Opening to Heal: Solving for I

By Seth B. Williams

POETRY: You dont understand this thing, do you? See, I run into them all the time.
LIFE COLLISIONS.
Reckless with excellence.
Too many voices crowding
my slow lane.
Settling for middle-lane mediocrity just to get by.
T I M E
skids us into these intersections- sbw

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 28, 2009
• ISBN: 9781441595874

Seth B. Williams

Name: Seth B. Williams Age: 35 Birthplace: Philadelphia, PA.

Book preview

Mary

(I wish you understood how much God loved you.)

About midway through the school year heroine claimed her.

The Black Knight of drugs Mary embraced a disaster.

Rocked her mind to sleep, devils laugh in the corner at her wake.

Raising the stakes.

When you wager your life that’s the very one evil takes.

Black roses strewn on a casket.

Death a premonition but they still wondered how long she lasted.

For no one could on living this way for long,

inside singing a painful song,

refusing to ask forgiveness for her deepest wrongs.

Detouring around the obvious, Mary’s paradise was an oblivion.

Easy to give her soul to evil and its dominion.

Closed herself off from their opinions,

reaching for something cold in the void,

darkened her ambitions then her self-esteem destroyed.

Hearing life’s music, drowning thoughts, refusing to dance.

Mary goes’round playing Life with Fear and Chance.

Mary . . . Mary why did you wait for that winning hand?

A victim to your criticisms but a slave to their demands.

Wanted everyone to believe the drug chose you?

Thin face, craters for eyes, skin gone from tan to bleached blue,

Was it good for you to be so transparent, falling far from glory?

The sickness visible through a hallow glance, the cheap make-up,

that could never cover the story?

Conclusions were never clear. Still had to write your ending.

No angelic dreams, no wings for ascending.

She made the rules, which were the very ones that were bending.

Chipping away at her soul . . . pieces of flesh that she was lending,

were never returned.

So many lessons to learn.

No matter how hot, Hell on Earth still burns.

You were the perfect actress, but this was no audition.

Mary you had no secrets, everyone knew of your condition.

Penetrable stares reveal the transparency of your disguise.

Eyes of other pupils, exalting your demise.

There’s a sinner in us all.

Spiritually we fall, ears closed, no longer sensing the Savior call

Reduced your walk to a crawl.

Remember when you were well, when you stood tall?

Drug possession became an obsession . . . .

Not the lessons that she spent less on

15 days from graduation,

Turned 18 the 5th of May.

Celebrated by getting high with her boyfriend, Jay.

Loss were her dreams

Screams from the Prodigal fiend,

An evil kingdom, waiting for their Home-coming . . . Queen

Mary outgrew cake and ice cream,

blown candles darkened the soul needed to be redeemed.

Holes in her arms, fed, while the ones in her heart, starved.

Under the influence of ill-prudence.

To die beautiful, life shouldn’t be hard.

Did you have to stray this far?

Tears left behind facial scars.

Hiding herself so no one could see

As we all learn that nothing truly falls gracefully.

Conclusions were never clear. Still had to write your ending

No angelic dreams, no wings for ascending.

She made the rules, which were the very ones that were bending.

Chipping away at her soul . . . pieces of flesh that she was lending,

were never returned.

So many lessons to learn.

No matter how hot, Hell on Earth still burns.

Herod’s Dancer

. . . and there was something troubling about her smile,

soiling innocence,

glossy lips that defile.

Something that disturbs,

shaking the foundation of her.

Delicate mouth bends,

resembling a crescent moon.

               SHE

educated in her lunacy.

. . . the way lies dust her eyes without blinking,

then transmits dark truths without thinking,

leaves wise men

                        questioning,

how she manages to get her way without

                          sinking?

              Thy will be done . . . . on her earth.

Will she too falls from the heavens when flying to the core of the sun?

Passions that craft her doom,

fulfill prophecy once they swoon.

Suffering comes with her manic confessions.

Then she watches them surrender to her gyrating affections,

weakening them with private rejection.

. . . and all they remember is that smile,

beaming across the bar room,

illuminating when she writhes on the brass pole at night,

minds at attention.

Why did they name her Lost Daughter of Seraphim?

Who among her will be charged as

whoremongers,

devils,

gods of sin?

Was it the priest

who raised her high as an infant on the temple steps,

saying nothing good will come from her?

Was it the seeing woman,

trying to read the broken highways in her palms,

chanting David’s Psalms?

Was it the old dying man

who paid to gaze into her eyes,

pools of jade heaven,

sanctifying prayers in groups of seven?

Is there anyone who could bleach her sin?

Glass sermons,

Shattered flesh to reach.

Sex that tames,

the lustful games of science to teach?

Maybe it was the D.J . . . . spinning soundtrack tragedy from

digitized turntables, the flutist, the demon on his lyre,

or the church’s elderly with their canes realizing they weren’t able

to condemn her in the judgment fire.

Her wealth comes without moments . . . . defeating.

A soul of coded scars,

open,

festering,

weeping.

. . . and she dances for him in the darkened chambers of wine and revelry.

He stares madly, drunk with lust.

He looks into her eyes, tells her to call him, Daddy

for she dares not break the family trust.

His loyal subjects lost in debauchery look on,

patrons evil, salivating.

The step daughter of the king, said he’d give anything . . .

not realizing it was his devil queen that was baiting.

Dancing,

her young body coils like serpents riding on notes of seduction,

Rhythmic movements transitions with tempo improvements,

applaud for vengeful gumption.

Lustful eyes held her form for she new it was the norm,

Her technique . . . rarely needed to practice.

An evil destiny to silence a voice of divinity,

commanding to bring forth the head of their Baptist.

Mending Halos

A lost voice told me about angels that lose their halos,

sacred testimony recorded on scrolls,

detailing their story of a return to glory.

And what awaits us no one knows.

Prophetic voices dance with mystery until time unravels,

decoding Christ.

My mind psychobabbles and slice,

thru the barbs of science.

Embraced scripture and apostles hailed for defiance.

Thorn-bush crowns worn,

sacred words adorned . . .

interpreted into whatever pleases us.

             I watched them develop a personal Jesus,

from learned, devilish, holy-men.

Robed legions,

bargaining pulpit prayers for a recycled talisman.

Father, when thy kingdom comes, will it all be done?

Are my sins redeemed thru the ONE?

Rebel gangsta-Christ strapped with gospel guns.

Saved mankind thru virgin birth,

Three Godheads

God, Ghost or Son?

I watch them toy with apocalypse and kill.

Prophecies preached and fulfilled.

Weakness of law and order in the midst of Katrina’s waters.

Wealthy men shirk homelessness to stack quarters.

Seven deadly sins and triple six,

54 thorns, three nails,

spear and Crucifix.

Watched ministers feast on hypocrites.

Because good and evil in this world happens to just,

happen.

Debating whether God or Satan are the authors,

coincidence play wallflower,

waiting for the second dance,

with Chance

anticipating an approval nod,

a seductive glance.

So we exist,

      not knowing but growing older,

And taught we dwell on faith and borrowed time.

Search the ashtrays of your mortal vehicle

for pennies nickels and dimes . . . . converted to breath.

Asking the Father in Heaven to grade life test

          on a curve.

Spinning the bottle, hoping to skip over your turn,

          for crisis,

waiting to be healed by a word.

When the world is burning down around us.

we are no longer, Catholic, no longer Jew.

No longer Buddhist, Hindu or Methodist,

Apostolic, Episcopalian, Lutheran or Adventists.

We are what GOD shaped us to be

                HUMAN

         COMPANIONS

thriving off the spirits of love and hope.

And with this burning hope,

we long to be rescued from the flames,

To perfect this life

To rid these stains.

I’ll            reach             for              YOU

while learning these things.

Because different roads may come together then journey to a destination,

and a thing of beauty can be sculpted from a formless creation.

And because we sometimes stumble when given a trial to bare,

remembered and whispered in an guardian angel’s prayers.

In that kingdom,

I’ll be looking for you,

telling your story

of your return to

glory.

Mentor

"One day, I’m gonna shock the world, Mr. Williams.

I’ll try harder Mr. Williams.

Soon. I’ll make you proud of me, Mr. Williams.

You’ll see.