Messiah’s Morphine

Determination pierces the hollow reluctance of the devotee, knowing that the Master’s teachings are pointed in their delivery – the needle of the morphine filled syringe.

Beckoned by a word; allowing the turtle – looking into the pool from his hollow log – to know his reflection as “truth corrupted.”

The jab is painless for the landscape of scars across the forearm. Mesmerized through simultaneously viewing desolation across the killing fields and the envious corpuscles veining to a purposeful community of organs governing our sensationalized clinging to materialistic values.

The escape is such a contemptible euphoria that heavenly bliss reclines upon the pillowed sofa in such an angelic fashion so as to claim the definition of everything worth living. The company I keep – the Messiah – has healed my every illness.