sin

THE INVOLUNTARINESS OF LIFE

O, the involuntariness of life.
I did not ask for any of this. I
was not sinned from my mother’s womb to strife
between such small moments of bliss.

I cannot canter, all horsely and proud,
made to garden the fruits of my labour.
My soul was born to yearn loud, not
sink to another’s cold favour.

God willing, by the end of my days
I will leave achievements like letters –
small mercies for the suffering of babes
to learn how to generation better.

Peace comes at this fair price –
not without effort, or calling; but
through silent lessons, taught to them twice –
elders way showing before falling.

And so, to these children of time:
mistakes beget paths, straight and narrow.
I was birthed as Creator of mine
to lead such a flight like a sparrow.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 10 July, 2017

WEED, THE PEOPLE

Led by foreign madness, we
– to long expected sleepless graves –
will swim to sink and drown in numbers
weighted down beneath the waves
with nothing left inside but shadows;
no-one left of worth to save.

In one end and out the other,
warring with psychotic pride, then
born again and made to suffer
– karmic purpose ill-forgotten –
each new chance at life, a buffer:
“Next time: change…” we chant inside.

Cycles written, history leaking,
sorely weeping through the pores
of growing wombs and offspring born
– another child of soulless form –
to breastfeed lies, imprisoned, shrieking
time again: disease repeating.

Sin ingested (soup for poor)
– the bile of shame and burden lost –
as people starve and lives are sold
and terrors planned to mind control…
and all the while our sickened bodies
hover, rotting, rank with worry.

Toll the bells – it’s time to breathe
and weed this horror from our conscience;
steer ourselves towards a pardon,
pave the way, resume our garden
seeding spirit, heart, and mind
with growth to bloom for one last time
or we, the people, incarnating,
won’t survive beyond our mating.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 9th July, 2016

THOUGHT #149

The prospect of vengeance shall forever be lined with velvet trappings, keeping one imprisoned in the back pocket of cavernous temptation.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 8 July, 2012