The worm, my ally
It was whispered through cracks in the confessional booth
Secret sins that should be pardoned
But who pardons the worms of the ground?
Slithering in its own filth
Sliding back and forward
Between blood trails of long dead leaves
That have never been forgiven
For their tardiness in streaming the skies
They are all the misbegotten children of God
Trampled upon and drove to beneath
Because they are not fit to adorn the ground
Where the sunlight will shine upon their mangled faces
They speak like the dead
Through their eyes of deprivation
Avoiding all manner of communication
Because they’ve been left alone
Forsaken by the rest of us
Unable to live
Because now there is no one who has ever cared
And the hope left in their life
Will be a slow drudging in the mud and mire
To sleep happily knowing that
Not a living soul knows where they reside
What bliss!
To be nothing but a shadow of the dead
Slipping into existential oblivion
Away from all the false pretensions
And lies and mediocrity
To know that you are the one
Who will bury you
And not someone else
Who has not the slightest care for you at all
It’s a transcending feeling
And sometimes to be able to lay on the soiled ground
To offer your self up, like a suicide
But joyfully soul
To end it in your own choosing.
There are centuries of love and faith between us.
And now sleep, my friend.
