α: I used to dream of demons
like caged tigers
bloodied gaze
silver bodied wolves
for God would save,

α: And I ran from them all
garmented with prayer
shrouded in sacred layer
that demons come ye
to the prophets
come ye
in my own humble yearnings
become ye
the deep twisted earnings
of mouths boon-ravenous
and feet troubled
Run ye
to the ways oft aimless
and streets under-turned
to the backwards mirrors
and desires touch-spurned
I would pray
God save me from my dreams
visions
darkest things
wrapped in my heart’s seat
under-vein, pumped beat
singing in my hinder-voice
dancing in the heels of my feet
I find myself running
yearning
we were not prophets
yearning
we were not fates,

Ω: And my letters were not sacred
and God touched this broken gait,
my fury,
and made it rise like the dead
up into my eyes like the head of the beast
I would die to the feast
that they all came hungry for
the wasted poor
dreaming of a meal in my terrors
where I’d gorge myself to death on cringe-horrors
unable to speak
to pray
and reap
come ye
and reap,

Ω: To the prophets let us trouble
to the waters of the good
let us ripple in their sanity
burn their fleshy wood
till the shroud of the righteous
is tarnished into gold
make it men of children
and youth of the old,

α: There, bright in my eyes
of the brightness of skies
my dreams would shift
to the tigers and the wolves
my kith
and I’d become a steady prayer
in my gait and in my soul
limping
come ye
limping
come ye
like Jacob to the role, dreaming,
in the mist of the night
in the midst of the fight
dreaming
tracing shadows to the light.

Poem & Photo (c) Saying Sooth 2020