Plough the seas

The monks are humming
Ancient gothic incantations
In praise of a medieval god
The imman speaks an alternative truth
Calling all to prayer from a distant tower
The priest wraps him-self
In the symbols of his calling

I do not pray
God and I conversate till late into the night
Debate the relevance of it all
And the meaning of truth
We pass a goblet filled with spirit between us
Sip the light that is life
Drink the waters of sanity

Come with me, my child
Let me show you the edge of hell
So that you may see my beauty

I respond, I have lived it already
Show me beauty
That I may ingest the stars
And inhale heaven

I have tried to meditate
But my mind saunters down the alleyways of reality
Never giving me a moment's respite
I was born of fishermen and farmers
Colonial blue collar men and women
Who sought not meaning
But relevance
They dreamed not of control
But positive influence
They did not hold down
But gave wings to the wind
And sent their children soaring

And I am one of them
Their children
I carry the fire of their pain in my belly
Suckle on their laughter with my pores
I taste the yam, cassava and okra in their smiles
I sip their sauerkraut, eisbein and wurst from their smiles
They often interrupt my conversations with god with smiles
Ancient voices that channel wisdom
Down my ethereal umbilical cord
Often she watches from god's side
Never speaking, just smiling
Dreams infused
Eyes amused
Languish in truth
Eyes tortured
Spirit abused
Will we ever be together?