Life-aims in Purgatory

I am sure of God

Of Him I am certain .

Piddling, meddling, concupiscence of dreamers curtain

Interfere

Obscure, adhere

 

Their super-glued tight sticking plaster scraps

Over wet wounds which otherwise would heal

Paste aspirational goals

As like some invalided well-advanced diabetes

Burdens the whole

 

In such things I am sure slick schemers use us

Our life admits a sharing, of forbearing for its bruises

Life’s not for staring, delectating phantom coutures

Dressed in shop windows, stood like a plucked goose

Care-hankering the glass.

 

Nor else for merchant-bankery, and it’s couthless Walter Mittys

Lords of the midden popinjays, palavas sitting pretty

But crocked in spirit,

Enraptured self-encaptured, mind-beholdenly enchained

By slavery

 

Whose breviaries are yens to pedicure demeanours

And sanctify the bulging bible purse

Whose first love is to wager, so lay out in danger

From adulated heart-invested money favours,

Those holy things remanded:

 

Even those codiciles which mighty God commanded

Forespent, exhaused, and gone hence hitherto,

Neglected for phylacteries of flashy Krugerrands

Which profit-kissed instead

Declare resplendency

 

Intent propensities seek gain’s exigencies,

By fat increase encourage leisurely largesse;

While matters for compassion linger wearing shabby dress

They toast champagnes

 

In aeroplanes

Hired or self-owned, enough to house a head

Bloated because fed

With wild-west schemes, and dreams, devotees flattered whims

Of such immensity

And outrage

Audacious to an nth degree outlandish;

The while the saint rewards in frontal lobes there languish

 

Over the course of whisky and a sandwich

Out on the lawn where savour of position

Suns its affairs with elegant ambition

Loosing off all restraints foresees a fair commission

Some vital vision!

 

Incentives, incitements hustle out all due proportion

Eager at once to lever, and regardless caution,

No other thoughts invade here; and, alas, the humble person

Of other folk is lost

 

Alone among tall clouds are sung wealth’s grand distortions

And devil the cost

 

And only the spinning shuttles which revolve the highest heaven

May bring such human failures their deliverance through freedom

 

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You can also find this poem at steemit: https://steemit.com/poetry/@matthew.raymer/life-aims-in-purgatory

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