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Sacrifice

Sacrifice Stevon Lucero Metarealism Poetry

Did you really come back that night?

Silent knock. late.
Invisible answer.
Door framed shadow,
You stood there.
Weight resting on a
Childhood affliction.
"Hi.".
      ."Hi."
. Aren't you going.
to ask if I'm dead?
.no.
Good, ..now, come.
let me show you.
what I came to show you.
No! . wait. let me show
.you. to the world.
Let them see fire that sucked
The life from your soul.
That fire that seared inside.
. churning
. burning
. glowing
. growing.

 

 

 

That liquid fire whose vessel floundered
in a bottomless ocean of bitterness.
A sea of sickening bile excreted by those

Who use reality as a crutch to justify
their sterility.
And no one can live in this muck
without shields.
Shields to protect the fertility
of pains lessons.

Shields!
Where were your shields?!
They were so strong when the mask was new.
Somehow you forgot that it wasn't you. yet.
. yet . never quite believing the deception

completely.

Shields.
Opaque in. no!
Translucent out. no!
Reversed!
Reversed by a self righteous few
Who said they loved you.
And only wanted to help you!
But the bastards couldn't even see you!

They didn't even know you!!
Somehow those callous nervous systems

Could feel your fire silently incubating
In your pregnant heart.
You felt it too,
Didn't you?
But they had the books.
Authority!
Normalicy!
Conformicy!

Oh god,
How many times
How many times did we see
the beast wear compassions robes?
How many times did we polish our shields

so we could see ourselves?
How many times did we warm ourselves

with the beginning flickers
of the fire we knew was there?
The fire we would someday
give to this world.
The fire that would kindle
the pyre of rebirth.
The fire that can only be conceived
in the heart.

Brother, how could you forget
That the heart is but a cosmic egg,
Fertile,
Beating love into the blood.
Patiently awaiting pregnation
Of the ghost sperm.
Swimming through humanities muck, Untouched,

that tadpole of light
Is but the eternal spark of rebirth.

How could you forget the peacock slugs

Whose hypnotizing trails of slime are,
After all, but trails of slime.
These trails which replace the stream
Of invisible light, the path,
Left by the cosmic squiggler
On it's way through sameness.
To be followed all too soon
By the disciples of fear
And the high priests of
Polarity.
Death's emissaries are ever vigilant
For the hearts of fire, to snuff them,
Before one fertile flame sets ablaze
Every man.

 

Your eyes blankly twinkled as you
Grasped at the sounds of fears' love lies.

Waiting for love.
Their artificial light of
A thousand theoretical suns.
Blinded you from you.
Numbed, they raped your heart
And aborted your fires soul.
When the last drop of bloods love
Had been sucked up their snouts
Of decayed flesh.
Only the naked fire remained.
Slowly. weakly. coldly,
Like invisible leprosy,
Consumption continues.
Outside a tormented body reels as their
sea of shit
dissolves the straps of artificial cataracts.

Alone,
     - the cold fire consumes
alone.
- Seepage consumption merge. No.no.no!

And your heart,
They left your heart gorged
With the maggot semen from their
thorny penises of gold and oil.
As this fruit of the living dead
Played guest in an unwilling host,
Your heart began it's last
Dance.
Sadly sitting and rocking
to the beat.
the final beat.

Brother.
I warmed myself from the
Flames of your pain.
Greater became the intensity.
And you began your masterpiece,
Of passion,
Of truth,
Of love.
Did the brightness of your light blind you?

Why. why did your masterpiece begin
With the last sentence first?
Why did you begin your masterpiece;

     "She stood in the doorway screaming,

      as the shadow of his body

      fell across her face,

      completing its swing from the left."?

 

©5/15/74 Stevon Lucero

 

David Farrow was found hanging in his rented room by his landlady on 11/69

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