Blame

pushes
the door
out

when
it
opens in

The prophet ordered
To wish your hand
And get wished your members
To clean up
Your out appearance
As well as your heart

Wish as you perform a pollution
As you will pray before you eat and after
Your member will clean

When you hear someone ill
Tell him to be in
His home and not be out

The ill or sick must not come
Or visit the right and healthy one
To keep the people so cured

If the pest is ascended
At any land
God may keep every land
One must not get at
This causality land
To keep the society sound

And one does not visit
To be safe and right
If one has cured
God prevents every worst
And the cure is not advanced
And he gets dead
With great faith and patient
He will be considered as martyr at the battle
Who fights against the bad enemies
Or he defends his wealth
Or fights to protects his sons
Or his beloved wife
Who carries every smart sense
He will be at best heavens
That is the brief of the prophet tales

Jewelled lights
Inner city
Urban sunsets lookin' pretty
A Tower block rapunzel
hair spun from ghetto gold
15th storeys high
and the stories gettin' old
No knight is waiting
A million dreams are broken
the lift is out of order
Hope seems a foolish notion
Isolation is her captor
the city her disorder

******

Throwin' caution to the sky gods
She dresses in her armour
Advances down the stair well
Into inner city drama
On the 29 she takes a seat
looks straight ahead
Smile painted on.
The day she greets
********
At dusk again, in towered gloom
Moon illuminates her room
Stitching up torn, tired seams
of abandoned.
Long lost dreams.
Her heart.  
Already healing
Urban warrior forever
One day she'll leave this jungle.
Maybe. Who knows.
Whatever.

A pressure's rising within me
Snap. That's how it'll be.

I've plotted a hundred,
thousand, no- a million ways to do it.

I've yet to act on a single one.
But oh, how I long for it.

Face-value lies are my strong suit,
it lets me hide just below the surface.

And if someone really thought to look,
they'd find me.

Sitting in the corner, face twisted
into ugly despair without tears.

The pressure is too much,
like a taught bow-string.

It needs release.
I need relief.

It'd be easy to get some,
the tools are right in front of me.

It's been a long debated scenario in my head,
I can't imagine a life where I live to be over twenty.

Everyone is starting to plan their future without me already,
so why the hell should I bother them?

Friends come and go,
It's not like I'm special in there eyes...right?

But it would leave people haunted,
and they don't deserve to be a part of my burden like that.

No matter how cruel they can be...
The only one I can bring myself to loathe is me.

Child of my spirit, why do you cry?
My arms will enfold you as you tell me why.
Share all your dreams, your hopes and your fears,
As my love is the tissue to dry all your tears.

Child of my spirit, it’s time to heal.
Know that you’re loved and that love is real.
Let go of the doubts that you’ve carried since birth,
And know that you’re precious as gold in your worth.

Child of my spirit, it’s time to shine.
Open your heart and all will be fine.
Trust that your path is steady and true
And know The Divine will always love you.

© Victor Fuhrman