Tag: Poetry

The Light Within

The Light Within

Mark Sabbas

A finger is pointed at the politician
The dissenting citizen
The common man with differing opinion

Eyes stay glued
To a talking illusion
Constant noise obscures one’s vision

Fear the virus
Concede your consciousness
Pay your dues to our kindly masters

Hand away our power
To things that don’t matter
Divided brain cells warring with one another

Blind to our nature
We lie to the mirror
Unable to create a better future

Unless we decide
That maybe it is time
To finally try a different exercise

So point that finger in a new direction
And for goodness sake
Turn off the damn television

This is a call to daringly unite
To love with no condition
And to trust in the guidance from the light within

Angels

Angels

Mark Sabbas

When you were born
Tiny and premature
I was smiling from above
Lending you my warmth and light

Waiting patiently
For your little heart to grow.

When you were younger
And almost drowned in the sea
I was blowing out a gentle wind
Washing you to shore

Giving you air
As it filled through your lungs.

When you grew older
And had too much to drink
I was whispering to friends
Who wouldn’t let you choke

Making sure your breath was firm
Your heart remained steady.

And as a young man
When you felt so lost
I was fueling a higher wind
That would spark your soul

Sending signs from above
That everything was going to be alright.

For in your darkest moments
When you feel that
This world is not for you
I’ve brought you light
I’ve found you love

Because I too love you
Though you do not yet know it.
And I do know you
Better than you know yourself.

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The Cycle

The Cycle

Mark Sabbas

I don’t get people.

How they hang around, wasting their lives,
Shunning themselves, chasing after precious lies,
Yet they are content
Not bothering to ask why,
Just killing time till their certain demise.

Do people actually think this way?
Can they not notice? It boggles my mind.
Or are they simply faking it?
To fake live?
And fake smile?

Yet maybe this is truth
And it’s just me, a screw loose.
Perhaps I am weird, foolish, depressed,
Caught up in myself, a squandered gem,
A cause lost in lines and tales divine, drowned
Within waves of sacred illusion
And never to be found.

I still don’t get how people are not depressed.

As I don’t know why they cannot embrace
Or kiss or stare, or breathe freely
With nature’s air, through each other’s lungs,
If only for love,
Or to not feel so lonely, in a lonesome world
Of subjugation and strange
Separation.
For contact is beautiful, and we are utterly repulsed
By beauty unfiltered—all virgins to it,
All ugly without it.

And I don’t get the people so cruel
To those others, when they gaze into their eyes.
Can they not see? Are they not spellbound?
The light that shines within, and the music that plays without,
Our being lies infinitely deeper, and the light never goes out,
For the melody too lives on in harmonious vibration, finely tuned
To the miracles of life, hidden in plain view.
We play every string—an unending croon,
A symphony forgotten.

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Sex.

Sex.

Mark Sabbas

Somewhere in the world, there is a young girl
Poring over magazines, and hollow celebrities,
With a father, standing over shoulder,
Fearing (knowing) how men will meet her gaze
While growing older, into an object of culture
Captivated by perky breasts
And rock-hard phalluses,
Fueled by masculinity.

There is a young man, corrupted by pornography,
Ten thousand years of evolution—
Internet, radio, bringing the world together—
Only to bask in barbaric root:
The fleshly skin, the soaking genitals,
The moaning and screaming and heavy breathing (but no kissing),
The fake tits, and the oh so big, throbbing dicks;
He sleeps well, fooling his body
Into firm serenity.

And there are those who claim that money runs this world—
Greed, Fear, Power, Technology—
But no, it is only
Sex.

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