For Eternity

For eternity
then, they hanged them
onto that tree
with branches, spreading
throughout the gardens.

And they hanged them all,
in groups, from you, to me
from him to her, and all their family
between the 9 and 3
for every single day,
for every year,
for life itself, unending.

And the birds all knew it
and in their little hearts
they named it spring
and blossomed is their time
for when it repeats with season
as they return to raise
their singing babies.

And they hid away the facts who did it
from the trees of hanged souls
and they named it paradise,
so foolish, yet so righteous
and they hid behind the mask of 1
they named, a god, creator
of which one one shall never ask
of origin and meaning,
of which one shall never eat
of knowledge, so they preach,
of the sacred tree,
so they say, of life they hanged away.

Then, they even crucified an unexpected fella'
up on the hill, and far away
from civilization,
and they named him Jesus, that is
what they say he'd be
so far away that my eye could not even see
nor recognize the man they say to be.

And they hanged him up there
for a day, or two, or 3
which I couldn't really see but I can tell
that after 3, he wasn't there
but the 9, in black, blood red and gold.

And they threatened everyone who saw it
with a torturous promise, if not death,
to never question of what they said,
to never ask of any another way
but of what they say, they said:
"Never question Eumeralla."

Since one can't dismiss the underground
which would not be fair,
not to the wretched souls
of those, hanged on the tree,
not to the little heartsof birds,
their off-spring, nor their pray,
not to the absolutions of their sinners,
whoever they might be, they say,
nor to the trembling grounds beneath it,
where seeds of hanged souls do fall,
then growing out, and back,
into today.

They even went so far, to hid away,
the broken bodies of those unexpected fella's
into a cave, a greave, and closed it with a roll
of carved stone, so heavy that no man could
ever open, or come out, again,
to see another day.

But again, it is only what they say.
As my eye couldn't quite see, in distance
and as I doubted it, and still do, today,
I did descent and went to find the cave
and opened up the grave, of fella' lying in.
Then I gently knocked on inner doors
of his broken heart, with my black peak,
'knock, knock' it sounded, and I whispered:
"Wake up!, my friend, get out!"

There were no flowers for his path ahead
although some would roll him red
and carpets of astounding arts
and limousines, and royal bliss,
but for the path ahead he took,
only the blessing that he's got
from the creature as myself,
with simple horns, horseshoes and tails.

There's exists no paradise per se,
only what a man can contribute for it.

There's no god, at least not as what they say,
only those hanged souls exist, calling for a resolution.

There's no other time as now, today,
no matter every day, between the 9 and 3.

There are 9 drops of blood, falling from the moon,
each planet sprouted out and called for that 1.

For the eternity, as promised,
there are no bodies to be found, just dust,
only the birds of everlasting springs,
calling out their names.

Thank you.