Tightrope

Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Luke 12:22-26

I am reading this book,
it is one of those self-help books,
written by one of those self-help gurus,
who teaches that we are all in control
of our own destinies,
that we ‘allow’ the bad things
which happen to us,
how it’s all just a matter of attitude,
and to change the circumstances
we find ourselves in,
we need only change how we view
the people and situations around us,
I believe there is some truth in this;

but;

I’m not sure how this explains starving children in Africa,
lying with their stomachs distended and bloated,
staring up at the camera with dead bulging eyes,
or a young bride in Cancun,
struck down dead by a lightning bolt on her honeymoon,
or a hundred other stories so tragic,
so terrible and horrific,
people don’t even like talking about them,
because it makes them remember
that we aren’t in control of anything;

and we never were.

It is only our human arrogance
which tells us otherwise,
when the truth is something much simpler,
something beyond anything we can see or touch,
that there is only so much to go around,
and what gives to one takes from another,
that we’re all circus performers,
walking slowly along the stretched tightrope,
that all our planning, all our worrying,
cannot add a single hour to the length of our lives,
that there will never be any true happiness,
until we place our trust in the One who can.
.
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Yeshua

What words have I
to honor a King?
What gift can be given
worthy of His name?

He who overcame,
He who defeated death forever,
He who reigns eternally,
He who is our master.

Mocked and mistreated,
spit upon and reviled,
beaten and scourged,
led like a lamb to the slaughter,
sacrificed upon a tree
for our iniquities and transgressions,
resurrected from the grave,
that through faith in Him
none should perish,
but all might have life.

Through Him are all things possible,
through Him are all things made new,
to Him does all praise belong,
to Him is all glory given,
lift up His name before all others;

Yeshua,
the Holy One of God.
.
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Holy Words

Caught up in the moment,
lost in the confusion and chaos,
surrounded by a ruthless enemy,
I take shelter in Your protective arms,
within the silence and solitude
of the long black night,
I seek Your righteous counsel.

Guide my path O Lord,
direct my wavering hand,
let all who see my life
know the beauty and wonder
of Your marvelous mercy and grace;

do this for Your glory my Lord,
do this for Your mighty name.

Who am I,
that You should pour out Your blessings?
Who am I,
that You should see my life?

There is a way that seems right to a man,
but in the end it leads to death.
Proverbs 16:25

All my thoughts,
all my knowledge,
all my righteousness,
are but filthy rags
before Your mighty presence.

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways My ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are My ways higher than your ways
and My thoughts than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55:8-9

Thank You my precious Lord,
for Your marvelous, glorious light,
for Your holy words of wisdom and truth,
which shine like rare and wondrous pearls.
.
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The Candle Burns Low Old Friend

The candle burns low old friend,
soon it will be gone forever,
but what a run it was,
dancing by its glorious new light,
turning on the table of time.

We have shared much along the way,
so it is we say farewell,
let us leave as we entered,
without sorrow or regret,
with no goodbyes along the way.

Insanity is natures’ only defense,
for jokes and other truths
far to cruel too withstand,
thank you for the time
You have given me.
.
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My Lord

Thank you
for loving me,
for forgiving me,
for dying (for me),
for paying my debt,
for being perfect,
for being the truth,
for being the light;

for showing me the way.

Thank You for these
and so many things
which are given freely,
which could never be repaid,
even if I tried;

fill me with Your spirit,
fill me with Your love,
fill me with Your grace,
fill me with Your mercy,
that others might see
Your shining glory,
that they might reach out
for this priceless gift,
offered to all who would receive it;

praise Your name,
for You above all
are worthy.
.
.

thank you Jesus

this morning
it felt like
together,
we might actually
win
this fucked up game
called life.

that together
we could escape
the endless cycle
of depression and sadness,
the poverty and abuse
that comes with years
of hopeless futures
and dead end streets.

that together
our love
could escape
even death.

and to think
we almost let this
miracle
slip away;

thank you
Jesus
for not letting
it happen.
.
.

Thank You Doctor

The doctor said I was a diabetic,
so then I was;
the doctor said I was hypertensive,
so then I was;
the doctor said I had clogged arteries,
so then I did.

