Raziel 2021

repost of one the poems I made in 2018 for @d-pend 's 100 days of poetry challenge has it really been that long holy crap!

There was, is, will be a dispute once, soon, now; about the nature of your kind and its obvious faults. We are godlike yet, lacked, lack, will lack the solitary gift that made, makes, will make you omnipotent brats and we so desperately craved and crave. You wield, will wield, are wielding it with heavy hand, making mockery of miracle. Our tears could fill, will fill, filled many oceans, yet the vintage has, had, will have many flavours. Disgust and loathing are strong currents dislodging, that will dislodge, that dislodged many of my brethren from the stream but there is, will be, was also pity and regret. The minute you became, will become, are becoming has, will, is dividing us.

I, keeper of secrets, fell, fall, will fall into the material to reside under a worried sky, weary of the task I lay and laid upon myself. I will walk, walked, am walking without rhythm to not disturb the Ouroboros as I retrace, retraced, will retrace your steps to solve the equation. While most of my people live, lived, will live within the clear margins of affiliation, I made, make, will make my nest in the in-between. I am, will be, was the seed that would, will and has tipped the scale. The choices I made, will make, made birthed by your own. As I wander, will wander, wandered amongst you, trumpets sound, will sound, sounded in my wake; just beyond your range of hearing leaving an untenable sense of dread. If you ask me what verdict is, will be, was spoken when all weight finds, will find, found itself distributed, I can, will and have told you it lays, will lay and laid in the one solitary difference between us, your free will.