The Man who was cast outA Poem by advance84
They drove him out, nor more was his breastpiece blubbery.
In judgment tey spoke, hands had begun a seige, legs kicked and cried. I heard one say "to the hills". Another with a slient tongue said " not just the breast, tear away the sackcloth too" They were drving him out. O, by ther hairs on his chin, little by little, each strand longer the next. For I tell you a man like as you've seen will retrace his steps He will tread his feet upon myraids, myraids. For today I declare pigs have waterholes as their resting place, this man will never rest. He will spur like a young,boastful gazelle. Eager to prove To get this done To make his path To settle To debate and jest. To roar out the weak, snuggle with the strong To become smitten with ? On his last days, his eyes will pierce, he will cry out for his lost pages. Has he not realized his error ? Upon his eye of wisdom, others will rely and search out for him Has he forgotten ? He is forgotten . What is lost, is lost. His tree no longer produces tasty fruit. When will he wither and die ? We drove him out, O God we marched away with spoils of his sackloth Between our teeth,sackloth filled our ears, our altars. Smitten with sackloth, we prosituted ourselves Is he the one you've declared holy ? Our wives once , joyful, were once greased with fine oil, they were once cursed with affection with their sought love They broke their vows, they stormed to enqiure about the one wearing sackloth They shouted, our hands did not hear, our eyes did not touch. We heard one of us say "take him away to the hills" Another heavy from battle, a mighty man from the philistines with swords to stuck to his chest, a shield for his outer garments, a grotoseque one said "tear away the sackcloth too". This one was smitten with the way of battle, many man were overtaken , many men were parted into the bloody nile, many firstborns were painted on the doorpost Look! The one in sackcloth he spoke to me saying "I've been driven out I heard a crowd recite " A man in sackcloth there was They came wither millstones Let's harvest the oil Dispose of the chaff Father, Mother we did what you asked We were obedient to you We completed our assignment! A man in sackcloth there no longer was" O man in sackcloth where shall the wind take you ( here I think maybe a better metaphor, too cliche) Will you push to the north? O one adorned in sackcloth Where shall you go ? To the East ?Wil you set sail northward ? Will you scrambe to the deserted valleys soutward, where the lions roam O dear where does your hunt begin Thus our hero Torn away from his high-place His sheep left,restless for another master to fondle, to caresses and suckle A new resting place our hero must find Yes he must find one A desert he waded Southerly. he toiled O Lioness may I pass please ? O how beautiful your caramel haze is. O how wonderful your prickly skin Has your skin bated yet from the great tannery ? My tanner's hands sure have toiled over your great desert O Lioness your infectious smile with such beauty looks upon me with such malice O lioness when will you smile ? Pride, can you hear my pleas ? O lioness, I coveted what's not mine Will your curse me ? Will you strike me down to the grave ? Will you return me to my resting-place O Lioness, my object of beauty Upon the traveler, they looked Noses,cracked from their blankets, they opened saying "Why are your hands source like the vats of Simon Why do you toil What have you sown Why have you set upon a voyage southerly Sir, where are your bearings What does the urmin and Thumin fortell ? Do you know? Have you cast your lots ? Why do you ask me to pass ? Son why were you driven out ? Son why do you cry out ? Have you paid your dues to the ant of the quarray, to the scorpion of the sand Have you glorifed the queen of the oasis and revelled in the belly of sand ? Have you partook in impossible fantasies, and sunk your face into the ocean ? O son, guardian of the city(gotta make this part self-referential) , watchtower of the day, merchant of many women. Has your course illuminated the day ? Has your manna been delightful ? Will you end be rich and luxrious ? Son you cannot pass my gates Don't dwell passt my gates For beyond my walls, there lay many soilders, some are waiting in the lurch, hidden among the walls, many are flung to the watchtower, many are outside the wall, blowing the trumpet of Jericho. Anxious, for My son flee from destruction My brother, did you not listen to your mother Your father you abandoned with the bow of your youth How will you hunt now ? Look! your sheep are restless, left for another master to occupy No longer will they be embraced by their master No longer suckled by a fool's tongue No longer will they resist an education from a slothful one. Adorend in pearls of sackcloth They stood upon their red sea chariots, A distance from the gates Giving no due nor reverence nor showing faith to the one who organizes,command the ground Nor submitting to the scouring lance of the desert They called out to one in sackcloth Our hero did not watch, just as a young boy plays carelessly towards the direction of the lion's den His ears greased with fine oil did not listen His eyes did not hear They cried with spoils of battle in their sheaths "Wanderer, Wanderer, from what is your birthplace From the North ? Fron the East ? His eyes did not see His ears did not search for the light Once again they called "Wanderer of the earth" Devil of the night Strongman of peacetime Ravenous one of plenty Socerer of paradise Warmonger of tranquility Sheperd of no sheep What is your beginning ? His ears did not grope for the fine oil His eyes listened but did not speak Away from the gates he went In battle formation armed, he went forward Horsemen and woman, strong in courage he stationed Chariots to his rear Eager to prove To get this done To plan out hostiliy He struck down the lowly one who governs, commands the ground He struck down the scouring lance of the desrt He settled Waged divsions The dark course he chose He stole the morning bir'ds eges With a great bow , he struck down the young, the old, the infirm Adorned in pearls of sackcloth they stood A man from the gates with a heavy toilage A man of the field, sheep as his followers A master of many sheep A man of things from the ground In a hurry he shouted Wanderer, adorned in pearls of sackltoh Have you come to repurchase your field Have you come to wage divisions To Rid this field of grain of its finest people ? Have you come to ask the horse for the straw in it's mouth Where is your sheep for sheperding Are they restless ? Have they been lead by another master Past the hilltops of your dwellings Snuck away from the gaze of their master's feet Snatched away from the executioner's nest, silently tread past the wolf's den into greater pastures Days rose, they rode hard, girdles strapped. They rode and panted To many suns, to many moons Past the lioness of the desert Past the rising and falling lances of the ground Beyond the ones who command and number the ground Another morning, it arose roaring, wishing the sun had been set ablaze, wishing the wind had not broken the four walls With the fall, came order An realization of an error Will it shake the earth ? Will he raise his sheath and turn it upon himself ? Will he sin be found ? Forgotten ? Forgiven ?' At end of his day, where he gropes out for his last pages with heavy,treaded feet What will he say ? The one adorned in pearls of sackcloth Will he cause divsions ? Will he Before I could finish my sentence A large cry erupted from the gates I heard one say "To the hills". Another one arose fast from his slumber shouting "Rip off the sackcloth too " Said another
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