Waiting for You

everyday becomes less clear,

paths well-known, slowly fade,

familiar faces slip into the background,

everything becomes more shrouded,

more temporary,

running from well placed snares,

hiding behind silent shields;

I am holding on,

waiting for You;

these emotions ebb and flow,

this uncertainty totters on the edge,

then topples into the flames,

the night closes in,

the filth sticks like glue,

yet even now the fire remains,

even now I search for a way,

the sun does rise,

a new day does begin;

I am holding on,

waiting for You;

words fall like tears,

meaning very little and

saying even less,

the only key in a world

of illusion and mirage,

the only clues to forgotten

mysteries and empty memories;

I am holding on,

waiting for You;

cleanse me of this depravity,

remove this terrible darkness

from my sight,

open the door to this prison cell,

free my spirit once again,

guide my path home;

I am holding on,

waiting for You.

.

.

nothing left to say

the morning rises,

dark and cold,

this dream without sound,

this night without day,

forty years and twenty million

empty words later,

beautiful dreams fade,

broken and dead,

new visions and epiphanies

fill the void,

feeble and weak,

nothing left to say;

all the self-absorbed pity,

all the weakness and fear,

all the lost moments,

all the wasted time,

this cacophony of

endless excuses,

proud and vain within

self-made universes,

without soul or purpose,

without depth or emphasis,

just one more day,

one more touch,

one more breath,

nothing left to say;

rules have no meaning here,

fantasies fly like the wind,

moving back and forth,

abandoned with the morning trash;

no one knows the cost,

no one knows the price;

before Your throne, do I fall,

into Your hands do I place my life,

upon Your mercy and grace,

lies my only hope, I am Yours,

to do with as You will;

nothing left to say.

.

.

Rimbaud

disreputable, mean, ruthless,
perverse, hateful, wretched;

this poetry,

this darkness;

a reflection of their desire,

a metaphor for their destruction,
greatness in the eyes of many;

all they know;

if it were mine to give,

there would be no more darkness,
no more empty promises,
no more dead ends,
childish fantasies put away forever,
swallowed up by innocent yesterdays
and intellectual tomorrows;

these vanishing dreams disappear,

washed away by burning
acidic screams,
inside this land of shadowy perpetrations,
lost within cold, black tombs
of liquid, crystal night,
somewhere beyond this edge,
the horizon lies,
buried inside soulless caverns,
where only fools and dead men live,
old memories rise,
tasting like tar soaked sawdust,
a glimpse into depths they can
only imagine,
a touch beyond everything
they know,
titillating, exciting,
spending all they have,
only a word away,
darkness is not hard to find;

it is light that eludes most.

.

.

for everything there is an end

chasing down dreams,
on one-way, dead-end streets,
the moments come and go,
cool autumn nights wait forever,
like distant winter storms, poised
to pour liquid electricity into endless
teenage skies,
back seats and pre-game rituals,
followed by post-game letdowns,
fade into the oblivion of lost moments,
as life-changing, earth shattering decisions,
mean very little inside vast
kingdoms of empty space,
where nothing comes,
and nothing goes,
I have sunk to the depths,
I have rose to the heights;

flow is the key,

you can lose your momentum,
but never lose your flow;

invisible chains, fall like leaves

before the gathering storm,
there is a death of which
no one knows,
somber days lie ahead,
for every beginning there is an end,
for everything there is an end;

in life, there are only so many,

so many days,
so many years,
so many thoughts,
so many words,
they slip through our fingers,
like water running to the sea,
we forget more than we can
ever know;

for everything there is an end.

.

.

Dangerous Combinations

cold, rainy, Monday afternoons,

thick, rich, dark glasses of Guinness,

Stevie Ray Vaughn on the jukebox, and

attractive, strong-willed, red-headed,

Irish women named Susan,

make for dangerous combinations,

so far from home,

yet they leave a sickly sweet

sensation, deep within this darkness

called a soul,

like when you were a child,

stealing forbidden cookies from

the kitchen cupboard,

wishing it would

never end;

but soon, it will all be part

of the never ending ocean,

of old memories and

forgotten stories,

that could have been,

that should have been,

but were not,

and never were;

I always was

a pushover,

for attractive,

strong-willed,

red-headed,

Irish women.

