A Letter FROM The Forgotten god


Dear George,

It is I, Forgotten god. And though it takes much time, I do receive your letters, truly, and I thank thee for remembering, I, your old friend. For you George are my only friend. Thus, I write this with the utmost heart warmth. That I do pray for you. Yes, I pray in my own way. I speak so. I speak to the farthest star placed out in vast universe; a star that exists in a remote void. This lastly star has one side of traveling-light ,the opposite, epitome’s darkness; for there is nothing beyond that dark side. A side that remains with eternities’ sorrow. Of, this, my words go. I pray down down to the deepest part of all seas. And there beneath an ancient, shell, a shinning shell of radiant colors never seen nor ever shifted by current. I pray to it; for it is where mankind’s loneliness was born. For in these unknowns this knowledge of abandonments, I know lies strangeness’s strength. These prayers I do for you George; so that courage challenged is always faced by you..

For I know you as a true poet, the words that you write say so. Expressing that you have swallowed the very last whiskey upon earth, that it lies in your stomach, it is your ‘tomorrow’s fire’.

Pah ! For my fury drools anger at the keepers of thee. Pah to them! Pah! George by the letters you send me, the languishing year to year of prison life you relay in them. I feel your shadow does not touch you anymore. For your body is pinned under prison. Yet, your thoughts are unwrinkled as a thin sheet of the finest gold. Yes, your sentences in those letters lay bare much to me. Lay bare as thus, you as if a shimmering pond just there, hidden with in a mountain ravine but when evening’s dark blankets all, is no longer crystal blue. And that you take-heed to misery. Your soul giving birth to itself out of prison night only to wake to each break-of-day. Wake as a single wave of dawn’s light, letting your spirit give off sun’s gloss. Tis your own way of living, ‘exhaling of scars’, knowing you can go on and on.

Pah! I curse them all, for they are blind to such a one as you. Pah!… Aah and oh of love. Love they tore from your touch. No love half thy life-span. Left with your caged mind branded with horizon’s, desert-thought called ‘longing’. Oh friend, brother, I truly pray of you to become her ‘Wants-Stone’; dropped so into a unknowing beauty’s pocket and carried off where she caresses thee evermore.

George, George, best to when that certain silence drifts thee. When you only hear boots cross thy heart….Pah to them all! Pah to the 4th world known as prison! For before one such as you will come’th to kneel before stained ground. I know that deep with in you a cry calls to forgive all those who chain you. To pardon the key-holders who are compassion-dead. Left to be shot through and through with conciseness’s-bullet labeled ‘uncaring’; left to bleed cold emotion down to concrete floors.

Pah !….I shout at the prison cell where our letters enter and exit through steel slot; those cells as if a village of lined-up coffins…. And only you George to lead those condemned far far away from their festering hate. And you immured the longest; only to guide the punished to self-hope and no more…. I hear, oh yes I hear in my way that simple prayer you give upon those numbered men all in a row…. row after row after row. A prayer as if gathered, repeated from the poorest on earth; saying it again and again, soft and aligned from who knows where from with in you..

So, as you pray, so I, for thee friend George and till our letters gallop forth, farewell; till the kiss of freedom brushes so your lips, farewell….Always and always, Some Forgotten god

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
7/17/2