Architects of Pleasure

 

Architects of Pleasure

 

What is most pleasing to them in the sedation of light's

gifted beams and skeins of butterfly-kissed children?

If it is to watch the colors of young plucked wings, dilute in polluted winds

and witness the song of that future rage in clocktowers' deafening toll,

They want nothing to be the meaning - of such creation's priceless art,

the divination of youth in their dance and innocence

to be rot with the worms and slicing /slinking of snakes

of which they tattoo its illusionary face on their flesh.

It pleases them, these builders of destroying the existence

of those before, wiping the history of our motion through time's Eden,

here we are the first to have witness the birth of everything

that is humanly beautiful, divinely tragic, episodically truthful

in a voice that echoes even as we watch the dawn bleed violet

upon the navy sealike canvas of dying night,

we were always blessed to be first / chosen / loved.

 

It pleases us to know

they have no magic that will erase our lives,

this shared life that is etched within the moutains' and rivers' veins;

we are the vive of being human with mistakes

recanted for lessons to be gained

we are the true architects of pleasure / only for our wake

in love's shining kingdom reign...

 

It pleases us when we feel again

this world we alight with championing peace

one truth / one day / pleasure not sexual / 

one family's embrace...