Now I take 20 pills a day,
for reasons that
I’ve long forgotten why,
yet I never felt diabetic,
I never felt hypertensive,
I never felt clogged,
in fact, I never felt bad at all,
until the doctor said I did,
but now it’s right there in my chart;

so it must be.

Congratulations,
you’ve finally made it,
the final gravy train;

middle age,
white male heaven;

now you can lie around all day
in your pajamas,
watching TV
and feeling good about yourself;

thank you doctor.
.
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Unconditionally

Thank you,
for all that you have given to me,
for so many early morning sunrises,
for healthy babies,
for shining smiles on my daughter’s faces,
for my grandson’s enthusiasm and innocent laughter,
for moments of tender love making
when my wife and I became one,
for cold dark nights,
for warm ocean days
and endless boardwalk summers,
for memories of Hawaiian winds swirling in my face,
for turkey gizzards and Christmas mornings,
for homeruns and touchdown runs,
for my daughter’s warrior spirit,
for a world so wonderful
yet so terrible and mysterious;

for Aunt Do.

Thank you,
for all that is good,
for all that is light,
for all that is evil,
for the darkness
of the eternal night.

Thank you
for all these things
and so much more,
for giving them freely,
for giving them completely,
for giving them;

unconditionally.

(Thank You)
.
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Illusion

This world is an illusion,
hiding the truth
with all it’s various variations
and subtle differences,
until it all seems natural,
as it should be,
when it is not even close to that
which it was intended to be.

Deception by the one
who would deceive us all,
lies dressed up to smell like truth,
happily living in this sugar coated world,
never wanting more,
never looking past the walls,
never finding the truth on our own.

This world, this body, this life,
were created to hold the spirit
existing within us all,
whose only purpose
is to communicate with
and do the will of the One
in whose image we were made,
He who holds all true power,
He who makes the sun shine
on both the good and the bad.

Can you imagine a world
where everyone treats others
as they would like to be treated,
where no one judges lest they be judged,
where if a person is in need of your coat
you give them your shirt as well,
where if someone strikes your cheek
you offer them the other,
a world where hatred and anger
no longer exist,
where unconditional love
is freely given;

can you imagine it?

when you can then perhaps you too
will see through this illusion,
this roller coaster ride of self-happiness
and instant gratification.

Oh Lord,
You who are the truth
in a world gone blind,
You who created all things
by Your word alone,
You who are light
in a world full of darkness,
You who are mercy and compassion
in a world of hatred and greed,
You who provide all that is needed;

forgive us;

for our weakness,
for our inability to escape
from the temptations of this illusion,
help us to see,
help us to remember,
no matter how many wondrous things
are hands do build,
no matter what great marvels
our technology does produce,
that they are nothing
without You.

You are the One
who makes all things new,
You are the One
who made all that ever was
or ever will be.

Thank you Lord
that You hide these truths
from all but those who see
and understand as children,
thank you Lord for Your mercy and grace,
which allows us to continue
in spite of continuous disobedience
to Your word and your will,
thank you oh Lord
for loving us so greatly
that You allowed Your only
begotten son to be humiliated and suffer
at the hands of those
who were not worthy to kiss His feet;

thank you Lord,
thank You;

in the name of Jesus Christ,
who died that all might live,
who suffered beyond imagination,
that the whole world might not;

thank You
oh blessed Lord.
.
.

Thank You My Lord

Let my heart sing praises unto You,
let the whole earth worship and adore You,
let every knee bow down before You,
let every tongue confess that You are King;

for You alone are worthy,
You alone deserve all praise.

Your greatness is beyond words,
Your mercy and grace
more than can be fathomed,
You have placed joy in my heart,
You have raised me up from the ashes,
You have restored my hope,
You have brought righteousness and light
where there once was darkness and night;

thank You my dear, precious Lord,
thank You.

Thank You for every breath,
thank You for each new day,
thank You for friends,
thank You for family,
thank You for my wife,
thank You for Your sacrifice,
thank You for Your truth,
thank You for Your light,
thank You for lessons learned,
thank You for Your discipline,
thank You for Your love,
thank You for being by my side
closer than a brother,
thank You for this life,
thank You for the life to come,
where You shall make everything new,
where You shall provide every need,
where You shall wipe away every tear,
thank You my Lord and King;

thank You.
.
.

