Con-Form

The spirit

That lives inside this soul

Is taking form

 

From birth

I was confounded and constrained

Pushed and pulled—

Shaped by human hands to fit their mold.

Their hold, they hoped would not grow old

Not questioned or detected.

 

I will not please these faker makers

I will not fill their empty space.

 

I’m not a clone to be projected

From some other place and time.

I’m not a copy to be modeled

Before or after

 

I am myself

Endowed with freedom

Scope and laughter

Never bound

Never re-mastered

 

I roam the planes and soar the skies

I am myself

A child of God

 

People without vision fail to understand

They look me in the eyes and fear

The unbound, wild, natural power

That peeks out from deep inside.

 

“You can’t afford to live like this”

Is something people say,

“You must be real and down your zeal.”

To them I say, “I am con-form.”

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Delusions of Power

Indeed the fear of God has left our country and with it the fear of repercussions. No longer can we say we live in a respectful, dignified, and civilized society. We are savages living in a dream world of delusions of grandeur. Like Lady Macbeth’s advice to her husband we have become the snake lying beneath the rose. There are few men among us, most are cowards hiding behind banners of law and posts of import. Fools do not reckon ancient wisdom and believe themselves clever mavericks of a new magic that has leeched the earth since the dawn of time. Despiséd parasites, sons of Cain, you have been marked and your punishment will come, not at the hand of your brethren but by the hand that made you. With knowledge and understanding comes responsibility and instead you choose to play God weighing this person’s life against that one’s, believing yourself exempt, not realizing your own part in the game. Millions suffer and foot your bills while you gorge yourself with your spoils, patting yourself on the back, congratulating your work. Humanity is measured like stock and you delight in overtaking your friend. Fortunately:

“God doth not need
   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
   They also serve who only stand and wait.”
–John Milton