Samson , Vice, Virtue and the Deceit Deilah by the Bard of Bat Yam, Poet Lareate of Zion

 Anthony Van Dyck 1599 – 1641 Samson and Delilah oil on canvas (148 × 257 cm) — 1628-1630

Museum Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Amongst the chaos is where you will find 
the masterpiece, buried deep 
beneath the layers of woven hair and tissue. 


At the core of our being is a perfect design, 
surrounded by cells of imperfection 
that we try in vain to uncover, expose, reveal 
that masterpiece within us all, 
the essence of perfection; our souls. 


And so, we beat our heads against the wall 
trying to yield the god particle that we all possess, 
beating ourselves senseless, colliding 
into bedrock, destroying ourselves, and most often 
everything we possess and love, only to rebuild, 
again, in a feeble attempt to rediscover 
the stronger version of ourselves; 
a bizarre system of self loathing, we call 
soul cleansing, if only it was as simple as cutting hair. 


Humans are stupid, foolish engineers 
surrounded by complex systems of chaos, 
designed to limits and doomed to fail. 


We have our legal systems, our road and rail transport, 
our defence systems, religions and communications; 
all man-made imperfections, all systematic failures. 


Before history, before souls were baptised, 
sins were cleansed with sticks and stones, 
our souls sanitised with leaves, impurities 
washed away from palaces in Crete, down rivers 
of golden brown, through pipes of glass and clay, until 
humans connected, then multiplied and infested the world. 
They crushed ecosystems, consumed land, energy, oxygen 
and polluted the skies, rivers and seas. 


Our plight to perfection blinded us from the truth 
that we turned shit into water and water into wine. 
Foolishly, we tried to destroy her, the ultimate system, 
the mother we took for granted, a mother 
willing to sacrifice her children; and that there 
is the key, the core purpose of existence.     


No matter how many humans she sacrificed 
we continued to suck the life from her world, hanging 
from threads of the greatest imperfection conceived by man, 
yet we worshiped IT like a god, 
pathetic slaves shrouded in our web, 
feeding off our own shit, wasting life on virtual failures. 
So we sat there content, strangely disconnected from the world, 
watching beautiful zombies devour life at lightning speed. 


Beneath the layers of woven hair and tissue 
they unearthed her masterpiece, a man 
baptised Samson of darkness and shield. 


The judges severed his seven locks 
and gouged out his eyes, 
then ushered her son to the pillars of their temple.