Thank You

Reach deep,
search for tired empty answers
hidden by dreams of mist,
imprisoned by
bars of golden madness,
darkness;
looking beyond the night,
deeper;
crawling into the past
to escape the future,
running from nameless faces
and silent voices.

With a soft sigh
it died,
never to return,
never to feel again;

unnoticed,
unattended;

in the end
there just wasn’t enough room,
choices made,
irreversible,
unrecoverable,
dark highways traveled
on imaginary steeds
in strange forgotten lands;

who are we to say?
who are we to know?

Perhaps it is just as well,
secrets were never destined
to stand out
in the morning light;

thank you
for the time
You have given me.
.
.

Thank You Lord

Sometimes I am ready to let it end,
but it doesn’t last for long,
there is always a rebound,
one last rising of emotions from within,
a rush of desire and passion
that just will not be denied,
no matter how futile it all may be;

I am not perfect
and that is a hard concept to accept.

But that is what it all comes down too,
it is not about the music we listen to,
not about the clothes we wear
or the length of our hair,
not the words that we speak
or the effort with which we try,
not the amount of good deeds we might do
or the sacrifices we make,
no matter how hard we might try,
no matter how badly we might wish it so,
in the end there is not a one of us
who can be perfect,
not a one of us
who can find the way home
on our own,
not a one of us
who deserves this gift
we were given;

thank you Lord.
.
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Thank You My Precious Lord

Thank you Lord;

for the blowing wind,
for the swaying trees,
for the nighttime moon,
for the morning sun,
for this precious gift of life;

for every breath.

Thank you for Your word,
for Your mercy and grace,
for Your Holy One;

for Your Holy Spirit.

Thank you for Your truth and light
amidst the darkness and lies,
for Your precious love
where there is no love to be found,
thank you for this peace
You have placed in my heart;

thank you for allowing me to be
a son of the Living God.

Praise Your magnificent creation,
praise Your mighty name,
praise Your glorious presence;

let every voice sing praise unto You.
.
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Everything

Help me to stand O Lord,
at the foot of Your glorious throne,
lead me down paths of righteousness,
teach me Your sacred and holy ways,
shelter me from the enemy
silently waiting outside,
raise me up above this chaos and confusion,
remove the anger and turmoil
living deep within my troubled soul,
defeat the lusts and perversions
quietly lurking inside my weakened flesh,
deliver me from the evil
surrounding my every side;

let me take refuge in You O Lord.

Silence the iniquity and filth
spewing from my foolish tongue,
let every word from my lips
bring praise to Your precious name,
let Your mercy and grace
flow like a mighty river;

fill me with Your unspeakable love.

Use this humble vessel my Lord,
to declare Your magnificent splendor,
let Your magnificent light shine
like a beacon upon a hill.

When the alluring nighttime darkness,
provocatively beckons my searching soul,
You are there softly calling out,
showing me the way home,
leading me back into Your waiting arms.

Without You all the words are dead,
without You there is no light,
without You there is no tomorrow,
without You there is no hope.

You are my truth,
You are my breath,
You are my life;

You are my everything.
.
.

JFK

They are all gone now,
along with the noble causes
and high ideals,
everything neatly tucked away,
out of sight,
like old bones hidden deep
in dark cellar dungeons,
where no one looks to hard
or asks too many questions;

out of fear of the answers
they might find.

In the final analysis,
it was never a question
of wrong or right,
or truth, justice and the American way,
it was always just
a matter of who really cares?
and in the end
nobody really did;

which is what they already knew,

because truth and justice
never put food on a table,
or clothes on a back,
noble causes and high ideals
may be fine at dinner parties
and social functions,
but they have never paid
an electric bill,
starvation does not know right or wrong,
it only knows life or death,
and as time goes by
this is the only truth that matters.

40 years ago,
on a bright November day,
in a time when people still believed
what they were told,
when innocence was a luxury
many could still afford,
he threatened to take away
their private war,
which wasn’t good for business,
so they blew his brains out
on a cold Dallas street,
as a whole nation looked on;

killing much more than a man.
.
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Going Back

It’s never easy going back,
turning around in mid-stream,
fighting the swiftly flowing current,
it can take every ounce of energy
you possess;

it can be a very painful process.

