Dispatching Those Spirits Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

In a ‘state'
of spirits dressed
in eons of wrath and woe
lost within a mirage of
endlessly swarming flies
I, wander upon ‘that' pathway
wherever it so goes
mumbling rhythmic tones
and eating ever hungrily
of the ‘fruit', from that
nefarious tree…
To such spirits, which
clamor along my sides
I confide, in embellishing remarks
upon this unbalanced thought: is
the evil done the fault of no one?
As the seconds pass, the silence lists
and chuckles arise from my lifeless guests
rewarding me, a further treat; another chance to
eat, of the fruit from that nefarious tree…
Thoughts ramble, troublingly so, through
both physical mind and spiritual soul
each, wholes within a purposeful
definitive; that ‘one'; is only
a ‘hole', without each other
moreover, each simply dangles
listless and lifeless, in such the mess
lost unto nothing, as does churn
sans the milk, to butter…
On this meandering pathway
trod the likes of God, the euphoric
mob, the endless tirade of featureless
globs of both earthly flesh, and ethereal spirit
clearly dear too each, and strange too neither
one smothering world of differences, tattered
strangling, semi-psychotic singles yearning
to bond together, trailed by that
unceasing mirage of flies…
And this is nobody's fault?
What purpose then
for the mention to
the fruits of ‘that' nefarious tree?
That flowering fruit of substance deemed
rude or moot or passé; of knowledge leading
to both wisdom and shame, to glory or pain
to acceptance or distain; the chuckling increases
and changes to clucking, spinning those beings of
spirit off to either above, or beneath my raggedy robe…
leaving me with countless questions posited, of both
dread and elation, conjecture and most profound
speculations, about this wildest and confounding
of situations; of the essence be it fleshy or an
apparition, be it of a combined or separated
condition, my questioning, suggesting
admission, is to split apart these
confusing two, and provide for
each to stand alone as one
again, and for once in a
trillion lifetimes, my
salt and pepper hair
will return to the
deepest, darkest
glaze of jet!
Simply by
my choosing
to finally and
completely decide
that, I will be
absolutely
justified in
Dispatching
those Spirits…

P.S. Now, that was not such a difficult
task completed… Why do not the each of you
give this a try?