A Calling

A wild fanatic,

impaled on his own cross

looking for answers,

looking for meaning,

Chasing the beacon—

—it’s beaming calling

from behind the haze,

from behind the veil

searching for signs

of new life,

in springtime

in spaces it seems only death will grow,

Drunk on stars,

crying his blood,

looking for fragments

of humanity,

broken;

starved for his passions

while passers by

hand him dirt and shit

in exchange for food for the mind;

and gold for the spirit

savage and, saved and,

strange and, flayed and

lost man for his own passions,

channeling ghosts and sages

still hoping, still waiting

for answers to come

in whispers and riddles

from the other side;

in wilderness

of psyche;

..poor and sick and

wings caught in nets of plastic;

false constructions

&elaborate contraptions,

still waiting-

still hoping- lost in search for meaning

praying for UFOs to land

&extra-dimensionals to come

into

the desert of this body,

the barren gorges of this heart

if nothing else will--

looking for sound within the silence.

A light

within the dark.