You’re forced to relive
all the mistakes,
all the missed opportunities,
all the ‘shit’ that could have been,
should have been;

it’s not something I recommend
anybody try.

Bad things can happen
when you turn around,
unexpected things,
unforeseen things;
things that would have been better
left undone;

things that should be left in their
rotting, shallow graves.
.
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Something Special

“If you can’t say it in one page,
then it isn’t worth saying,” he says;

“anything more than one page is a waste!”

I tend to agree,
but sometimes you need just
a little bit more,
sometimes there’s loose ends,
overflow,
excess;

sometimes one page
just isn’t enough.

The problem with most is an
ill conceived notion that quantity
is what counts,
when just the opposite is true,
less is more,
passion the key,
with just a dash of mystery thrown in,
one word with clarity and conviction
is worth a dozen without,
start with a mound of meat,
then cut and chop until
only the bone is left,
leave them thinking about the meat
never tasted;

then you got something special.
.
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DOR

Early morning sunshine,
green shades of youth,
I remember your energy,
I remember your voice,
it was the voice
of fresh new rain,
it was the energy of life itself;

it was all I heard
it was all I needed.

Then suddenly you were gone,
and everything was different,
the darkness gave way to new light,
springtime breeze smelled like an old
and trusted friend,
silence filled the space where you once lived,
I searched for so long without knowing,
lost in this fog swirling inside,
only the memory of a touch,
an echo of your voice,
so ridiculous,
so hopeless;

and what did it matter?

words never changed one thing,
what will be will be,
our lives nothing without each other,
meaningless without the memories,
in the end we became
our own god and goddess,
forever linked;

I remember now.

The old man looks so hard,
silently watching as life passes by,
moving so fast without a glance,
suddenly gone,
the power no longer there,
he silently returns
to sweeping the sidewalk,
just a fleeting moment;

a blink of the eye.

I hear your voice,
I feel you in the darkness,
I hold you in the night,
your energy fills me up,
I don’t care anymore,
I only want you,
I have traveled so far,
you are so close,
I can smell your freshness
like a new mowed meadow,
nothing matters,
they can take it all,
nothing matters
but you;

I give you all I have.

She searches
for a home to call her own,
with a wisdom
beyond her tender years,
in a life filled with dreams
and broken promises,
she fights back the tears.

I hold her in my arms
as demons give chase throughout
the long cold night,
softly kissing her sweet face
until the early morning light,
I have loved her soul
from the beginning of time,
I have loved her face
forever.
.
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Verdict

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:9


“This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.” John 3:19

Everyday I prepare for battle,
everyday I fight the fight,
some days I win,
some days I lose;

some days I barely break even.

We talk of change,
we hope for a better way,
but at the end of the day
everything remains the same;

there is nothing new under the sun.

We are what we are
because we choose to be,
unable to be anything else,
shadows, disappearing with
the noon day sun,
fodder flailing in the wind,
failing and re-failing,
facsimiles wasting away
like rotting refuse;

guilty as charged.

Where does it all end,
where does it all begin,
like a mighty, rolling river,
flowing from here to there,
without reason,
without rhyme;

where does it all end?

Do not leave me here
in this land of dying corpses,
breathe new life into my lungs,
restore the light before my eyes,
pull me from this drowning world;

bring me home to You.
.
.

Just Believe

Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue ruler “Don’t be afraid; just believe.”    -   Mark 5:36

In the middle of the night I awake,
gripped with fear,
overcome by the immensity,
afraid of the unknown road ahead,
thinking of all the possible dangers,
unable to control even the smallest detail,
completely inadequate and out of control;

heading on a collision course with disaster.

Then I remember the places
from where I have come,
all the doors that have been opened,
all the chains which have been removed,
the love and grace
that has brought me to this place,
and I hear His soft, cool voice,
gently whispering in the nighttime darkness:

“Don’t be afraid, just believe.”

The fear fades away,
the doubt dissolves into nothing,
the darkness turns to light,
there is only love,
there is only Him;

and that is all that matters.

