Last Hours (a poem)

Can I surrender?
Or will I keep fighting egos?
Drink from the poison chalice?

Where is utter peace?
Forget the journey to enlightenment –
Surrender to base desires;

Flesh is more potent than spirit,
Holy Spirits eat my flesh
In inordinate, passionate fires –
The Mind of Christ bursts
With vicious images

I waste in the desert, alone,
wasteland of ineptness,
Seeing life for what it is –
An illusion grasping for power
Hungry for last hours,
Tribal dance of death.

(Photo: “Codes” Gray and Black abstract watercolor painting by Bruce Black 2020)


4 responses to “Last Hours (a poem)”

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: