THE MOIST GRASS.
A poem by Mr Nizin Lopez.
The grass is moist beneath my feet. My shoes are almost wasted but still they last.
My feet land on the soil as if they were the feet of the Rephaim.
My legs move but I am not commanding them, it is automatic.
They know where they have to go, my methodical routine of inspection.
My eyes, always alert for the adversaries that infect my being with Love.
Their love is as authentic as plastic surgery, it is what it is.
day after day I see their futile attacks, they are like repulsive rats enraged at a mirror.
They see the version of themselves that they don't want to see.
My light exposes their obscurity, therefore they despise me with an Amalekite hatred.
Sometimes I sit bathed by the light of some yellowish light bulb and I wonder:
"What happened?...How did it get to this? Is this even real?"
The sheets cover my ephemeral temple, this vehicle that I inhabit for now...
I hear the sound of silence, ..the static of the radio is my girlfriend.
I listen to the shows of intellectuals who are more lost than I am, ha ha...
I have realized that nothing is meant to make sense. Really, it is sad yet it is true.
So many dreams shattered by the spit of a vulture that hasn't showered in years!
My mouth, my lips, they bear a certain expression...some kind of thing...
I feel grey like ashes. Grey is a tone, a tone of understanding when everything is gone.
Everything is in fact gone...what foundation are we talking about?
All the moral codes that I was taught about, I thought they believed in integrity but it is all a corrupt game.
A sick game indeed. Dog eat dog, kill or be killed. I try to catch my breath. It is funny...
Today I opened the door for a mature lady that was coming into a store with her child.
Why am I still a decent person after all the hurt that has been inflicted upon me? Why do I care?
Day after day I see how evil people are rewarded while the lambs of the Lord are cursed by society.
I see their punitive psychology, their organized structure, their miserable rhapsody of dementia.
Why is it that I don't learn? Oh my brother, don't you see? They seek your demise and still you do good deeds...
I must be a fool, there is really no other explanation for it. My benevolence is irrational like the dry roots of a tree.
A zombie in paradise, a creature that sees. Oh being, what is left of you?
You are not even the shell of what you used to be...you have been obliterated by the bulldozer of existence.
You are not you anymore, thou art a ghost. Your body might be physical but you died already.
You are a f*cking corpse. Open your eyes, you have been betrayed.
No one gives a shit about you, no one will risk anything for you. Love? Is that something you eat?
Make sure you read the label and don't let the barcode hear your prayers.
What exactly is left for you? What tasks await thee my brother? Oh perplex me with thy speech!
I really don't have much to say at this point.... There is in fact absolutely nothing to say.
I know one thing, the grass was moist. Well, what difference does it make really? None.
What are you doing here? The movie has finished, there are no more main roles.
I still want to believe that there is something. You know that moment when you figure everything out...
Oh that moment! It's worth millions of dollars! Then it all goes back to the same point.
The movie is finished. Your ticket is broken into two. You only have one piece in your right hand.
Where did the other piece go? Did it end up somehwere over the moist grass? No.
It flew away trough the gates of your memories. The past...oh, some sweet times.
Time is an illusion, everything is mental,...memories, all those faces...they are like dust.
The movie is finished. That's it, they turned the lights on. Time to get up.