rhythm
WE LIVE IN A MYSTERY.
I TELL YOU WHAT WORKS FOR ME
AS BEST AS I CAN SEE.
BUT LIFE MAKES FOOLS OF US ALL.
That's my little disclaimer.
Readers must use discretion;
I could be wrong, you know....
They like to do it with me.
"A-scoobie to the
doobie doo..."
"Fuck you."
It was so rhythmic,
I had to repeat it.
It happened after Mass.
I was washing up
and getting breakfast ready.
I like rhythm.
They like rhythm,
those snake charmers.
They charm you like the man
playing for the cobra
who starts to sway this way
then that. We get in sync.
And then the trouble starts
because you have their rhythm,
their sync, and soon their wavelength;
their wavelength, then their dream
which soon becomes a nightmare....
I've heard that exorcisms
are sometimes fascinating.
The priest will pray the rite.
The demon hears the beat.
And soon it's like a dance -
a one-step, two-step, dip.
A facinating give and take
which masks this scary battle.
Who will play the tune
and who becomes entranced?
Oy vey!
The sermon of the Mass
was simple, childish faith.
The notion of surrender
into God's big hands.
Even should they tempt you
and rhythmically seduce you
until you feel that Hell
has now assumed control -
still you rest your spirit,
still you fall back easy,
knowing there's a Greater Hand
guiding what you do,
and a Greater Mind
seeing all of you.
Despite the things that happen,
you are taken care of.
All you need to do
is have that simple trust.
You weather all the storms.
Be patient with yourself,
and trust despite appearances -
and certainly, it gets dark.
Very, very grim.
A priest once said to me:
the voices come to nothing.
A psychiatrist once said:
never trust those bullies.
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