Ruminate on life.
value in health, kids,
and loving wife.
…
Work to support
family, only one goal
warm childhood soul
…
Love, silky red mist
clothe my weary heart.
Life anew with kiss.
…
Time becomes soft
moments are fragile, gray,
memories are lost.
…
High above Earth,
life looks so very simple,
death is birth
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
The body is full of cells. They carry out various functions according to their design. A virus enters the micro world, invisible to the naked eye. A virus, by itself is tiny, and insignificant. Floating toward the massive cell. Like an evil satellite landing on planet, the virus pukes its RNA code into the cell. The cell is doomed to reprogram itself into a virus producing factory. It’s purpose is compromised, it’s existence soon to be over, and the virus shows no remorse.
In the case of the villainous bacteria, it consumes the cell, and dedicates rot. The body becomes sick, in an altered state. Sometimes the damage is stopped and people get better, and sadly sometimes it does not.
In the social world, there are toxic people. Bacteria and viruses that seek to infect you, change you, and they will do so without regret of any kind. That is what they have designed themselves for. I have listened to and believed this blight as comments and suggestions enter my brain.
“You can’t do that!”
“You will be overwhelmed.”
“You probably won’t understand this.”
“Your not good enough.”
It is important to realize, that without your submission, the virus and bacteria can infect. If you build up an immunity to the lazy and foolish word, you will kill the infection. I trust in God. I know he didn’t create me to fail. I know he didn’t create me to hurt, and to hate. As I have crossed the marker in life that says 40 years, I am going to work on my immune system. I have races to run, books to write, and people to help. I can’t do those things if I am sick in the brain, because I let some weaker organism take over my thoughts.
Lying mouths, like cannon fire, explode words like clouds of glitter.
The snake may lament, “Venom tastes of the sweetest yellow honey.”
Needled tongues, weave a false tapestry. The Devil’s silver quilter,
Red handled brushes, paint wet shadows the mind can’t see.
Flakes of red, flakes of blue and green, cake over hungry eyes.
Warm smooth words slide into waiting ears, like warm butter.
Soon to rot, a thick heavy gray headache begins to rise.
The moon whispers, “Taste my light!” through the darkened shutter.
En-flamed orange tongues lick away, truths lush green forest.
Scents of wood, and the squish of soil, are lost in the ash of history.
Anger will crawl out of its cave, to devour any who might contest.
Its black scales breathe like the rippling ocean, blanketed in mystery.
At midnight, Liars dig a grave for truth, like white ghosts, clawing hard cemetery clay.
Truth, the immortal glowing yellow sun, may burn the liars blanket of glitter, one day.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
What does it feel to have a 20 cm spike stuck in your wrist? It hurts! My arms were pulled out as far as they could go, then they nailed my wrists to the blood stained rotten wood. Six solders was enough to do the task I guess. Their leader drove his knee into my chest and spit in my face. They bent my legs and drove a third spike through my feet.
What does it feel like to be nailed to a cross, lifted up, and jolted into a shallow hole? It hurts! I killed a man, I stuck my knife in his throat. He made a gulping, choking sound. Was he drinking his own blood? It sprayed in my eyes, and on my face. He looked surprised and scared, then his face froze, and he fell to the ground. When they finally caught me, I was in jail three days, then sentenced to death. These Romans don’t mess around.
What does it feel like to be dying in front of an angry crowd, next to a religious fanatic? It hurts! Someone thew a hard rotten vegetable into my stomach, it stole the little breath I had left. The third guy being executed was yelling at the silent guy in the middle who looked like a horse trampled him. His face was unrecognizable, where was his nose? His face looked like it hurt?
The crowd is yelling for him to get down? Is he some sort of conjurer? I don’t understand, but desperate, me and the other fellow join in. “Save us! If you can get us out of this! What are you waiting for?” What does it feel like to yell with your fingers numb, and your wrists twisting a bloody hole around a rusted metal spike? It hurts!
What does it feel like to feel your life being slowly cut out of your body? It is scary. The guy in the middle, he is talking to someone, he is calm, I hear his voice whispering under the pile of pulp face he has. I look at the bits of flesh caked with blood in his beard. What does it feel like to realize you deserve to die, for killing someone? It hurts!
Realizing my fate, getting scared, I never believed in anything but myself. Is there a world beyond this one. I am scared of dying. I ask the guy in the middle, “Will you remember me when you return to your kingdom?” I almost don’t believe I am saying it, I feel something moving inside of me, pushing me toward the truth. The other guy is still yelling. “Shut up! Shut up! I shout, we deserve to die! This man doesn’t! Leave him alone.” What does it feel like to die shouting? It’s a blur.
She flew high into gray moonlit air,
Glittered dust, falls from freshly found wings.
Warm summer air tickles her face,
Toward the moon, she glides on a dream.
And yet,
black shadows of night, veil a villain.
His trap, invisible to innocent eyes.
Sticky white treads, the hair of a ghost,
Her flight ends in a twisted wreck,
he has caught her.
In a panic, she twists, and struggles,
the cords, too powerful, for the caught.
A threaded coffin, crafted in moments.
She is mummified, yet still alive,
he looks her up and down.
Looming over the freshly caught moth,
the spiders eyes hold, true terrors gleam.
Under the fullest deep quiet of the moon.
He dances with her.
She is beautifully subdued by his desires.
Under his sharp fangs, he smiles.
She cries,
the killer drinks,
her juicy life away.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 