.

.

Ancient Music

dark gray skies,

blocking out the morning sun,

signs of things to come;

ancient music,

playing in my ears,

returning us to the world

from which we came,

let us take that,

which is ours to take;

together;

let not, winter’s cold breath,

steal tomorrow’s freshness

away from our grasp,

left out here to slowly

wither and die,

like newborn children upon

the vine;

is this then,

all there is?

is this then,

all which can

be expected?

hidden among the

darkening shadows,

alone and empty,

cold and hungry,

with no light

from within

.

.

Vultures

the vultures gather,

slowly circling the kill,

smelling death from

miles away,

dressed in Armani suits,

driving sleek, dark, Mercedes’,

young and upwardly

mobile,

seeing only profits

and bottom lines,

not lives and a place called

home;

let the bidding

begin.

.

.

One Pitch

went to the Phillies game last night,

what a deceiving game baseball is,

on the surface it seems so slow,

almost boring,

but then without even realizing it,

you find yourself caught up

in a moment,

that for just a few seconds,

stands out so sharp and crystal clear,

it’s as if life itself has ceased,

time has no meaning;

top of the ninth,

Phillies on top 3 to 2,

bases loaded,

two outs,

three balls,

two strikes,

and for one pitch,

it didn’t matter

that the Phillies were

45 and 72,

or that it was late August,

and they were 32 games out of first,

for that one pitch,

the crowd was on its feet chanting,

as if it was the last pitch

of the world series,

time was frozen,

women screamed,

men yelled,

for that one pitch,

it was as if the entire world

was holding its breath,

waiting for that one pitch,

the pitcher stared in at the catcher,

waiting for the sign,

then with a kick of his leg,

he wound up and delivered the ball,

the crowd gasped,

the batter swung;

FOUL BALL!!!!!!

with a moan,

a huge sucking in of air,

everyone got ready to do it

one more time;

it was then I understood

the greatness of baseball,

it isn’t in the fast pace,

but rather in the lack of it,

the ability to make time

stand still;

even if it’s just for a

moment.

.

.

Sigmund's Full of Shit

when you’ve been

on both sides of the fence,

you know it’s not a question

of which side is greener,

it’s only a matter of

which side is green at all, and

you wonder quietly, at

what a cruel, terrible joke

this is;

do the questions never

have an answer?

and you silently wish

for a reason,

an excuse,

some childhood abuse,

daily beatings,

or a solid drop on the head,

anything to explain

why,

you are the way you are,

but there is nothing,

only proving;

Sigmund’s full of shit.

.

.

Big Tipper

Vicki,

the barmaid,

excites me

to no end,

she’s so big,

and round,

and firm,

and lusty,

when she moves,

you can almost hear

the sexual energy field,

crackling and popping,

as it rises and collapses

around her;

one time her hip

accidentally brushed against me,

as she took our order;

I almost had an accident

in my pants;

she’s the kind of woman

you could get lost in,

buried within her huge,

soft mounds,

and heavenly valleys;

yes,

she excites me to no end,

but then it wouldn’t be

the first time,

it is funny though,

the thoughts which go through your head,

when you’re lying in bed,

with a 102 degree fever,

and since I have nothing

she could possibly want;

I always leave

a big tip.

.

.

floodwaters

the world is dying,

I am dying,

death has become an only friend,

the final sanctuary,

in a life no longer

worth living;

each day begins anew,

each day ends,

the breeze continues to blow,

the rivers continue to flow,

the morning sun arrives

right on time;

for every season there is a purpose,

for every question there is an answer;

I see the ugliness, lying

just below the surface,

the self-serving hypocrisy,

the incomplete falsehoods,

the insincere agendas,

you do not fool me;

not even for a moment;

the moment begins at last,

the hour at hand,

the children of men are no more,

their monuments of glory

crumble before the wind,

the bitter taste of their demise,

lies frozen upon a sea

of silent tongues;

this then is the beginning,

this then is the end;

still they do not listen,

even now their eyes remain blind,

giving in marriage and celebrating

right up to the very end;

surely, there is no hope

for ones such as these.

.

.

