Hell Is For Children

bacchanal-of-putti-by-nicolas-poussin

Window of time — years ago —

 

The birth-givers disrobed and produced babies to throw

into the abyss where they would not grow.

 

But grow they did, from seeds to weeds,

into carnivorous men and goatish women

longing for tall fires in deaths’ cold breath of life.

 ancientorgy

Thirsting for sexual domination

in the semblance of licentious obedience,

 

Ball gags,         Whips,              Rubber sheets…

 

Love in Chains

 

Invigorating cruelty served up daily

with their bread and wine,

While upon the heavenly humiliation

of invasive maneuvers they would dine.

 

And the birth-givers, who no longer spoke

in bombastic tongues,

Could only watch with shameful amusement

as the perverted night ate their young.

 

Top Drawing – Bacchanal Of Putti by Nicolas Poussin
Bottom Drawing – Unknown. Originally posted on Sassydog.net

 

© 2012 Mark Rogers

Crimes Seen Front Cover

 Crimes Seen

(Book II)

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Roots

tree

My tree stands alone

In the midst of a

Vast grassy field.

 

Allow me to introduce to you,

A place where time and reason

Both must yield.

 

I come here often

In my mind

When my heart is weak of feeling

Towards mankind.

 

It is my one and only

True salvation.

But, we are taught,

A shameful destination.

 

Vertigo!

 

Ecstasy at a stand still.

The stories this tree could tell.

 

The dream is the same

Time and time again…

I emerge on to the scene

Hypnotically focused upon my tree.

 

The tree………………

 

The root of all my evil.

It awaits me;

And as I draw near,

In my state of slumber

I can hear

My girls’ voice

Beckoning with fear.

 

“I won’t be coming home dear.”

 

I’d ask you to join me for a picnic ’neath my tree—

Cool in the shade.

But I know you are timid and frail

And one must not be afraid.

 

Color, creed and status

Lay defenseless

Here or anywhere

Around the aura

Of this wilderness cathedral.

 

For the tree is my stage

And each blade of grass, a spectator

Filled with curious envy

 

The sun is my spotlight

Beaming down hard

upon my every move.

 

My subconscious directs

And northeastern winds supply a subtle groove.


Ahh, placid animosity.

 

Peace and tranquility

Stem from this tree.

I must have some,

I must take a leave…

 

So I climb the tree

And give it my all.

And the rope around my neck

Breaks my fall.

 

And now I see

And now I crawl

Upon dirt floors

….in an ancient hall.

 

© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

Placid Animosity

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The Silent Fright

Puppets dance uniformly

In boundaries of assigned squares

Starvation and gluttony

Rapidly grow into a common pair.

 

Portrait couples,

Afraid to catch an eye,

Stir in quiet shame

Of feeble attempts to rekindle

Sparks……of a Dura-Flame.

 

These are but a few dark truths,

Which add to the sum of Silent Fright,

And which swiftly fall from my heart

Now that I have seen the end’s light.

© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

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Yesterday==Today

Slow and languid, the train of thought

which still insists passion be bought

under hazel skies children are taught

to worship God………….so greedily sought.

 

© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

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Ch-ch-ch-changes…..

To deny change is not to grow,

Or ever pass go,

And never to know

The answers to questions

You long for today.

 

Head of clay,

You can say that today

You don’t care to be aware

As long as you  stay- – – –

 

 – – -the same

remain- – – –

vegetablized, minimized,

 

– – -emotionally paralyzed.

 

 

Frozen memories of a yesterday

That you once knew

Never to digest or recess

Inside of you-

 

There is unrest.

 

You hate your life

But you love yourself so.

Soundly impossible,

 

They’re one in the same bro.

 

As the world changes,

So must our causes and views.

It is changing now—

 

Turn on the news.

 

I used to believe

In justified homicide;

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

 

But,

Change soon found me

With it’s merit and zest……

….. And now, jaded heart of failed test’s,

 

I believe life eternal would be best.

 

© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

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