Lions of Jerusalem
moocowinthecity Lions of Jerusalem
Thursday, July 5, 2007
And the world’s spinning out of control, bullets are fired and heard beneath our apartment window as two cups with last nights coffee sit on the table, next to a pile of ashes from cigarettes…a little more poison in our lives, yet slightly less venomous than the headlines that tell me that people are dying around the world: presented as facts and figures and arithmetic instead of voices crying “mommy please don’t go” as little boys rush off to war waving flags for causes that are thousands of years old.
Animals paraded through Jerusalem as men wrap themselves in phylacteries and claim that they’re holier than me because they dress in religious clothes:that they have the answers I’ve been searching for since I was thirteen years old, but we’re still searching for those words of wisdom when we become adults and no one knows what’s going on and the only fundamental truths are feelings, as I try to hold on….to you.
White linen rustles in the night time breeze, and I can hear you breathe as you come up behind me; your touch so warm of lips on the back of my neck as my head’s buried in my hands as I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to hold it together and hold it in/with each headline more cutting then the next: thousands of voices around me all screaming in tongues and I don’t have enough time to learn how to speak so that each accusers ear can hear me and I’m waiting to be lifted high upon a rock as my accusers round about me and I’m so confused: one book, two completely different messages.
And you’re pulling me back to bed now, muscular arms wrapped around me, trying to squeeze in a few more restless hours of sleep before the dawn catches up with us and forces us to confront the day that lays before us/the sun rises, slower now, a world away as Auschwitz glistens in the morning dew…bearing testimony, silently, that we all look the same at the camps: the patches change, the skeletons don’t and a voice, so sinister, is heard laughing maniacally in the wind…because we haven’t bothered to learn the lessons that we were supposed to learn ages ago as ‘never again’ is hoisted so high on flags that the meaning is now forgotten.
And I fall asleep, my head resting on your chest, hearing your heart beat lulling the fire inside of me to just a few glowing embers, and this I know as truth as I prepare to climb Jacobs Ladder: my love is not treason.
– Matan
