You Alone

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him. “You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”   John 6:66-69

changes;

once again;

flesh and weakness

stand in the way;

when everything has been stripped clean,

when all the filth has been washed away,

when every word has been said,

when every thought has been thought,

when every breath has been breathed,

when every beat has been beat,

when there is nothing more,

nothing at all;

there is You;

I am ready to live,

I am ready to die,

I am ready to do Your will,

there is no other truth,

there is no other way;

You alone have the words

of eternal life,

You alone, are the Holy One of God;

where else would I go?

to who else would I turn?

You alone.

.

.

Master

I have done so many things,

I really didn’t want to do,

but I did them anyway,

knowing the whole time

that they were wrong,

that they were perverse,

that they took a piece of my soul;

but I couldn’t help myself;

I was powerless, I was a slave,

I was a pawn, I was a sad, pathetic

little worm, hiding from everyone

and everything;

I still struggle;

but now I am not alone,

now I have One so much greater than I,

One to which I can turn,

One on whom I can depend,

One who loves me as no other,

with a love that is perfect and pure,

One who is a King of kings,

a Lord of lords,

an innocent lamb,

led to the slaughter,

to pay the price,

for a debt that was not His own,

the good Shepherd who lays down his life,

for the flock which follows;

the Master

of us all.

.

.

Reality

sometimes reality sets in, complete with all its

cold, dark brutality, reminding you that

nothing lasts forever, that for everything offered,

there is a price to be paid, a final toll;

it will not be denied;

but still you rush forward, unable to prevent

this confrontation, even if you could,

so immersed in her deep blue ocean,

there was never a choice, nor moment

of hesitation;

so far from the sight of land;

I’m not proud of what I’m doing to her,

like the gutless wonder that I truly am,

she deserves better, much better,

every now and then, I allow it to creep in,

every now and then I want to grab her,

beg her to run away with me, far away,

where no one or nothing could ever find us again,

but I know we would only be running from me,

and eventually I would catch up,

destroying us both;

I wonder if it is the same, for my partner in this

crime of passion, although she would say not,

but she talks of him with such softness,

such far off forlornness, I wonder if she even knows

it is there, together it is our burden to bear,

even if alone we hide it away.

.

Hiding Within Plain Sight

they have become mesmerized with the

violence, conditioned by the lies,

without feeling, without joy,

without soul, I remain silent,

because that is what I choose;

words never mattered

anyway;

I could not save you,

you were too far gone,

too far along, too far away,

from a dream, I reach for you,

but you’re not there,

I call out your name,

but you do not hear,

even now, I hear your voice,

even now, I see your face,

even now, I taste your skin;

a new day dawns, old memories fade,

no return, no mercy, no hanging on,

forgotten memories and empty futures,

travel down lost and lonesome paths,

on their way to hidden valleys,

where even the sun does not speak;

I am tired of giving pearls to dogs,

wisdom to swine,

tired of voices that only know

how to speak, but have never learned

how to listen;

your judgment makes you smaller,

your expressions and excuses,

nothing more than meaningless drivel,

dead-end streets, you use the cracks

and crevices of distant shores like common

knowledge;

platitudes and artistic differences

only go so far,

sooner or later choices must be made,

eventually it becomes real,

eventually it slips away;

everything you know,

everything you are,

everything you ever were,

just fading vapor,

dispersing with the wind;

the higher you go,

the farther you fall,

the faster you run,

the bigger the crash.

.

.

One Flesh

And he answered and said unto them, “have ye not read, that he which made them at the beginning made them male and female, And said, For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh? Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”   Matthew 19:4-6

what began so small, has become so great,

what once was two, has been joined as one;

one love,

one life,

one truth,

one flesh;

you are the one, my heart desires,

you are the one, who makes me whole,

when you laugh I laugh,

when you cry I cry,

without you I would be lost,

without you I would be alone,

without you I would be incomplete;

no one but you and I, understand this great

and magnificent miracle,

this deep and hidden mystery our life

has truly been, a beautiful, wondrous,

blessing of God, for which I give

continual thanks;

what God has joined together,

let no one put asunder,

as it was in the beginning

so shall it be in the end.

.

.

Agendas

it becomes hard,

separating friends from foes,

good intentions from bad;

truth from lies;

in a world ruled by flesh,

humility is replaced by pride,

issues clouded by agendas,

clarity overcome by confusion,

egotism and self-glorification,

hidden within the face of love;

You have witnessed it all;

every dark, angry thought,

every sinister, evil plot,

every treacherous betrayal,

every late night denial;

remaining silent at the accusations,

withstanding the pain and lies,

loving when there was no love in return,

giving when there was nothing left to give,

forgiving when you had every right to hate,

walking the path no one else could,

sacrificing Yourself, for the sake

of the whole world;

Lord, I have nothing worthy of You,

I am but filthy rags in Your presence,

fit only for death and destruction,

Your love goes beyond my comprehension,

Your mercy more than I could ever deserve,

help me to forgive those with selfish motives

and hidden agendas, help me to love those who

do not deserve my love;

help me to be like You.

