Fourteenth Hour
In silent moments I often mourn
the vigor of her hair standing
against the wind of an early May morning
before the phony freedom comes
forth with all its equipment
orchestrating the next tune
in a celestial dancing hall
free-spirited birds accept and
embrace it openhearted
animals accept and curl up in it
free flowing winds receive
and espouse it yet the stimulating
truth far from acceptance
and adoption by caged man
conditioned in willful ignorance
such as morons deserve and He
graces him with freedom as it is His
to choose a path other than
thorny shortcut of sweetest
sin that defines profound absurdity
When Ecclesia’s ghetto
markets the word and tosses it
to fanatics who down its
virulence with pleasure
in vain understanding
comedy of errors and frivolity
as I stand like Mistral asking
‘why?’ and the zealot laughs
righteous ignorance and still
hollers from the depth
of his lungs: who cares?
Manolis Aligizakis 