City of the Walking Dead

On my journey I met a thousand and one and a thousand were false to varying degrees
While I, repulsed by the corruption that haunted my dreams,
hid under the cloak of empty words muttered to the walking dead.
In the abyss of inaction a million ideas parade
like zombies in the land of the living dead
my corruption beyond my comprehension,
Good intentions not enough to fuel cosmic flight
fears pierce the moonlit comfort of dreams
and I am ashamed.
Tomorrow, I muttered to the moving clouds,
that heeded not my procrastination
and continually covered and uncovered the moon’s beauty.
and each tomorrow is heralded by the increased cough of sickness.
And each dawn saw the rising sun dry the tears of the previous night
that cast dew on the landscape of bleached bones and blooming flowers.
A thousand such moons have passed
And the healer awaits patiently, knowingly, with no expectations
the choice is within, like it has always been.

The power of the choice is immense;
the lesser is fleetingly sweet and alluring,
her perfume intoxicates the blind
she bleeds purple, deceit, loneliness and confusion is at her gates.
The greater requires experience of the lesser:
she requires the amputation of the lesser.
Her essence is pure and black, she is black and mysterious,
and the universe is contained in her warm embrace.
7 stars encircle her head and she flinches not.

Her words reach me, in the prison of my own making,
paralyzed in mediocrity: ‘experience is the greatest teacher’
and the pain of missed golden heaven-bound chariots
is great and ever so eager to sip the honey of lessons learnt.
Yet the conditioned nurtured expectations
are like imbedded leeches sucking the lifeblood.
Knives tempered in the fire of reason
are needed to dig deep into unparting flesh
and unleash the leeches that leash the power of the Word

Oh to weld thoughts to words to action with blue flames of iron will
To stand still, motionless as the flames lick the corrupted zone of comfort
To stand still as the salty tide bashes against the wall
of erected defense mechanisms and societal schisms
Oh welcome this hungry fire, this powerful tide of change that knows no boundary, that has no false intentions, that harbors no false motivations
Oh welcome this fire, whose breath is warm and soothing
Yet whose flames are strong and fiery
A bright, energized spectacle swirling above the city of the dead;casting hope among the squalor of hopelessness.

Tyehimba
6/1/04