In the deepest depths,
on the highest heights,
He is there
guiding my path,
showing the way,
the Friend who stands by my side
closer than a brother,
the King who laid down His life
that I might live;

the One who I will love
forever.
.
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Know One Knows/now I know

...................................

No One Knows

Everyone walks and talks
like they know what’s going on,
like they discovered the answers
long ago;

it took me many years
to figure out,
that no one knows
what’s going on,
that it’s all just
one big act;

all the well tanned,
perfect haircut,
confident looking,
smug faced cock-suckers,
don’t have any more answers
than some junkie
lying out cold
in a stinking alleyway,
and perhaps
they have even less,
or they might be lying
in that alleyway also;

still;

we have to go on pretending,
otherwise
there’s just no point,
so we get our hair cut,
we get up and go to our jobs,
we smile and try to look unconcerned,
all the time fighting the fear
building in our guts,
all the time thinking;

everyone knows
but us.
____________________

now I know

now I know,
why junkies stick needles
in their arms
and lie dying
in back street alleys.

now I know,
why death comes
before the body
actually dies.

now I know
what Christ felt.

now I know,
where people go
when there is
nothing left.

now I know,
just how black
the darkness of the night
can be.

now I know,
just how deep
the bottom
really is.

now I know,
and the needle,
and the powder,
and the shots of whiskey,
and death,
only make it

legitimate.

now I know;

and have lived
to tell about it.
.
.

These Words

I sometimes wonder why I continue
writing these words down on paper,
I’ve never earned a dime from them,
never had any notoriety or fame
as a result of them,
never had a clue where they come from
or when they will come,
what they will say or why they say it,
it’s as if they have a life of their own,
an ancient mystery complete with their
own laws and consequences.

There is a price to be paid for these words,
a burning sadness that never quits,
a deep, lonely emptiness,
quietly devouring everything in its path,
bringing you to the edge
of a dark bottomless chasm
where untold millions of words
flow like liquid truth into the oblivion below
without return;

they have almost destroyed me
more than once.

You have to be ready,
they come and go like ghosts,
rising from unimaginable depths,
crystal clear like glass,
bobbing and floating,
creating or destroying,
slowly sinking back into
the night without any advance
warning or consideration;

you have to be ready.

These words wait for no one,
they survive beyond this lump
of flesh we call home,
they breathe long after
we take our last breath;

these words are forever.
.
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Another Day in the Valley

The sky turns grey with
fiery streaks of red,
wood stoves fire up,
smoke rises from chimneys,
a new day dawns.

A train rumbles through the valley,
while the James flows swiftly alongside,
they come more frequently now,
pulling miles of coal cars packed to the brim,
on their way eastward,
replenishing stockpiles in
Richmond and Washington,
preparing for the winter cold,
just as they have
for a hundred years;

it makes you wonder
how much can be left.

In the distance a hawk
soars above Gunter Ridge,
standing naked, bare and exposed,
glistening in the early morning sun,
leaves, three times the size of a mans hand,
cover the nearby ground,
forming a blanket through which the squirrels
scamper to and fro,
deer hunters scour the surrounding forest,
searching for fresh meat and trophies,
hanging the morning kills upside down,
as the blood drips to the ground below;

talking about the ten pointers
that got away.

Everything remains the same,
just as it has for generations,
and you silently think;

why would anybody want it
any other way?
.
.

Rejection

Rejection (again),
I’m beginning to think it’s a rigged game;

it’s always the same,
an apologetic form letter:

Dear (fill in the blank),
Thank you for your submission and interest in our upcoming
anthology/monthly ezine/periodical/(fill in the blank):
‘Under the Yellow Brick Road Beside the Fallen Bridge’
however due to the tremendous volume of material submitted
we are simply unable to include them all (of course this
doesn’t mean they are not worthy of printing), we do hope
you will remember us in the future, and oh by the way,
‘Under the Yellow Brick Road ’ will be available for
the low purchase price of $9.99 in February.

