Did the first star of the sky feel the immense pain
like a womb and child being broken. Like the innocence
of Dagobert being murdered in a forest of corruption.
I had to abandon many lands to the villainy of men, since
Mother, do you see that it has been a slow tortuous journey
As if I kept waiting for a conversation like the King,
who was wounded in his leg, and was denied of the question,
by the failure of the grail hero, so his kingdom remained uninvigorated
Where do I choose to continue after a parade of angels?
And what head falls and becomes the head on display?
As if to sound the warning that righteous gods and kings can’t persevere
where Paul masticates on virtue to grind its bones to dust
Was the baptimising by John the Baptist a distasteful nebulous omen
And did he ask Jesus: ‘Are you the one you say you are?”
Is all this truth as fiction-like as the existence of Prester John from an unverified East?
Was James meant to be sacrificed; even in his subsequent incarnations?
You can see that the lie is an overwhelming shine and the truth is only diffused light
Nobody wants to see through the darkness of this bright delusion
I am trying to remember myself and the miracles I must accomplish
I am not even measuring the distances in cubits
Would you feel the immense density of my soul
if my body parts kept expanding and dispersing into an infinitum?
Would I then be an embodiment, anymore, in your womb, Mother?
How can I seek the answers, if the question is not asked?
Would, then, I expect the doubts to linger like the diction of my soul?
And what should I do with the convictions that still fill the spaces…?
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