My Eyes Do Not See

That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong.   II Corinthians 12:10

my eyes do not see,

but I have eyes with which to see,

my ears do not hear,

but I have ears with which to hear,

my mind does not understand,

but I have a mind with which

to understand;

I have You,

and that is all I need;

this fleshly body slowly crumbles

into the dust,

yet I continue to rise,

man-made ideas and thoughts

come and go,

but in the end they mean nothing

at all;

I have You,

and that is all I need;

through weakness Your strength

is made perfect,

therefore I shall glory

in all my weakness,

for when I am weak,

I am made strong,

by Your grace alone;

I have You,

and that is all I need.

.

.

In the Early Morning Silence

in the early morning silence,

You quietly arrive,

washing over me like a warm,

ocean wave,

humbling my haughty spirit,

cleansing my filth ridden soul,

removing the darkness and dread,

renewing the faltering strength,

letting me know that I am Yours,

and You are mine,

forever;

praise Your precious name,

never leave me alone,

stay with me throughout the cold,

black night,

save me from the darkness waiting outside,

protect me from unseen traps and snares,

for I am just the branch and You are the vine,

You are the One who provides life,

You are the perfect prize, waiting at the end

of this long and winding road,

without You I am so lost,

without You I can do nothing;

with You all things are possible,

with You I can do all things;

fill me with Your Holy Fire,

descend upon my head like a

powerful rushing wind,

let me shine like a great and

wondrous light,

burning for all the world to see,

guide my faltering feet,

lead me where You would have me go,

use me for Your righteous will,

remake me in Your beautiful and holy image;

bring me home to You.

.

.

Arise

in the early morning silence,

I search for Your unending truth,

amidst the internal chaos and confusion,

I seek Your wonderful presence;

arise,

make a joyful noise

unto the Lord,

for His goodness and mercy

shall last forever;

through the darkness of the

cold black night,

I feel Your soft cool touch,

from across the void of

unknown chasms,

I hear Your small still voice;

I know no fear,

I know no doubt,

thank you Lord;

arise,

make a joyful noise

unto the Lord,

for His goodness and mercy

shall last forever;

in Him shall I place my trust,

through Him shall I overcome the night,

by Him shall I be made whole,

within Him does all my hope lie;

arise,

make a joyful noise

unto the Lord,

for His goodness and mercy

shall last forever.

.

.

In The Morning

in the morning,

I remember a simpler time,

a sweeter life,

warm Florida mornings,

air so pure, you could taste

the promise with every breath,

but none of it compares

with You;

who can speak of Your

wondrous glory and light?

what words can describe

the magnitude of Your

mercy and grace?

what sounds may be uttered,

that reflect the majesty

of Your perfect love?

rain Your spirit down on me,

open my mind and eyes,

illuminate my soul,

let me find the words

which glorify Your holy name;

lead me when I am blind,

remind me when I forget,

show me that without You,

I am lost;

without You,

I can do nothing at all.

restore the joy,

remove the darkness,

heal the damage,

open my eyes,

fill me with Your love,

let me shine with Your light;

bring me home

to You.

.

.

Suburbia

out in the fields,

the slaughterhouse so far away,

dreams still live,

the future open and free,

tomorrow certain and secure,

little do they know;

the cattle truck is on its way;

the circle is closing,

and you wonder,

is this the best there is?

or more importantly;

is this all there is?

as if it ever mattered,

one way or the other,

yet still you wonder,

and you forget,

and you remember,

over and over again;

everything changes,

everything remains the same;

the days become harder,

movement nonexistent,

just a little farther,

only a little longer,

holding on with what

little there is,

living for letting go,

waiting for the last breath,

pretending it matters,

wishing it didn’t;

knowing it never will;

in central suburbia,

the waves wash quietly

upon forgotten shores,

nothing is ever what it seems,

no one is ever who they say,

looking down from sacred ground,

privileged and blessed,

safe and secure,

flags flying high,

apple pies cooling

on kitchen counters;

‘those’ people are ruining the country,

‘those’ people don’t belong here;

and all I ever wanted was You.

.

.

not enough

what else can I say?

what else can I do?

what else is there?

you are inside;

like blood,

like bones,

like teeth,

like skin;

you move with

the wind,

swaying on

the breeze,

rising and falling

like the tide;

not enough;

living,

dying,

eating,

dreaming,

crying,

speaking,

writing,

spiting,

chewing;

not enough;

not enough;

I breathe you like

oxygen,

I want you like

tomorrow,

I hide you like

a secret,

I whisper your name

like an ancient society,

I consume you like

a pear;

not enough,

not enough.

