Think Like You

I’ll be the bull within the eye of the matador, within the eye of the spectator. Stab the tendons, snap my bones, and sweeten the blade. All this because you say I have nothing to live for?

Well, if I could only think like you… if I could think like you, I would have every bit of nonsense to fight for.

If I could, I would constantly complain. If I could think like you, I would never forget to fret. I would see myself through everyone else’s eyes but my own. I would be so ugly to my self. I would be indecisive. If I could think like you, I would steal the things I could not have. I would not cherish those things for too long. If I could think like you, I would kill for no damn reason. I would initiate battle after battle. If I could think like you… I would never learn my lesson because I would never meet any teacher. I would create machines that could think for me. If I could think like you, I would destroy my home. I would do what everyone else is doing and forget to take the blame. If I could think like you, I would believe everything that was said. I would  forget the difference between information and knowledge. If I could think like you, I would worship ancestors I never met. I would make their mistakes. I would anoint, skin, burry, and stab all things alive. I would never forget to conquer. I would assimilate my tribe and enslave my kind. I would see my contradictions and always remember to forget them. If I could think like you, I would create god in my own image. I would define restrictions to control your destiny. I would tell everyone that fear will take them. I would define everything so precisely and make sure that you always emphasize sin. I would persuade you that life is not easy so you must do certain things. I would keep many secrets about your birth. I would never tell you that fear spreads as fast but can never be as powerful as love. I would define so many things and it will take you your entire life to understand. I would pressure you to rebel or pressure you to join but either way… I will keep you from your self. If I could think like you, I would not even be able to forget how to love because forgetting implies that one once knew. If I could think like you, I would be wise at forgetting.

But I am just the bull within the eye of the matador, within the eye of the spectator.

If I could think like you, my dear matador, my dear spectator…

I would need entertainment too.

I have nothing to live for but you will see that I will fight as if I knew how to love.

 

Auguries of Innocence – William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

Mistakes

 

I’ve known it to be so heavy

when all along it was as weightless as my fingerprint.

All the things that happened

were the makings of a unique grid that wraps around me.

The lack of control.

The bruised fruit.

The half-read novels.

The obedient stairway.

The hand I took so long to hold.

They are slashed words in an edited poem.

It’s my poem to read…

but I’ll turn it into a song if I damn well please to.

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