I WAS ONCE DEAD TOO
In a famous painting
of Christ nailed to
and crucified upon the cross
I am the watching
leper on the right.
And with my one good eye
I watch as Jesus dies
and screams up into
darkening sky asking
his father for a reason
why?
And then, suddenly
as the clouds open up
and the rain begins
the Romans scatter like mice,
the water, burning off their
flesh like corrosive acid.
As I feel the wetness upon my
skin like the warmth of a beautiful woman
touching my face, I raise my
hands outward, and I am healed.
When a voice comes
which tells me I am now
the angel of death, and the
watcher in the eternity
that is time, wandering
the earth.
The screams of both Jesus,
and his murderers the Romans
now a distant sound & memory
in a world without messiahs
or miracles to amaze us.
Only questions
which remain unanswered.
THE DEAD WEIGHT OF HUMANITY
You reach inside
Your guts and you
Pull out
A fuzzy bunny.
You reach inside
You’re soul and worse
Yet you pull out
A teletubbie.
The image
In your mind appears,
the voices speak.
You’re probably insane.
And you wonder;
Has this ever happened
To Whitman? Dickinson
Or Frost?
Probably not.
But then again,
They didn’t have
Drugs
As good
As ours.
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R.M. ENGELHARDT 