BLOODLETTING (PURCHASE HERE)
Oh, how those lessons in innocence pale,
In light of the cold shower reality of,
Those acts of subjugation,
That force of oppressive love,
That stripping away of purity,
And replenishing the holy with the standard
Oh, how those soft dreams of utopia fade,
In the presence of servitude,
Where those thoughts which are unthinkable,
And those lies of shadow sickness,
Are told by friendly faces, meant as warnings,
To steer one in a sheep’s direction
Oh, how the meek and the pure,
Are put upon in the midst of their youthful stride,
And denigrated to subservient status,
Given rules and regulations,
Ignorant of the harm done in the name of discipline
Ignorant of the rape committed by conformity
Oh, how we fail to recognize the one as the other,
And give no pause to our actions,
Which limit the spontaneity of youth,
The joyful happiness of freedom,
How we strip it away just to make them like us,
Paying no attention to the evanescent beauty of the distinct…
Only in the bloodletting can we sift out the poison. Only in the drawing of blood can we reengage our prime. Only through the abandonment of our disillusioned assumptions can we get ourselves up to speed, run on back to our inner self that we once abandoned long ago by adopting rule and reason, in wait of some far off bliss. Only then can we stave off the locusts, shake off those pretend lives we’ve been living, run away from the attachments and false notions, and slip back into the cool hollow where tightness and closeness reside, before we run out of steam once again, and give rise to those lazy fingers that toil sluggishly and without purpose, waiting for the terror to rise back up inside us. It is there in the melotony that we must find our peace, draw blood once more and curtail our ambitions, bloodletting the truth that resides inside of us, the truth that peace brings…and the bliss…that is already there.
Copyright 2009, Kevin McMaster.
BUTTERFLY BUSH 