Tuesday, November 21, 2017

your touch














I see your fire,
I ask you please,
you hear my screams,
you touch my disease;
denial,
just not good enough,
resistance,
just a little to rough;
but still
there is tomorrow,
sitting alone and forsaken
just a heartbeat away;
your touch
warms my soul
even
from such a distance,
the sound of your magical voice
ringing inside
my tired head,
soothing,
taking me to a land
no other has ever
known.
.

.

Only You







































it begins like a
Stephen King novel,
a little here,
a little there,
snowballing,
steamrolling,
gaining momentum,
over in the blink
of an eye;
life imitating art?
right where I belong,
pretending it doesn’t matter,
just one more,
down the hallway
and out the door;
you come in a dream,
unexplained,
unexpected;
uninvited;
I run,
I hide,
but it does
no good;
resistance is futile;
this madness floats
like a feather,
without limits,
without direction,
following unknown tracks,
searching for lost dreams,
hiding inside forgotten
cracks;
the way back is closed,
there is only the road ahead,
there is only You.
.

.

how many?




















how many?
they knew the truth,
they put up the fight,
they never stood a chance;
how many?
so sad,
so very sad indeed,
just pawns,
unintended consequences,
part of the grand illusion,
simple stooges
in the great give-away;
how many?
your touch,
intoxicating,
smooth as silk,
liquid glass,
irresistible,
they could not resist;
how many?
.

.

This Love


















I see her in every face,
every smile,
every laugh,
every touch,
every word,
every line,
every song,
every woman;
like a dog in heat,
it is more than
I can resist;
into my dreams
she comes,
warm and soft,
sensuous and sweet,
washing over me
like cool liquid rain,
wave after delicious wave,
saturating me with desire,
marking me with her scent,
filling me with her fullness;
making me alive
once more;
melting into her
inner sanctuary,
I smell her fragrance,
I taste her softness,
I feel her passion,
drowning in a love
that is no love,
trapped within the walls
of a house that is
no house.
.

.

Resist


























“When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first.”   Luke 11:24-26
Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.   James 4:7
But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.   John 1:12-13
once again,
You sweep my house clean,
once again,
the enemy waits outside,
poised to bring destruction
worse than before;
“Do not fear, resist.” You quietly whisper;
and I know
You will always be there,
ready to protect,
ready to defend,
teaching me Your truth while
giving just enough room to grow,
like a child learning to walk,
picking me up when
I stumble and fall,
holding my hand,
wiping away the tears,
never leaving me alone;
Father,
Creator of the universe,
praise Your holy name!
thank you for the gift
of Your wondrous Spirit,
the Comforter who guides
into all truth,
teach me to shine
like a thousand suns;
teach me to be a Son
of the Living God.
.

.

The Clock is Ticking





















walking this beach,
there is a feeling of incompleteness,
restlessness,
unfinished business;
paupers,
waiting for the axe to fall;
so much suffering,
so much dying;
does anyone deserve this?
like a side of beef
she leads me to this place,
selling me to the highest bidder,
giving up without a fight,
no resistance,
no struggle,
only shame;
there is a depth here,
untold symmetry,
flapping and unfurling
with the newborn sun,
words come easy,
light and free,
no longer encumbered
by stones of inertia,
shooting through the limited
nighttime sky with
a touch of innocence;
there is a depth here;
this boiling sun
is no longer a home,
this raging sea
provides no relief,
old bones come home
to roost,
the clock is ticking;
time is running out.
.

.

A Good Lover


























she is a good lover,
she knows
things
all good lovers
know,
she feels
things
all good lovers
feel,
she has a
vulnerability
inside her
hardened armor
making her
irresistibly
resistant
yet
passionately
passionate,
she is like
a well-worn coat,
comfortable,
warm,
giving her love
cautiously,
freely,
completely;
she is a good lover.
.

.

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