Alienation

No one stands for the truth anymore.
Coward’s necks are back to their turtle shells.
But I have no shell; I am a shell-less snail.
I am a lamb, the sweetest meal,
meat, without fangs and claws.

I am condemned to the brutality of your blood thirst,
your disregard for what is right.

Nobody is the soulmate.
Nobody is fangless beyond gutlessness.
We search for her in the wrong musical ditches and ballpoint-pen peaks.

We never gain her trust
unless, by losing all our lusts, for other sound-holes,
all are itches for anyone but her tune
anything but
what sanctions the sanctuary of her omnipresence.

A root has to go so deep in dirt and dark
to project its blooms, its nests amidst the rays of sunshine.