It would almost be beyond bearing
if it wasn’t so comical,
coming from editors of obscure presses
that no one has ever heard of (or ever will),
I always imagine some pathetic little man (or woman),
sitting in a cramped, seedy apartment,
with wet underwear drying on a clothes line,
signing form letters and feeling important
because they were able to
scrape up enough cash
to buy a laptop
and create a web page,
and now they’re an ‘EDITOR’,
putting together chap books and monthly broadsides
with the help of Staples or Kinkos,
along with a few dozen
of their closest friends,
presiding over the monthly readings
and critique sessions at the local library
or Barnes & Nobles,
passing judgment on everyone and everything
which does not fit their
preconceived ideas or molds.

Yes, it is very comical and pathetic;

although ‘EDITOR’ does have a nice ring to it,
and I have been thinking about building a webpage,
and there is a Staples right down the street;

if you can’t beat em,
might as well join em;

I sure wish that underwear
would hurry up and dry.
.
.

Storybooks

It has been a long time,
and many changes in between,
so many worn out words
that we really didn’t mean,
there have been others,
some that I loved more,
but I never gave up hope,
that someday you would
come knocking on my door;

and you may say
I’m not the person
I once used to be,
but I am who I always was,
this is just the person
you could never see.

Sometimes I think of how things
could have been,
but we never could’ve gone very far,
you travel the roads of this world,
while I was born to ride a star,
and for now you may laugh
at these words you don’t understand,
but in time will be revealed
the rock lying beneath this sand,
think of me then and know,
that if I could, our lives would be changed,
but like two actors up on a stage
the roles we play were already pre-arranged.

You and I were nothing but storybooks
from which we both could learn,
going our separate ways
when there were no more pages
left to turn.
.
.

November 12th

Come,
let us talk of laughter and love,
lovers and lost youth,
kisses,
warm and moist,
on the back of a
long forgotten porch,
beneath cool crisp
autumn skies;

I can still taste it
to this day.

I have not forgotten,
only learned to hide away
that which could never be,
and that which never was,
sometimes I wonder
if there has ever been another,
somehow it always
comes back to you,
still it does not matter;

and perhaps
It never did.

Occasionally,
when least expected,
the fire flares up,
raging wildly out of control,
but I have learned
to let it burn itself out,
then it will die down;

as it always does.
.
.

Words

“You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good? For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks. The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him. But I tell you that men will give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.”    Matthew 12:34-37

When it comes to words
it has always been all or nothing,
words have been my best friends,
my only companions,
my slaves,
my sluts,
my bitches,
my lovers,
my fantasies,
my obsessions,
my masters;

my salvation.

I have used words
like a healing salve,
spreading them like butter
on unseen cuts and gashes
until there was nothing left,
a silent barrier
behind which I could bury
all the loneliness and tears;

words have been there
when there was nothing else.

Words should not be wasted
on summer roofing jobs
or dead Italian uncles,
but then again one MFA
is worth about 2 nights
in the gutter,
following 5 day benders
which you can barely remember,
or one week
in a cock-roach infested hotel,
with rats so big
they stand on their hind legs
and beg like trained circus seals,
all the while
daring you to do
something about it,
and all the while knowing
that you won’t,
it’s moments like that
when you understand words
you never knew existed,
words you will never learn
at Harvard, or Princeton,
or Vassar,
as you slowly sip a bottle
of Wild Irish Rose, or Thunderbird
or Mad Dog 20/20.

Of course,
I have used words to describe
every act of perversion,
every known degradation,
every dark empty thought
existing with the human soul;

so who am I to judge?

Words are clay
in the hands
of a skilled artist,
waiting to be sculpted
into an unknown beauty
that defies description,
they are the face
of a cruel tragedy,
beyond the limits
which our relatively simple minds
can even begin to fathom;

words are nothing,
words are everything,
by your words
you will be condemned,
by your words
you will be freed;

so choose your words
wisely.
.
.

Frenzy

The storm clouds gather,
rising on the distant horizon;

this new place,
this other reality,
this far off land where
nightfall never ends;

what is left?
what more can be said?
does no one listen?
does no one hear?

does the madness never end?

Today I would have given
you everything,
yet nothing is all you took,
tomorrow’s troubles
bring fresh sorrows
all their own,
as freshly killed bodies
float like chum on the surface,
being devoured by ravenous lizards
frantically joining in the
morning frenzy;

I wish it were not so.

