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A Poem by OCeallaigh

Author: OCeallaigh
Created: February 23, 2012 at 09:08 am
Upload Type: Poem, G (All)  
Category: General/Other | General/Other | General/Other
Upload Stats: 5 Stars by 1 users with 1 comments and 435 views

The kestrel's unpleasant vist and -  

The kestrelís unpleasant visit

Acceptance hinging upon rejection
Amused by this mute toleration
The kestrel perched upon a signpost
Right in front of the house of god
Across the street from his golden bull
Where so many souls are bought and sold
A foul flowering of faith and financial gain
Faddish falsehoods and all other hype
Or to be shunned by those of that type
An honor that gold can never buy

Perched upon a signpost, waiting for nothing
A world closely viewed, yet so far away
Of polls, tolls, competition, promotion and failure
Money changers spilling out of their temples
Oozing down both sides of the street
Applying their ill craft, ever blighting creativity
Long ago it was a beautiful sacred grove
Now a gathering of iron beaked vultures
Forever do they feast upon rotting cultures
So much foul meat for these carrion eaters

Taught to embrace both counter deities
Ever made to fear their one loving god
While loving his fearful gluttonous golden bull
As one cannot exist without the other
Some souls sold and lavishly enslaved
So many lining up, more souls to sell
Merciless masters, masked in gold, laugh
At those steadily lining up, so easy to fool
Desperately grasping at straws and so easy to rule
Beauty made to associate with ill gained wealth

Who or whatever can surely turn a profit
Those desperately wanting to be desired
Alone they self flagellate in pining prose
Keen eyed harrier hawks, the predatory poets
Ever ready to bag a cooing mourning dove
Swiftly swooping in without warning
Leaving naught but a few soft grey feathers
Bejeweled in tiny ruby-like drops of blood
Landing softly into a puddle of mud
Not a white dove of peace to be found

Never an eater of the hovering green flies
Hungry for piles of the golden bullís dung
Disgusted, the little kestrel decided to depart
Self respect that gold can never buy
Ever swift and sure, this small falconís flight
Off the signpost and over the street
Issuing a long shrill cry of defiance
Or perhaps it was the kestrelís laugh
While shitting on godís golden calf
Back to her wild meadow, speeding away

The wildcatís angry growls

Telling the wildcat just what she saw
While he licked a gore stained paw
The kestrel spoke through her shrill song
Of evil concealed behind golden masks
And the many slaves performing tasks
In a world gone so terribly wrong

Hearing this, the wildcat brought up his ears
Her sad song playing hard upon his fears
Of all the wild lands he ever did rove
Meadow, mountain, forest and glen
Of all these places he had ever been
His place of birth was that sacred grove

The wildcat snarled, growled and raved
Cursing those sad souls, sold and enslaved
Subjugated in their lack of self worth
The golden bull, fed by their godís hand
Itís fodder harvested across the land
Now shitting on the place of his birth

His terrible cries sounding through the night
Throat sore, the wildcat ceased at dawnís first light
Addressing the kestrel, he spoke softly to her
ďGod and his evil horned golden bull brother
They cannot exist without one another
Yet neither can stand against Mother NatureĒ

© OCeallaigh - all rights reserved

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Comments & Reviews

February 23, 2012
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it makes me sad to see this piece without the recognition it deserves, very good write

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