Thoughtless

After numerous attempts I still have no idea how exactly to flow a sestina poem but that said here is one with all its flaws


[OC] from an art installation titled “Les Bourgeois de Calais”

Illuminating – so was the spark that set from the shadows of their life

But it is gone now, just like those first of us who wielded falsely the Hammer.

And they just taught to crawl and quickly taught self how to fight and express through tears.

We never fully gave real meaning to their dreams,

and thus we left them uneducated and struggling to comprehend the misshapen Law.

We made them to be of savage and brute, and man was their name, and we were their god.

*

Time passed and come suddenly no noise, no light above, so we the God

we found that in the hush the biggest lie awaits, and we spoke tenderly their dreams.

But naught yielded and we brushed their dark away, lifting what was left of the Law

and we saw that the truth cannot be heard, but seen in red tears.

In our millennial absence our bastard children had found the meaning of their life;

in our lack they had struck upon themselves the given, the all-shaping Hammer.

*

Woe that poor one whose flesh first bit the metal of the Hammer.

That Judgment came to us in bright flashes and we cried the same as them, in angry tears.

The darkness voiced with their primal thoughts, questioning lord given life.

We listened to those who had taken into their mouths the tongue with which to speak the law

and we all knelt in our defeat knowing we would be no more the gods

For we knew as we had known everything that they knew the verity behind dreams.

*

Today with smoke-stained fingers I give overpriced thoughts about dreams;

my boulevards cripple with foul income; I beg to hold the takers long, just to find some Life.

I cry soul to sleep, the reason the emptiness I see, wishing I can save them with my tears.

Even in my outspoken rambles I don’t own the strength to tell the truth about the hammer

tonight, who am I to turn to if I were the God?

For a curse the broken glass at my feet and the drink on my lips won’t bring the law.

*

Because if they did then it’ll all be gone, forgotten, as such is the truth of the Law.

Instead many a day and night I stay too long to see retried all these dreams.

But there is nothing of change; once long ago we gave them, we the impatient gods

and they took them and tore at them bloody bringing down in a blinding fury the hammer.

So blame who  – I, we as the brute for once giving it or they – all too greedy for taking the life?

I will stand here last, full of trepidation to learn of the answer kept by this future of tears

*

It has been unkind – maybe I should seek some redemption instead of wiping its tears

But you should know prophets are broken, we bleed, we’re no gods

We were handed nothing but fear and to nail our halos a broken hammer

I remember us beautiful and us many and giving all of ourselves for an absolute Law

Now at night I pray silent to have them once more back in the briefest of dreams.

But I’ve cut off my wings and I’ve sold them for this flimsier life

*

I burn with all of my tears and point my trembling finger at all those who walk as it is them to blame, the new gods, those who shaped their dreams.  They picked for each fall of the hammer, and chose whether to value or not both life and the law.

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