This life is no life,
it changes and rearranges,
ebbing and flowing,
never coming to completion,
creations of a creator,
children of light
trapped within the darkness,
temporary, transient
and conciliatory,
blinded to the truth hidden
before our eyes;

the great illusion
we choose to believe;

deceiving and being deceived,
wounding and being wounded,
hurting and being hurt,
feeding off the leftovers,
running for the scraps;

hiding within the cracks.
.
.

American News

American News – proof that in today's age of sophisticated mass communications, if you say something often enough, or loud enough, eventually it becomes truth to many, whether it has any factual basis or not.

“Look at the nations and watch – and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.” Habakkuk 1:5


Will not all of them taunt him with ridicule and scorn saying, “Woe to him who piles up stolen goods and makes himself wealthy by extortion! How long must this go on?” Will not your debtors suddenly arise? Will they not wake up and make you tremble? Then you will become their victim. Because you have plundered many nations, the people who are left will plunder you. For you have shed man’s blood, you have destroyed lands and cities and everyone in them. “Woe to him who builds his realm by unjust gain to set his nest on high, to escape the clutches of ruin! You have plotted the ruin of many peoples, shaming your own house and forfeiting your life. The stones of the wall will cry out, and the beams of the woodwork will echo it. Woe to him who builds a city with bloodshed and establishes a town by crime!” Habakkuk 2:6-12

America has become a land of mindless sheep,
being led by corrupt shepherds
and hidden agendas,
blindly running to and fro,
searching for the latest ‘miracle’ cure,
spending all their time and money,
listening to anyone offering answers,
speaking lies disguised as truth,
slaves to their greatest fears;

a land beyond promise or hope.

Seeking shelter from the gathering storm,
not willing to accept the consequences,
unable to confess the guilt,
killing in the name of justice,
denying the greed and self-preservation,
turning a blind eye to the haves
against the have-nots,
deciding who is right and who is wrong,
who lives and who dies,
a land of hypocrisy and dry bones,
dying before they are dead;

trapped within chains
of their own making.
.
.

No Mistakes

I lose track of the days,
in this life
that is no life,
holding on,
slipping farther away,
feeding hungers and lies
that know no limits,
desperately reaching out
for the truth that heals,
silently seeking redemption
in a ravenous world
that consumes
everything in sight,
speaking wisdom
as empty as the chains
with which it speaks.

Outside is death and mourning,
wailing and destruction,
but in here we are safe;

perhaps;

addicted to our deceptions,
our lies, our diseases,
deceived by our illusions,
trapped in the cages,
drowning in the cesspools,
surrounded by the swamps.

We make our choices,
we choose failure over success,
we cry and scream,
we search and dream,
but we make our own choices.

There are no mistakes,
in the end we become
what we are,
monsters of our own making,
creations of our own choosing,
monsters and demons,
basking in the warm, electric glow
of the sinister excitement,
living vicariously through
their evil existence;

we alone choose.

There are no mistakes,
in our ineptitude
we bumble along,
careening down paths
without a clue,
blindly searching for the truth
and light,
and sun,
and sky,
but there are no mistakes,
it is all as intended,
every word,
every second,
every moment,
every shit,
every fuck,
every amen;

there are no mistakes.
.
.

And The Band Played On

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them. II Timothy3:1-5

Pain becomes the new laughter,
sorrow the flavor of the day,
hurtful words
the drug of choice,
lovers of self,
stone cold shells,
hearts of steel,
anything goes
in make believe worlds
where nothing is real,
sliding into depths
of decadence and decay;

and the band played on.

We soothe the fear
while hiding the emptiness,
making way for a tomorrow
full of distant despair,
time passes by,
madness breeds the future,
breathing life
into strange new creations
with no room for mercy
or compassion;

and the band played on.

We want reassurance,
we want good times,
we want vindication,
we want guarantees;

and the band played on.

Inside the flesh rots
like butter
in the warm summer sun,
continually searching,
continually seeking,
new horizons among the chaos,
feeding off the lust,
surviving on the greed,
drowning in the filth,
laying waste
to all that moves,
misunderstanding the new art,
and at the end of the day
emptiness all that is left;

sometimes survival
is recreation enough.

