Ghost Light NY

There is a hand emerging, 

somewhere from below that grabs 

and festers with only a desire to 

snuff the flame dancing and flailing

madly atop my head 

out. 

From where this hand emerges I can see

towns, 

dying towns, 

born of desire and an earnest warmth 

to hopefully prompt their people to grow 

just as their wheat in the fields does 

in order to fill greedy stomachs 

and host malevolent mold. 

I have seen this mold – 

Into the heads of fragile people

it cleaves daggers of chaos, 

insanity, and that which drives man 

to forgetfulness of what I and others 

of my divine caliber have told them; 

be not ignorant, be not unkind, 

and do not point the finger of divinity

in directions that We cannot fight. 

The madness of man is a shield that 

I cannot break with my sword of purity, 

though my will is strong and my 

seraphic heart is devoid of rest. 

Grime, disease, and plagues of the mind

dirty the hands of angry men and 

young children, who lie seizing 

and frothing at the mouth as the rot 

festering in fields finds it way into

beds, buckets, bread, and birth. 

I hear these calls, I see these pointed fingers

with my name inscribed on 

their knuckles with unbelieving craze; 

I touch nothing, 

I kiss none goodbye.

Their ignorance unravels me, 

their carelessness starves me, 

and sooner or later I will be 

bludgeoned to inexistence by man’s

foolish attempt to 

replicate me with 

their own mouths.