The Man Hanging at A Tree | Abiber Mulero
The days are gone when running down the cliff, hand in hand with a plan dancing in my head, singing "hereafter is going to be great". Tomorrow is all planned out, there is no end, no end to the universe.
Until I come face to face with death.
Now I think death is a million leagues away, I fear I order it forth to me with the hail before me.
The heaven is getting clearer and I can almost see the darkness in space.
The voices are calling me back! Asking me not to go into the land, where the dead are buried upon the dead along with the ones they've failed and they are forced to struggle with the ones they once called Family, friend or foe.
I see no friend here,
All I see is this hail, showering like I am not bound to live under the atmosphere. This is not me cheering forth death, this is death scurrying after me!
I hear the cry of a new born, tragic! It knows it is arriving into this hell too.
They know bizarre things are happening, they just can't run.
They strung up a man who butchered three, and crucified him like Jesus, except the crimson flowing wasn't the blood of salvation, it was a blood full of pain.
The times are gone when plans used to lead the way, now it's the blood of someone's Son.
Yeah I know the cries of sorrows are louder now and you want to bury the dead with them, it is advisable to let the dead bury their dead, to keep you from falling in the same grave.
If the sky's blue, it is not a signal for you to smile, it is giving you more time to run!
Sigh
What can be done?
I go on my knees to pray.
Dear God,
Put this crumbling world back together!
Your daughter
And, there is a voice, that I take to be true.
" the world won't exist forever."
It is a filled cup that is now beginning to run over, it is running oner the hereafters and you've got to check time.
Tick tock.
The trumpet would be blown and your friends would be taken, a voice is asking you, what have you sown. Your neighbours would be taken, your sisters would be taken, the babies would be taken and the farmers in the farm.
All that would be left is you, ha ha!
Sigh
The cries of babies are words, you don't understand.
"Wwah wwah wash" means "where am I?"
"Pku pku pku" means, "I want to go back."
They see the future we cannot see.
They want to go back before childhood is over and responsibility is a reality.
Don't walk around with a safeguarded, explicit, condemned to fail plan for tomorrow. There is a beast sneering around for you, he snatches your plans and wounds you unawares.
Now before I go, come to the man hanging at the tree, though this body be wrecked and coated with wounds and dried blood. He is able to let you see the back stabbers, keep you from the back stabbers, hold you when you fall, discern the language of the toddlers, keep you from the raining hail and when you die, you won't get buried with your foe.
But first, come along with your own tree.
Other Poems:
Comments
Post a Comment