Angels For Lions

Where is my paradise?

Where is my Brave New World?

What I see here is a hunting ground;

no Heaven,

only prey.


We used words

and thought we knew their meaning.

We built things

that made our purpose clear.

Only after the holocaust,

did we see we had it backwards;

the angels didn’t receive us.


The world was ripped and ravaged.

We were sold

a dream of Revelations.

We respected consequence

as a matter of course,


“We are not governed by

celestial collective.”

Turns out we were wrong.


Every firing neuron

blinks as if a star

and we all move in tandem

with the cosmic dust.

We thought we were the Fox

inside the henhouse,

we were not the gods

that we thought we were.


Bought another

Black Friday


mind shackle

in a basket.

From everlasting

to everlasting,

not satisfied

since the last thing.

That high mind,

that mouth piece,

that fuck time,

this might be

the last time

we can question,

maybe change our

angle of ascension.

We’ve been wrong

up until now,

it might make sense

to just sit down

and admit we’re

in the unknown,

we’re afraid that

we’re all alone

in the darkest

place between stars.

Maybe it is,

maybe we are,

out of control.

Always will,

always will be.


Space and time,

they are nature, too.

Like the wind.

Like the scent of blood.

Heaven is

a hunting ground.

How well equipped are we now?

Will be we bring the big game down?

Will we be food for the pride?

There are lions stalking us,


all the time.


HG – 2017

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