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Wings
of Stone By
M.D. Ward
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Wings of Stone
By M.D. Ward
When Angels die they turn to stone and stand and
stare
with
marbled eyes upon graves made of bones.
And from carved lips the silence slips and whistles with the
wind....a
melancholy tune. When Angels fall they turn to snow
and cover
all our sins. They melt away the fear and shame
and wash
us in their tears. The Tears of Angels Holy Rain
that drop
from heaven high are pouring are pouring on Stoned
Angels who
have died. M.
Till The End
By M.D. Ward
Slings and
arrows
Rain
upon my brain
every time I walk out
into the sun.
I see and hear such sadness
I feel like exploding and destroying
Everything.
Silent webs
beneath the stairs
tremble with shiny flies
Dancing a cake walk
with headphones blazing
stroll and bounce an
Instant sucksess
while the old man
slips a Mickey
and downs a dram of
Laudanum
and with crows feet
and bull eyes
tears at the bible under his
Bed.
And Jesus Christ
is hanging above my head
dripping pink tears
and
Begging for a rest.
Come on down Lord, Come on down.
I tell you it's
Just not worth it.
Naw, He says,
I think Ill stick it out. M
More Light
By M.D. Ward
Bones made
his way out into the moonlight. He made his way out at the
first crack of the moon. It shone like a mercurial dime with wings on
its ears and stars in its eyes. It shone on Bones white as silver and
covered him with light. The Night is Mine. Only the night he
whispered. The rest is for the rest. Only in the Silence could he
Hear. Only in the darkness could He be shone upon. Shone upon by a
face older than time. A Mother's Face looking down on her baby drowning
in the dark. A light a spark a hope a dream. A gleam of Love from a
billion miles away. Something surreal and so so real. The Night is
Mine. The Night is Mine. The Night is Mine. And the Moon
waxed Full
and smiled on her old baby Bones and the sea rose the sea rose the sea
rose. Bones made his way out into the Moonlight. Bones made his way.
M.
We All Go to Heaven
By M.D. Ward
Corposetic
as a graveyard on a hazy August day while the dead dream the
last dream Im sitting here shrinking my back shelled by a tomestone
growing smaller by the second the years fall away and I am left face to
face with a Name I barely knew....Esther. It was she, it was her name I
sat in front of and stared at like a five year old. "Well Ma, Ive
finally come to see you, I planted something sweet for you and Dom.
Something for your dream. Something Evergreen. O how I wish...but what
are wishes but regrets. It's too late to be great when hope has died.
Hey Ma! Let's sing a song! Sing Melancholy Baby Ma! Nobody could
sing
it like you....Except maybe....me". M.
The Right Man
By M.D. Ward
East of
Eden west of heaven in the bedlam known as
Brooklyn sits a Sufi
smoking holy rope dreaming he was Pope. And in his
dream the Angels drag
him from his bed and put a Triple Crown upon his dome
radiant with
diamonds and multi-precious stones. Next they whisk him
to Rome and plant
him on a Holy Throne. At Last!!! Now the world can
Rejoice!!! Daddy's
Home. There have been Thieves in the Temple for Two
Thousand Years. Two
Thousand Years of layered wealth hoarded by the
Pirates of the Cross now
in the hands of a bedbug from Brooklyn. He is now a
God. He sells it
all. Everything. From the Sistine Chapel to the
Bones of the Saints.
All works of art all tax exempt lands and holdings
dating back to the
time of the Lord must be sold and given to the poor.
THIS IS the Will
of GOD!!! And with this wealth I will Feed the Hungry
and clothe the
naked. The Lame will Dance and the Blind will See
Because HE Promised
ME. Now is the Tyme of Miracles. Now is the Only
Tyme. M.