.

.

now it begins

When he opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.   Revelations 8:1

night does approach,

dreams do fade,

silence awaits,

time no more;

now it begins;

love fades,

hypocrisy rises,

iniquity abounds,

self-proclaimed children of light,

fingers of judgment,

objects of wrath,

calm,

cool,

arrogant;

no mourning,

no shame,

no remorse,

sitting as a queen;

in one day her plagues

will overtake her.

.

.

The Great Conundrum

the problem with the past,

is yesterday and tomorrow;

you can’t undo yesterday,

and you sure can’t

guarantee tomorrow;

the problem with the present,

is yesterday and tomorrow;

you can’t undo yesterday,

and you sure can’t

guarantee tomorrow;

the problem with the future,

is yesterday and tomorrow;

you can’t undo yesterday,

and you sure can’t

guarantee tomorrow;

feelings fade,

sliding out the door

like unwanted

house guests,

fleeing into the

surrounding wilderness

never to return,

never to be seen again,

the pain comes,

the pain goes,

here today,

gone tomorrow,

just a passing moment,

piling upon a mountain

of yesterday’s moments,

cascading into fresh moments

of today,

patiently waiting for

new moments of tomorrow,

which in the end

mean very little, because;

you can’t undo yesterday,

and you sure can’t

guarantee tomorrow.

.

.

cost of living

what is the cost of living?

sadness,

joy,

sorrow,

suffering,

pain,

hopelessness,

satisfaction,

fulfillment,

emptiness,

loneliness,

death;

decisions made,

consequences paid;

for every breath there is a cost;

evil in the name of righteousness,

hypocrisy in the form of light,

of such things are men made,

by such things do they fall,

standing fast on truths they understand not,

blinded by sanctimonious testimony,

lost on roads leading to nowhere;

who shall pay the debt?

.

.

Mystery

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.   Ephesians 6:10-12

there is a mystery here,

whispering through the swaying trees,

singing over the silent rocks,

flowing with the mountain stream,

gathering in the darkening clouds;

all around the battle rages,

quietly waiting,

unseen, unknown,

beyond sight,

beyond touch;

beyond understanding.;

cool, gray December skies,

dull, hazy, sun, Friday afternoon

school bus, delivering mediocrity

and weekend misery, never quite sure,

fading within the moving shadows,

rising from the wavering depths;

I remember it well;

slaves to what we see,

what we hear, what we feel,

all the time seeing nothing,

hearing nothing,

feeling nothing,

mirrors and smoking guns,

illusions and disappearing truths,

cheap parlor tricks played out

on slick talking talk shows,

here today,

gone tomorrow,

the war never ends;

the enemy never sleeps;

there is a mystery here,

it remains long after the screams

have all died and slipped away.

.

.

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;

one word with clarity and conviction,

is worth a dozen without;

start with a mound of meat,

cut and chop, until only

the bone is left,

leave them thinking about meat

never tasted;

then you got something special.

.

.

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.

.

.

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,

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.

.

.

Naked

When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.” And he said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree I commanded you not to eat from?”              Genesis 3:6-11

“You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see. Those to whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him and he with me.”   Revelation 3:17-20

once more you open my eyes,

showing me just how blind

I really am,

how wretched, pitiful and poor

I have become,

revealing the evil lurking inside,

uncovering all the filth,

the inadequacies,

the incompleteness,

the nakedness;

Lord I am so far away!

I hear Your voice,

softly counseling,

gently rebuking,

quietly disciplining;

reminding me of the path

which leads to You;

Father, remove this darkness once again,

heal the wounds as only You can,

renew all that I am,

fill me with Your precious Holy Spirit,

bathe me in Your glorious light;

make me a son

of the living God.

.

