any action directed towards one's own self, <br />is a sin in the eyes of God, <br />He sent many books, <br />and told so many times, <br />about himself, and the others, <br />like the enemy, <br />the poor, <br />the parents, <br />the children, <br />nature and the heavens. <br />unfortunately, <br />I sensed on his part, <br />the feel of a prosecution lawyer, <br />trying to convince me, <br />to plead not guilty <br />of a crime against humanity, <br />of rejecting once and for all, <br />the morbidity of beauty. <br />such was his voice, <br />not affectionate, but dutiful. <br />assigning each day, <br />spring, winter, summer, <br />sea and the land, <br />on a cruise of subordinate species, <br />I assumed it was God, <br />who would detach me <br />from my mother, <br />and my father too, <br />those sceneries of graveyards, <br />strike the most when the <br />holes are too small, <br />and death is not anticipated <br />if you feel like a child, <br />and you see green fields are just for playing. <br />spinning, spinning, <br />not just the wheels, <br />the earth is spinning, <br />while the universe is standing still, <br />we cannot conceive, <br />don't throw thick books on our heads, <br />we cannot see, <br />it is the stillness of a stolen beauty, <br />not of the sun, <br />not of the oceans, <br />but of the seagulls, <br />can in any instant be decapitated, <br />and the smell of their own blood <br />will drive them crazy.<br /><br />celine charcoal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/state-of-self-pity/
