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Posts Tagged ‘against superstition’

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

Back into the darkness,

where the laws are said to be,

handed down from heaven

to a lone prophet in secrecy.

Whispered to in loneliness,

and given the only set of keys

into the majestic,

that isn’t meant for you or me.

.

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

One book is not enough,

to answer all our questions.

One man’s take on what is love,

cannot fulfill all our suggestions.

One book and one belief,

leads to the closing of our minds.

One book and one belief,

is for me, how hell’s defined.

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2015. All rights reserved.

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… and I said send me a message

          or show me a sign

because my eyes are wide open

          but I am feeling so blind

I understand all the reasons

         and none of the rhyme

and I have changed with the seasons

         to mine the sublime

and while I long for discovery

         I’m growing shorter on time

I’m afraid all the answers

         don’t get along in my mind

as the more that I learn

         the less I can define

what you call angels and demons

         good deeds and crimes.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved. 

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I sleep late with my certainty

on Sunday morning, letting the

day break the spell of darkness

like it always has;  subtly at first

and then revealing the full

nature of our spinning.

I have learned to keep

the necessary things that prove

their place in the universe;

that show their accidental

designs in their morbid

architecture – free of ghosts,

or gods breaking laws

of the reality I am forced

to live and learn of.

Magic insults my mind,

my heart, the coffee in my cup,

the steam that makes its

presence known in sunlight.

I have no use for lines

and lies and lore

written in the darkness

of our early fears,

luring us from learning

done against the liturgy

that strives to steal the

wonder woven from letters

and numbers unwilling to bow

or break before superstition.

I believe in the seasons of the year

and the stretch of a day;

the length of shadows

extending further and becoming

less descriptive of their casters.

My garden has taught me

everything I need to know

of caring and kindness.

My aging face reminds me

I am just a metaphor

and that I must rest,

for I have worked all week

proving gravity and love.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

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