.

in my father's house

there are darker places

than this,

places of the night,

that call out in silent whispers

within the soul,

too deep for the average mind,

too far for the typical traveler;

defeated and silent,

they lie waiting for a

return of the light,

which has already

been won,

forever;

in my fathers house,

everything is perfect,

yet silent killers

quietly wait,

preying on the dead,

choking what little life remains,

from quaking nooks

and crying crannies

hidden deeply within;

desperation and dreams,

make for big business,

lost and unemotional,

rolling on, past the walls

and barriers of all that

makes us who we are;

she has become the light,

it fills her now,

and hopefully,

one day through her,

it will fill me

as well.

.

.

Desperation

now the end may begin,

lost in this swirling

world of never,

eyes dressed incognito,

egos disguised by humility,

enemies in the shape of friends,

the worst of them all,

you never see them coming,

until they have passed you by;

and by then,

it’s always too late;

the movement continues,

like liquid wildfire,

consuming all there is,

right or wrong hanging within

a delicate balance,

fools following forsaken

roads of folly,

on their way to this or that,

innocence never the issue,

something for nothing,

one for all,

everything for anybody,

some things for nobody;

this garden no longer grows,

fruit lies dying on the vine,

hope has no future here,

fertility fails,

fixations no longer provide a thrill,

sinking deep into the

oblivion below,

sink or swim,

desperation makes its strong argument

for justification,

survival separates the living

from the dead;

words once spoken,

can never be returned.

.

.

She Doesn't Need Anybody

she doesn’t need you,

she doesn’t need me,

she doesn’t need anybody,

never has,

never will;

but still;

she hesitates for just a moment,

remembering a long forgotten

touch,

an embrace,

a kiss,

innocent and sweet,

tender and pure,

warm and moist,

it was the last time

she felt love,

it was the last time

she felt alive;

the moment passes,

never to return,

nothing speaks like silence;

she doesn’t need anybody;

and you love her

even more.

.

.

The Final Frontier

By myself I have sworn, my mouth has uttered in all integrity a word that will not be revoked; Before me every knee will bow, by me every tongue will swear.   Isaiah 45:23

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.    Philippians 2:9-11

at last,

the final frontier,

prison bars removed,

iniquity and filth

buried in the ground,

freedom forever;

fear and doubt

no more;

so close,

the taste burns

within your dry,

empty mouth,

truth uninterrupted,

light without limit,

glory beyond imagination,

flesh without sin;

life without death;

it is here You have brought me,

it is now for which I have waited,

perfect power, pure and

unblemished;

every knee shall bow,

every tongue shall confess.

.

.

On the Edge

out on the edge,

people and places are seldom

what they seem,

lines become blurred,

light but a reflection,

faces come out of the night,

moving beyond darkness and death,

winter winds blow cold,

leaving trails of broken bones,

rising into the emptiness beyond;

out here,

all hope has died;

sitting here,

watching the rain fall,

nowhere left to go,

no more room to run,

the voices slowly fade,

the faces silently disappear,

everything passes with time,

nothing lasts forever,

is truth enough,

or does darkness win?

without love,

are you only

fooling yourself?

nothing is hidden,

that will not be revealed,

no debt goes unpaid,

a reckoning for every word

whispered in the night;

an accounting,

for promises made

but never kept.

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.

Imperfection

When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.” So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.   Luke 5:8-11

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

my soul has tasted madness,

my soul lies dying in the dust,

choking on the excess,

drowning in the lust,

caught up in the illusion,

dried up,

empty,

no where left to turn,

no where left to run,

guilty as charged;

once again, You

raise me from the depths,

once again, You

wrap me in Your love,

Your righteousness and glory,

more than my filth ridden flesh

can bear,

Your perfection, overwhelming

the imperfection of all that I am;

Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!

once again, You quietly whisper;

Don’t be afraid; just believe.

my God,

my King,

my Everything.

.

.

my dreams are suffering and sorrow

my dreams are suffering and sorrow,

struggle and pain,

heartache and helplessness,

empty cauldrons;

just on the edge of madness;

waking in the middle of the night,

wasted and worn,

a burned out shell,

remembering a life

that never began,

living a death for which

there is no end,

surrounded by faceless names

without hope;

my dreams are suffering and sorrow;

broken,

all typed out,

upside down,

inside out,

slapped silly,

smacked senseless,

washed up and

left for dead,

stick a fork in it

broken;

when you’re in love,

they are in every face,

every smile

every word;

some things are better

left unsaid.

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.