Some labour for love-
like a woman heavy with a child.
Others are hit by love
like grains of sand in a whirlwind.
Many get caught up in the dance,
enthralled by sounds of tambourines.
Their cages collapsing callously;
caving-in noisily
like them ancient walls of Jericho.
Some mistake love for a mistake-
Or a battle to be won,
a new territory to subdue,
or new lands for rusted flags to hoist;
new land to fallow, await the rains,
quench the wait and the fertile soil moist.
When love is a mistake,
the seed of labored breath will still sprout,
fill the earth with a newness so green,
a calming shrill of a cry,
an occasional random whisper,
maybe a hearty chatter in the dead of the night.
This sprouting seed will momentarily;
interrupt the monotonous brown
lull to calm the barren tears filling the greying sky.
But, mistakes for love go unforgotten-
Like a bad dream, or stale breathe.
Just like a slack tide swinging a Hail Mary-
Counting them chances in the stars.
Mistakes of love-
Unforgiving like a dying debt collector,
or a hasty tax man with bad diarrhea;
will eventually swirl the love’s palette,
spin it into a bad mosaic,
a blurry circus that will suck in all colour
into one blur of black-white madness.
There will no time to catch a break:
Or grab a dime, or serve a damn.
When love or whatever that blinds
comes for her misdemeanors-
It will be a house of burnt sacrifices,
with smokes of broken dreams
spiraling up in the chimneys of St. Peter’s cathedral.
When death or what puts asunder
comes for his buried skeletons in the closets-
Screams of blames and words of brimstones,
will fill the empty house with dying crescendos
of a wounded tigress.
But,
before the ceasefire,
before the rush to clasp on the pendulum of half-lies,
before the aftermath of toasted hearts and bitter guile,
This malady will be televised oops socialized.
Linen will be hanged up to dry for all sundry to feast.
And they will feast: tweeps will burn their twitterville,
Insta-gratification will choke with gore colours,
Faces will be booked in blue and white,
while the deviants will just pinpoint of interest.
on their walls for whoever cares,
the crazy ones will just mile for future fun.
*********************************
There will be jubilation in hell as the white knight descends
to vanquish the remnants of love’s mistakes,
put a seal of baptism upon these villainy love beasts.
Heavens will tear a little-
But that eternal shine will clear the pathways.
We’ll sit and wait for the next life to churn on the mill.
C’est la Vie.
Erik Mutei 