I scrawl my naked gods upon the page.
Now I own salvation and revel,
Revel in this new, mad poetic freedom.
Liberty in one tense transfigures,
Becomes slavery in another phase.
I must carve out my Nazca dreams
And believe that I am saved,
That I have saved another soul.
Still, the ley lines speak to me
In verses of damnation and struggle.
So I keep scrawling. Poetry is a pearly gate.
Then I become the vanguard of paradise.
© Bobby Riahi