Laughing At Funerals

Though many think to find offense at what is simply odd-felt grief,

And most would keep me held restrained - to have fobbed off some dark compunction…

Or quickly place as arrogance, or upon some other “off" belief,

While held imprisoned, unjustly detained, and to have been robbed my balanced, proper function…

And here I pace my desert cage, occasionally heard to give a growl-

But you can't hear my soft footfalls, nor see my shadow, fleet, pass by.

But perhaps you'll hear my roar of rage, as I go forth upon my prowl,

As I survey these blasted Halls, and sniff out lie's defeat from Up On High!

A bitter, acrid smell is that , and one I'd rather never tasted-

That pierces as a thorn into my paw.

For to sit in hell does not suit this cat, who does not intend on being wasted-

Instead, I plan to blast the Horn of Law!

… Not this queerly held imposter, that you'd use to mock within your courts,

And taunt It with cheap threats and petty bribes.

Why, here's your name's upon The Roster (What- you have no quick retorts?!) -

Having no regrets for murdering most 'our tribes…

You must cease, and at once desist- or face the fated Axe-man's Hand at Dawn,

(And having brought down your own demise heaped 'pon your heads’)

For there'll be no peace if when the Light you'll resist, and sit there, grinning, as Satan's pawns,

While having swam the Lake of Lies, and drowned in dread…

Or, to put it in another way - one that's kinder 'pon your ears,

(And perhaps may work a path to your bruised hearts!)

Perhaps to avoid a needless stay, in thrall to your encouraged fears,

Amidst the aftermath and gruesome parts…

For if we go on barreling, haphazardly, right on off the Cliff, and let the chaos Winds rip 'way Love's warning…

And waste our lives’ with quarreling, unabashedly laying on our riff, we'll miss the Grand Crescendo as It's forming.

So here I set, while you look appalled- a feast for me, this rousted desecration!

And to add my voice to Grace's choir, and to free my newfound will to growing wise.

And while most have seemed to've crept and crawled, a leap, for me, brought no moment's hesitation.

As I'll not dress in your darkened attire, and will pull no blackened veil across my eyes.

And though most will never know the reason, for these laughs that stifle cries,

And would rather think me vicious, crass, and cruel …

I was just born out of season, with eyes made open to all 'these lies,

That would keep you held beneath the Tyrant's rule;

And this offends my finer senses, seeing such gross Greed and Waste, and while my shriek comes bursting forth, and turns some of your queasy stomachs,

I tried to help you across the graveyard fence, and to negotiate the need for haste- yet the Block & Tackle of my worth won't right the lazy lummox…

Unless you put aside pretense, and drop the mask from this dark drama, to take hold the worthy weight within your hands,

And bless the child with no offense, and to ablate the task of building trauma, and to heal unworthy hate from out these lands,

Replacing such with honest labors- no get-rich-quick, foul Ponzi schemes! No simple/compound interest legalese…

Replacing with rakes, the guns & sabres- no longer lost in greed fuelled dreams, our temple being cleansed from this disease.

But now the Roulette wheel's been spun, the croupier's grin's spread devilish' wide (as many plan to profit from the House),

To have finished these dark works begun, the troopers' sins have bloodied the Tide- but not enough to quench this rabid louse!

… Who's growing, yet seems fit to burst, having fattened up for all these unknown years…

The Winds are Blowing, but few here durst, instead all battened down behind their fear's…

But my red-rimmed eyes and unkempt hair still rest upon these pews, on my hind paws,

And what such implies can't quite compare (and does not mean I must retract my claws!).

And so I must, perhaps, now pounce, to have removed the sickened creature- from out the festered ground it finds itself.

Pound for pound, and ounce for ounce, while you'd all sleep through the Double Feature, thinking that you've found your wealth and health…

Feasting through the Widow's Wake, and drinking to Her rape and ruin,

While never sensing what’ s at stake, and from this truth you must now run?

But I won't play with you as mice, and I shan't bite off your brittle heads, nor occupy myself with nibbled feet,

For I don't hold this hated vice, no matter how lie's voices' pled… for me to hold Truth's Death as now complete.