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Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Burning Bush -- The Cage

This poem like all the burning Bush poems
comes to me in that moment between asleep or awake
When the voices in my soul are clear, but fading
When I see the divine sometimes clearly, always late.
The depth and magistery of the vision
Always fading away while darkness yet reigns
and still comes the day.
And the warnings fade
But the dread remains.
But more often the darkness is hovering near and dearly.
And part of me answers in trepidation.
I understand the Fear of the Lord of Creation.
For in those moments I understand
the mortal danger of my own annihilation.

The Burning Bush

There ain't no burning Bush
No beckoning pillar of fire
That will save us from ourselves
Or pull us from the mire.
We are mortally responsible
For everything we do
From our thoughts, words and actions
comes everything we rue.

The Cage

It seems scientific
The monstrous things we do
We put people in steel cages.
We stick probes and things in their heads
The robes are clean and white
The science is dry and peer reviewed
But when you torture someone
you have to live with images of hands chewed right thru
Needles in the head
Some hurt and tortured instead
Animals caged and fed
Lab rats, alive but really dead.
Yes, I know the object above to all below.
Testing on animals is supposed to save human lives.
They tortured the living to save the future.
But the ashes of the past
Are fiery dry dust in our mouths now.
Refrain -- There ain't no burning Bush
It looks so scientific, so clean and brave.
To lock up persons and turn them into animals.
The gowns may look the same
But the torturers of hell on earth
Operate Cages for human beings.
Splayed up against walls
They give their reasons, but it's all a lie.
Torturing persons to make them cry.
Exercising power as if that power can hide one's own mortality.
Not even human
Not even scientific
Just depravity laid on thick
They claimed exigency but it all was just sick.
And in the end both torturer and tortured both will die
in screams of agony.
Germany, China, Indonesia
The ancient trade goes on.
Take, beat, degrade, destroy.
an ancient trade, gainful employ.
But the tortured scream
inside their tormentors head.
Better a trial, more merciful instead.
Then what awaits them at the end.
A former colonel in Argentina asked for a pension;
He said "I can't sleep at night"
"for the voices of all the people I interrogated"
"for the screams I still hear in the half light
Screams even I hear in my dreams.
For all of us are connected, whether we like it or not.
Our conscious may seem clear, but our dreams are not.
We may think we go unpunished to the end.
but we don't.
And Penance, Teshuvah, absolution
We seek, and seeking, it's no joke where we are heading.
We either turn away or we perish.
And we took ourselves there, either way.
This is but a snippet of a much longer nightmare.
There ain't no burning Bush...
... but there is a beckoning pillar of fire
Do we really want to go there?

Christopher H. Holte

Another Holte who can write poetery:
Further Reading
Not enough Torture?
Three Simple Truths

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