to me

though my whole life's been spent

walking on them

and wondering what to do next

and not knowing

but knowing I'd better do something

and having no dealings with any but

these maniacs--

God kills us slowly--(it begins with birth)

and builds to a culmination

of sorrow which consumes loves and hopes

like a glutton clears a banquet table--

oh if God were as merciful as God is vengeful

there might be a fighting chance

to endure this world--

but that's not the plan--

you are here to be destroyed

as Leonard once simply put it--

and the only hope left me is that

I will pass from this skin peacefully

(and may have already jinxed that

by wishing for it)

letting the maniacs kill each other

in the name of their twisted egos--

living black holes consuming life

beyond our scale to save it--

and death a heavy release

because I'd be free of this horror

but not free from knowing

what error I've accrued

that will make a horror of my next

earthly sojourn--

unless there's some good of which I'm unaware--

pie-in-the-sky like a sty in the eye--

aching in every blind grab at life

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.