Temporary Flesh

His trembling hands gripped the cold gun tightly.

Hot truth spilled from his pores - he felt his blood

race below the surface of his skin. Flesh,

he thought, was a thing so temporary,

just a casing that wrapped around his soul.

A small plastic cup reshaping water.


Destroying the cup would free the water.

If only he had not clung so tightly

to shapes of others, not allowed his blood

to be forgotten amongst strangers' flesh.

Maybe this would have been temporary.

But mankind's poison had tarnished his soul.


He wore shame even when nude, and his soul

suffered. He tried drinking holy water

and to any faith, he held on tightly.

He wondered about his roots. The tired blood

of his ancestors must be to blame. Their flesh,

to sacrifice. Their lives, temporary.


Long ago he despised temporary

things. Mere material fed not his soul.

But now he drowned in men's water,

a victim of the masses. They tightly

stifled his being 'til he felt not his own blood

pump life to any part of his own flesh.


If only life was but to nourish flesh,

Problems would prove to be temporary.

But he lived inside a world where the soul

was the essence of things. The crisp water

of a flowing stream. Soul holds on tightly

to a man's body, dances in his blood.


He knew he'd failed. Directed blood

and energy to serve the greater flesh,

the common goal. Forgot temporary

presence and slaved the eternal. His soul,

one amongst many. Polluted water

pulled him downhill fast and bound him tightly.


Gun still held tightly, he feared but his blood.

He prayed that flesh would prove temporary,

and gave forth his soul to ocean's water.