The Word Is Holy

I sit here
staring my demons in the face
pandemonium’s hordes
crawling ever towards
my face
over my dreams these dark things drool and hiss-
threatening to feast and
inside my head nothing leave-
So-I-panic writing faster-
copying quicker-
editing-swifter-till-comes-a-moment
when it all stops,
listen
go Slowly now
slowly,
the word is holy,
study my church
writing my prayer
solely,
because the word is holy.
the word is
communication
the word, das worde, whatever language or nature or time or place it is the word
the link
that’s,
holy.
The link
in the brain made by words and words alone, words we share a thousand times in a thousand ways in all our days relays
replays and
remakes the links of our ancestors anew
binding us,
uniting us, inspiring us to communicate in ways that drive us onward but,
still,
Left right
Black White
Man Nature
Angels Demons
Devils Gods
binary categories,
inadequate describers
on repeat still defeat the  goal of the species to communicate is to unite
write
dance
Paint
Draw
make Art
be a part
of This World
our world
our society woven
through Words.

River of Pain

Under an ashen sky
Saw I
vast rotted towers of stone
streets, overthrown, blown
strewn over this, once the world’s throne
upon the streets once their home.

Beneath a broken archway, upheld
by ruin, I beheld
a meld of madness and mortar, pain
plastered on pillars with grief ingrained
stone with flesh infused, profane.

Behind curtains of tattered man hide
I spied
sluggish rivers of red and black flows
hanging skulls in serried rows
bathed in blood as the foul river grows.

Atop the tenth rise,
what greeted my eyes
in sane faces flies
departs from reasoned ways, or sense
for I witnessed the people’s foul sentence
row by row, machine-caught, suspended
to feed the river via lives hook-ended.

From that hellish vantage,
I gazed
upon one place, still whole, crazed
a place of power, of corrupt vice in loads
a place the sight of, resolve corrodes
the seat of god-kings self-proclaimed
rendered by power unrestrained
inane
servants to every whim or wish insane
for at their feet ended the river of Pain.

A poem elaborating my feelings on various aspects of humanity, from the power-hungry to the poor, machines and madness. I’m currently deliberating whether to create a dark poetry anthology based around the vampire. Please comment some views on this, dear followers.