Origin

The existence of demons is indeed, a visceral notion.  No zoo or museum houses the supernatural for the scientific mind to sample and define.  Consider for a moment, that perhaps demons are real.   A massive load of worry and anger from the injustice of favoritism, started as a hot neck, and an invisible lead straight jacket tugging on aching shoulders.  Then, as the lights danced in a tormented brain shadowing scars began to accumulate of the wall of the mind.  A creature was born of hurt, resentment, and hatred.  It seemed harmless at first, reaching out into the world with shadowy and sticky tentacles.  Warm black ink would run into the ear canals of any who would listen and incubate more demon spawn.

Humans may possibly be the parents to the unseen darkness of evil, as electrical brains hum and swirl events of hurt and anger.  Churning a massive centrifuge of thoughts and dark fantasies.  Unleashing darkness upon all that step near.  The blackened mist is not bound to it creator.  A human, deprived of life, leaves behind a footprint of warm glowing sunlight, and choking smoke.  Like living creatures they penetrate and saturate those left to life.  The creatures of emotion, live beyond the nest.

God saw it necessary to quell the veil of black, that evil creatures cast as they swim in the air between people.  A bright light, silent and hung on a cursed wooden monolith for a moment.   Light was lost for three hours, so that it could burn away darkness for an eternity.  Without light, demons will nest in the wounded brains of humanity.  Love and forgiveness is poison to evil.  It will writhe and scream under its dose, but eventually, it will die in the light.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Haiku Whispers

Words sail on air

landing upon ears shoreline

evil ghost ship.

Organize paper.

Organize words of story.

Reader’s Reward.

Love is a magnet

lodged within another.

Invisible pulling.

A snake is a snake.

Lie of feathers and of feet…

A snake is a snake.

Waterfall of words

splashing loose on the page

upstream masterpiece.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

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The Spicy Earth

The fire in earths belly is spicy.  Spicy on the soul.

Like breathing, a mouthful of hot sauce,

then gasping, gasping, in a burning panic.

A force swirled around me, like a cloud of ink.

If hatred could take shape, if anger found form,

it would be the black smoke.

I asked the burning fog if it was sorry.  Sorry it was evil.

Black garbage bags, shredded on barbwire, whipping in the wind.

Lava orange eyes, full of rage, with no lungs to yell,

seared its gaze into the theater of my mind.

Like the hum of an electrical transformer, it ‘whoomed’ and ‘werewa, werewa”ed,

its tale of hatred.  It burned my mind, like a spicy nightmare.

A crackling hum, of violent energy.  The forever evil,

was soon spat out of my mind.  Yet, the choking smoke hangs,

over all of the earth, without sorrow, full of hate.

Even now as you read,

Millions of angry fingers of forged in dark smoke,

grab sweet hearts, and turn them black and spicy.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Life

 

A giant wooden circle spins.  Old drawings of children riding on animals and laughing, cover the center hexagonal pillar.  The roof is like an ornate hat for a spinning round house.  Wood shaped into framed swirls and borders.   The paint is faded.  This ride has been on the Earth for some time.  An old group of people occupy it.  The music plays, yet the looks of blind joy, knowing sadness, and silent fatigue hangs on the face of the riders.  A voice booms over their heads, the music fades, the lights dim and the ride stops. They make a line, some are wailing, and trying to hold on for one more time around, but when the music stops, everyone must leave.  They begin walking slowly our of sight. The exit gate is closed as new group populates the circle.  Riders sit on plastic animals impaled with vertical poles.  The frozen faced beasts of burden drift up and down, limited to their evolution, or their design perhaps.  The moment is brief.  The ride starts.  The ride ends.  As the gate closes behind the old riders, children run to the animals, laughing and telling their own stories of how it all works.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

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