Musings: To Sail with Faust?

Source. Pexels. George Desipris, Photographer

by LJ Frank  

Political havens were once imagined if one but crossed a vast body of water, a metaphor for want, and how much resides in a craving when there’s a child in a man’s head – waiting in an alcove adjacent to the Nave with a silver platter of divine tasting wafers for the sake of salvation.

Belief and capital are penitents, the divine lobbyist waits to be eaten and digested, and the heart is anxious for a sip of communion from the blood of their prophets – nomadic Christs of centuries past desiring adoration and worship at the shrine catering to personal financial interest, but lest one forgets, you don’t have to tithe to be saved.

Accounts with letters and numbers, transferrable digits, save the diversity of the market, an oligarchy salaciously covered by the shredded tunic of democracy while parades celebrate whatever; and the pastoral sheep wait in the pews as the divine shearer sharpens His scissors,  and spectators know with certainty – to watch is to participate.

Even if having to stand on one’s tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the next celebrity, the voyeur is lost in belief manufactured by crafty artisans and fabulous clerics, while right and left are woven fabrications of the mind, authoritarians cultivate fear, filling their dark accounts as those without beseech the heavens with black holes circled by light, shall my soul be still or rage into the night for a bottle of literacy water, and indulgences are shape shifted to fulfill the climate of retailed promises, while hunger spreads across the rising seas – and a blind man asks an unanswerable question.