while nigglets clown

i.

we await Bethesda-waters to churn

that we might dive in and be healed

but no angel appears to stir the stagnant pond

the pool beside which we stand

we need a hand, a body to drag us in

our crippled limbs too heavy to bear

ii.

we journey as if on the dark sie of the moon

where craters bleed and sand dunes blow

pushing the heat from our cooling hearts

forming the chill in our trembling chest

shivers of silence encompass our poisoned minds

iii.

a little balm, some simple care, a spark of joy

would brighten the gray side of our minds

guiding the pain of hist'ry hobbling our feet

into that dark mirror we peer

into shadows bouncing black upon the glass

probing the faces that have molded our truth

iv.

the multiplication of sorrows soon forgot

rise behind the strained-glass of emancipation-lords

enjoying the circus while nigglets clown 

prison of the mind

the prison in our mind     it's that that draws us round from cemetery to cemetery     from tomb to tomb where our stinking pasts are laid

we long to douse the smoke-clouds hov'ring above the smoldering of our deeds     the garbage pit that yawns as we watch     here we stood attempting to burn the rubbish that taints us     the refuse of sins thought long discarded      in the dump we called "home"

we're like fools in dunce-caps      facing the wall of rejection     twiddling our thumbs waiting for some trapdoor to spring     hurling our vision into bas-relief on the wall of lost grace

like dour virgins posing for a date     we sit staring into cameras that hold our image without a soul     seated and staring into the coated glass     hoping our Mate will ring and lead us to Spring

but will we remain stuck on the hinges of old queries     trapped in the questions that philosophy can't solve as we travel the road hungering for Light