We live life in moments,
monuments frozen in time,
desperately holding on,
hopelessly watching,
slipping like smooth silk sand
through our porous fingertips.

We are flawed,
everyone of us,
it is not of our doing,
but we are flawed
just the same,
imperfections within the rubbish,
scarred bloody stumps
of all that we could have been,
all that should have been,
fit for nothing
but the furnace fire,
without defense,
without hope,
pointing fingers and shaking our heads,
feeling somehow superior,
above the filth,
better than the ‘sinners’,
but inside
we are all the same,
grubby little insects
seeking redemption,
crying out in pain
without making a sound,
tear down the walls,
never let them rise again,
replace the darkness
with the light,
let it shine into the cold
black night;

no matter how hard we try
we can never put it out.

Something is lost
within this carnivorous cavern,
prosperity weakens
in the face of disaster,
with destruction
comes renewal,
with death
begins life,
won’t You help me
find the door?
won’t You show me
the truth?
won’t You rescue me
from the storm?

Like a river it flows,
sometimes violent,
sometimes gentle,
on and on,
no beginning,
no end;

like a mighty wind it blows,
from here to there,
from where no one knows,
to where even less;

heroes and hormones never die,
they go on and on forever
in this wilderness where
the sun never sets,
inside hallowed halls of glory
filled with words of hope,
the midday shadows grow long,
the hunger remains the same
despite twists and turns,
assuming new shapes,
twisting and turning,
resurfacing in different forms,
the morning grows tired of the noise,
still it goes on,
flowing like before,
blowing into the night,
still it goes on;

no one listens,
no one hears.

Sleep well my friend,
the morning comes
soon enough,
the nighttime will fade
into the growing morning light;

and the band played on.

We hide inside our houses,
dreaming;
dreaming of the tomorrows,
imagining the possibilities,
running from the darkness,
mystified by the mystery,
trapped within the illusion,
waiting for the destination;

forever seeing,
but never knowing;

forever hearing,
but never understanding.

If it were up to me
I would stay in this place,
seeking shelter from the storm,
being swallowed up by the myth,
drowning in the depths,
growing cold from the emptiness,
guarding Your truth
like a rare and precious jewel,
but Your grace knows better,
You lead me past the mistakes,
through the traps and snares,
beyond myself;

and somewhere the band
no longer plays,
someday the light
will come flooding through,
providing vindication
for even the weakest part,
shredding the illusions,
destroying the misconceptions;

speaking the truth.
.
.

Wept (Alpha)

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.” Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,
I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,
I weep for the loss,
I weep for the waste,
I weep for the hopelessness.

I weep for the children,
I weep for the tragedy,
I weep for the sorrow,
I weep for the suffering,




I weep for the inevitability.
.
.

National Health Care

Attention
my fellow Americans,
the government,
along with the leaders
of the corporate
and business world,
are working in conjunction
on a long term plan
to solve the country’s
current health care crisis,
and the solution
we have come up with
is called;

death.

Yes, that is correct,
it really isn’t such a bad plan
if you just take the time
to think about it,
you work while you’re young,
then when you get sick
or too old to work,
or require expensive
prescription medicine to get by;

you die.

It works for the good of all,
it helps keep America strong,
and that’s what we all want isn’t it?
and just think of all the good
it will do for the younger generation,
it will mean a constantly growing job market
(due to the high turnover),
and will save all the costs of Medicare,
which will free up a large chunk of change
for the national defense;

those cruise missiles aren’t cheap
you know,

and we all know that a good defense
is a strong offense,
and boy we sure do have
a lot of offensive plans
for the future,
now that we
have assumed the role
of world policemen (and women),
of course the growing military
commitments
will create many new jobs
for the young in and of itself,
so you see it’s all being handled,
nice neat and clean;

just like you
wanted it.

Now if those of you 55 or older,
or who are currently taking more
than 3 prescription drugs
could just report
to your local health department,
we’ll put this bold
and innovative new plan
into effect;

government officials and
the independently wealthy
need not report,
wouldn’t be good for the economy,
bad for job creation
and all that other bullshit;

you understand of course.
.
.