SINT MAARTEN ONCE PRISTINE QUEEN NOW OLD BEDREAGGLED WHORE.
SHARDS OF MY SOUL.
This is not a poem these are shards of my soul a soul at once torn and complete two faces of good and evil melancholic yet joyful look with your soul eyes as the man bares his essence.
Love and innocence lost this is an ode to love to bonding to roses.
To the female flower her Tulip her Pomegranate, her Bejeweled Goblet, her feminine repose her waterfall her shower of beauty.
I seek for love like a thirsty man in a desert twice eluded once found, when found contained in a bosom jealously guarded.
It was exquisite not sensual never erotic it remained pure likened to that of a virgin.
An untouched unspoilt virgin she shone brightly in my minds eye.
I reached to touch the vision she vanished, I cried out in anguish as if I were a child again and my mother left me I winsomely sought the unspoilt virgin but she was not her captors took her, she was deceived with trinkets and fake gold.
One her captors is called slavery, the other is mammon the other is called whoredoms next is vice, followed by Neo-Colonialism, racism fathered them all their mother western imperialism and their father birthed a child called tourism this child brought with it great wealth and illusions of grandeur.
Riding with the child called tourism was death with tourism came death and destruction.
The children ceased to be productive they became cannibals and began to eat the flesh of their offspring.
The children were sacrificed on the altar of greed to Moloch god of poverty.
What a paradox such a dichotomy the children were sacrificed for wealth but their betrayers yet remain poor poverty of the soul the worst kind that afflicts mankind the betrayers of the children cannot think for themselves they are to dumb to even run their own house .
Some of the children escaped the demon called Moloch, the old man called them the “Joshua Generation”.
He said these escaped children would one day free the others who are mentally dead their spirits are strong and their souls want to be free.
He said there is an enemy within not on the outside he cautioned the Sheppard Boy to look for the enemy within he it is who will bring about destruction.
I said how will I know him and what is he called , he intoned look in the water I gazed at my own reflection beneath me, he said the image that you see is your enemy defeat him and all his weaknesses and you will be free.
I laughed old man how can I defeat my self? He retorted all that is wicked all that is bad in your own heart destroy it and then you will know why I appear in your dreams.
He said the whore who sacrificed her own babies, another is holding her basket.
The old man laughed at the fools he said the Brahmin is controlling the greedy old whore he has the money that she wants, he laughed ha, ha, ha, he chortled mockingly as he jeered at their utter stupidity.
Hes said the colonial masters are not the masters anymore the Brahmin have the purse strings in his hand.
The old man was black he stood upright, tall and willowy his beard was white, I said who are you, he said Iam the spirit of prophecy Iam called a prophet.
I said what about the children with power and force in his voice he said “You shall live and not die” I asked about the once unspoilt queen, now an old whore I asked of her place and her whereabouts I pondered and I sought to know her name in the vision of enrapturing beauty the unspoilt queen, stood tall and proud the vision that I so covetously sought was no more it all vanished like a cloud and in her place was an old bedraggled colonized whore the old man in the vision said this former queen now whore’ name is miss Sint Maarten .
“ Her children are scattered to the four winds sacrificed on the altar of greed and he lamented the lost of innocence, as for me I only wanted the pleasure of knowing the virgin not the pain that came with the realization of her true nature.
This is the essence of mankind love and innocence, pain, pleasure and redemption and at the apex of all things the whirlwind the summation of life will.
Sint Maarten awaits her whirlwind will she reap what she has sown? The old man replied only time will tell.
THE OLD MAN. THE PROPHET.
This is not a poem these are shards of my soul a soul at once torn and complete two faces of good and evil melancholic yet joyful look with your soul eyes as the man bares his essence.
Love and innocence lost this is an ode to love to bonding to roses.
To the female flower her Tulip her Pomegranate, her Bejeweled Goblet, her feminine repose her waterfall her shower of beauty.
I seek for love like a thirsty man in a desert twice eluded once found, when found contained in a bosom jealously guarded.
It was exquisite not sensual never erotic it remained pure likened to that of a virgin.
An untouched unspoilt virgin she shone brightly in my minds eye.
I reached to touch the vision she vanished, I cried out in anguish as if I were a child again and my mother left me I winsomely sought the unspoilt virgin but she was not her captors took her, she was deceived with trinkets and fake gold.
One her captors is called slavery, the other is mammon the other is called whoredoms next is vice, followed by Neo-Colonialism, racism fathered them all their mother western imperialism and their father birthed a child called tourism this child brought with it great wealth and illusions of grandeur.
Riding with the child called tourism was death with tourism came death and destruction.
The children ceased to be productive they became cannibals and began to eat the flesh of their offspring.
The children were sacrificed on the altar of greed to Moloch god of poverty.
What a paradox such a dichotomy the children were sacrificed for wealth but their betrayers yet remain poor poverty of the soul the worst kind that afflicts mankind the betrayers of the children cannot think for themselves they are to dumb to even run their own house .
Some of the children escaped the demon called Moloch, the old man called them the “Joshua Generation”.
He said these escaped children would one day free the others who are mentally dead their spirits are strong and their souls want to be free.
He said there is an enemy within not on the outside he cautioned the Sheppard Boy to look for the enemy within he it is who will bring about destruction.
I said how will I know him and what is he called , he intoned look in the water I gazed at my own reflection beneath me, he said the image that you see is your enemy defeat him and all his weaknesses and you will be free.
I laughed old man how can I defeat my self? He retorted all that is wicked all that is bad in your own heart destroy it and then you will know why I appear in your dreams.
He said the whore who sacrificed her own babies, another is holding her basket.
The old man laughed at the fools he said the Brahmin is controlling the greedy old whore he has the money that she wants, he laughed ha, ha, ha, he chortled mockingly as he jeered at their utter stupidity.
Hes said the colonial masters are not the masters anymore the Brahmin have the purse strings in his hand.
The old man was black he stood upright, tall and willowy his beard was white, I said who are you, he said Iam the spirit of prophecy Iam called a prophet.
I said what about the children with power and force in his voice he said “You shall live and not die” I asked about the once unspoilt queen, now an old whore I asked of her place and her whereabouts I pondered and I sought to know her name in the vision of enrapturing beauty the unspoilt queen, stood tall and proud the vision that I so covetously sought was no more it all vanished like a cloud and in her place was an old bedraggled colonized whore the old man in the vision said this former queen now whore’ name is miss Sint Maarten .
“ Her children are scattered to the four winds sacrificed on the altar of greed and he lamented the lost of innocence, as for me I only wanted the pleasure of knowing the virgin not the pain that came with the realization of her true nature.
This is the essence of mankind love and innocence, pain, pleasure and redemption and at the apex of all things the whirlwind the summation of life will.
Sint Maarten awaits her whirlwind will she reap what she has sown? The old man replied only time will tell.
THE OLD MAN. THE PROPHET.
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