SAM SILVA

The Gods

they are generous in this!
And would heap in pagan measure
every treasure and reward
should they infer that magic thing upon me,
special ring and power and gift
to wheel the universal bliss!

   so immanent in every thing
and every other thing as well
except the failed thing which I am 
and yet am not

   zero minus zero
in the garden
made of paradise
for sons of paradise to kill

   because, as I say they also
spent a lifetime
remorseless in how to force
a gift
unwanted
in the lacking soul
and plummeting that soul to icy rift!

   a weak soul, in a storm, adrift

   they gave and gave and gave
the kinds of things worse to me than any grave, gave on
so selflessly and so perfectly ineptly taken
that black wool of the sweetest sheep forsaken

   they would have wove a robe for such a prince and charge!

   they would have sent him like king down that Egyptian river on 
a barge!

   They gave too much and gave beyond all power of self in perfect 
deeds
And mirror-justice wrought
   like Monet's flowers in a bowl upon a shelf
   or say, to kill in such a manner of sweet mercy the way Jesus 
bleeds,
but in laying low so slay the ego more.
What can I say to you?, in terms of what they say and do
In such a spirit of a billion desperate and perfect lies
Bought by a magic fire and still Aflame 
within the bowls of world and wolf and dog

   the wolf and dog sense their own name?
They seem so hungry for the promised blood and meat of Hell!

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