Wild Tigers

We may be going to hell but at least it will be warm
and we'll know plenty of people to keep us company,
but if we somehow make it to the gates of heaven
who will be waiting in line behind us
and who will have entered the kingdom of eternity
before we even grace its doorsteps?

We all deserve the fire, and we all have wronged
ourselves, our friends, family, strangers,
and the beggars who need change
whether it is to feed themselves
or their hungry tormented demons
all have crossed our paths in the streets of this city
as it burns to its bones, engulfed in purple flames

Although this may be true; how many of us
have repented for the actions of inaction
against the railroad that has yet to be built
only found in blueprints and the blues itself?

We may be a bit insane, but nobody is perfect
and nobody is really without a few nuts and bolts
loose upstairs, trickling down our spines
and right back up again, just to confuse us
all over again, while we paint with dirty fingers

Some call us the poets: obscure metaphors
and images ripped straight from the weird
some call us the dreamers: vivid pictures
cut from canvases of our bittersweet memories
but if this is the nature of the beast
then we are guilty as charged by the court
and the jury of our peers; new and old

So let us recite the poems that are embedded
deep within the dreams that are rooted under
our ribcages and behind stained glass eyes
that have stared out into the urban wilderness
searching for a lost city said to be guarded
by deadly tigers and intricate ancient traps