39 million

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39 million people are gone.

Because of a virus our divisions have allowed to ascend.

If the Holy Bible is to be believed and 2014 is the number of AD years we’ve existed, we’ve had plenty more than that to learn just one thing: united we stand, divided we fall.

Through thickness and thin.

In sickness, and in health…

But we haven’t united, have we?

Holy Bible – or bland book of bullshit –  either way: we divide habitually and without fail.

We ridicule. We shun. We spit at. We turn our backs on… to the point that, that which takes aim to divide us – can win.

Like HIV.

So I wondered… what words this combative cultivator of cunctation would say if it could… It’s our selfish spite and stupidity that gives ‘it’ such a convincing case.

I am where fear is trumped in the search from love’s lost
I am where mortal humiliates the humiliated-already – them men who look like ghosts
There you go like ants before the queen, ordered to safeguard secrets…
– all your advances are flushed as expendable by your gathering greed’s digress

How there goes your distance with untouching, formidable feast?
Something your rioting righteousness won’t see as Mark of the Beast
You did it. You do it. You are it – at best
But blindly convinced of your stay deserving on God’s floating nest

You handwrote my invite and put me on your VIP list
Now that door is one you can’t close for that never-would-leave guest
I’ll wither. I’ll weaken. I’ve galloped in here on Trojan Horse
To humiliate the humiliated-already, them women who look like ghosts

Pharmaceutical. Untactical. Expendable. Digressed.
Incubated by fear within islands between love’s lost
It always was, has … and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously

Your Bible brought stories from around campfires at day’s rest
All you had to was listen to pass the soul’s Truth-North test
Compassion by connection is all you have left
But you’ve shunned it to gun it and bowed deep in greed’s feast

I’ve withered. I’ve weakened. Arrived welcome on Trojan Horse
I am the fears you discarded – I am the Mark of the Beast
Not something physical nor mineral that you can touch
But because you turned on each other, denying love from love’s lost…

Helen of Troy – I am not female nor boy
My gender grotesques through my dodging and ploy
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast 

It always was, has and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously
You say idols are bad, goats interrupt goading piously
Your gadgets are 666 that underpin your Boxsciety

I’ve felt my backbone bend before I mix and contort
I’m running out of islands as you defend last resort
I too searched the darkness for compassionate companion
I found none in your nest, so here I am: your Armageddon

Your cavalier disconnection from your neighbours in the nest
Is what your mirrors – though full – have failed to reflect
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

 

#WritingStoriesDifferently

 

© Dylan Balkind

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