#10: Eyes Wired Wide

By Bilal Mohamed

Is there supposed to be some element of beauty to this period?

Shall I speak with an air of brevity in wake of verbal and moral perversion?

The earth shakes as I lay with my eyes wired wide.

And I pray, unafraid, for reminders of Great power that only cause me surrender.

The teacup from the night passing runneth, staining Turkish sijaajah. Brown infinity rings form in places the vessel shifts, then sits, then shifts off the edge of a glass coffee table.

Like any spectacle of suicide, I can only watch and observe the effect of being shaken up so bad by the earth and our illness.

“Leave this place”, the mind sings. This land of passion and hate, freedom and anger, lies and harsh truth.

Go somewhere morality is modal, not a breath to be blown or a controlled wind for redirection. Some pasture or raised field, a meadow on water someplace deserted, a leveled plain housing foundations for a revolutionary village—build it and they will come. Just ensure they do not come from here, nor too soon.

Lead the shepherd as whom he thought to be the sheep, rather a man with new age information that is all but ancient and true. Shelter the wealthy while hosting the poor. From the ocean tides seep shores of light under a moon that will one day come so close, it will crumble to dust. And when the dust rises, in human form, the Deaf One, the Dumb, the Blind, and the one with a Light will make their way. Only as it’s presented and upon prior request.