.

.

Cheap Words and Night Time Blues

cheap words and night time blues,

partners in this orgasmic wet dream,

calling for eternal fulfillment,

much to the amusement of cannibalistic tendencies,

feeding upon the innocent flesh and

leftovers of the future,

feel the freedom, crawling, clawing,

chewing its way to the top,

bursting through this impermeable membrane,

spewing forth hot, thick, creamy juices,

renewing burnt out souls and toasted spirits,

providing new hope and redemption,

for generations lost in the howling,

shrieking maelstrom.

.

.

Up Here

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 Timothy 3:1-5

up here I hear Your voice, whispering through

the early morning silence, up here I am never alone,

up here You walk with me;

comforting me,

carrying me,

guiding me,

protecting me;

down there, You are reduced to a psychology,

a feel-good philosophy,

a self-improvement technique,

a better way of life,

blaspheming Your name,

making a mockery of Your kingdom,

denying the power;

forever looking but never seeing,

forever listening but never hearing;

You are so much more, far beyond all that

our limited minds can comprehend,

more than anyone can fathom,

giver of life, creator of all things;

the Great I Am,

the holy King of the universe,

the Alpha and the Omega;

Everything.

.

.

The Last Play

we talked about the past today, how I had been a big football star,

blah, blah, blah, yeah sure,

I told her I never cared about any of that,

how it had all been a lie, a way to rub shit back in the faces

of those around me, a way to take out all the anger and frustration;

later I remembered something that has been inside for a long, long time,

I remembered my greatest game ever, how I rushed for 256 yards (a school record),

scored 4 touchdowns, etc. etc., but the only thing I really remember,

was the very last play;

I was playing defense (cornerback), we were winning 55-0 (or something like that),

the other team began putting in all their subs, all the younger kids who never get

to play in close games, good experience (and all that shit), there was this kid,

he was young, probably a freshman or sophomore, skinny kid,

he was lined up at wide receiver;

I had just played the greatest game in school history, I felt god-like,

omnipotent, what a joke, I was lined up across from this kid,

this poor, sad, skinny little kid, who was looking at me with this awed look,

like I was the greatest thing in the world, he was shaking, he was so scared,

I just stared at him, with a cold smirk on my face, making him even more afraid,

the ball was snapped, he started to run down the field, it was my job to slow

up his progress, give him a forearm, give the linemen time to get too the quarterback,

I did my job, only I did it much better than I needed to,

I buried my fist in his gut;

a more experienced player would have been ready for it, (it was so easy),

he went down like he had been shot with a 44 magnum, the play ended,

the game was over, this skinny little kid just laid there on the ground,

groaning and holding his stomach, tears welling up in his eyes,

I just stood there, looking down at him, he had this look on his face that said

‘why? why did you do that to me?’, it was as if I had shattered his self-image,

destroyed his view of the world, his faith in gods and legends, a hurt much worse

than the pain in his gut;

I just smiled and laughed, then turned and walked away;

the next day there were photos of me, and big headlines about school records,

blah, blah, blah, but there wasn’t a single word about that play in the paper;

but I knew,

I would always know;

the beer and whiskey afterwards, almost wiped his face out of my mind;

almost,

but not quite.

.

.

Life

in the morning, before the doubt,

before the poison, anything is possible,

the world is bright and new, fresh and alive,

but then like the morning it is gone,

as reality sets in;

I wait outside her domain like a dog in heat,

I listen to her voice pounding within,

like ocean waves on a dark angry night,

she holds me in arms of shifting winds,

without shape or form;

life is full of so much wasted time,

wide open spaces and moments in between

the only ones that count, long drawn out hours

of insufferable boredom, highlighted by

seconds of indescribable pleasure;

life is a never ending orgasm,

working and struggling, building and rising,

working for just one short burst,

one quick release;

I want a place to hide, a shelter from the storm,

safety in the wilderness, a home within the night;

what words can be said for this?

what salvation, what mercy, what redemption?

there are places where hope does not walk,

places where love has no home,

where light does not shine, truth does not speak,

down here words fail, seasons become blurred;

is it wrong to give up?

is it wrong to let go?

we come so close, reaching and touching,

knowing and seeing, hearing and feeling,

so close, yet so impossibly far,

flowing like underground rivers,

hidden, alone;

silent;

fires burn bright, stars blaze through the night,

yet we see only the shadows, moving through rising tides,

surviving extravagant excess, hiding among the corners,

day after day we wait, as miles become like dead stones

wrapped around the necks of fools and lovers,

hour by hour we survive, selling flesh inch by inch,

smiling at reflections in the dust,

crumbling before the edges, with nothing in return.

.

.

Next

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”   Matthew 14:28-33

one more lesson, one more obstacle,

one more weakness, one more time, I begin

to sink below the surface;

once again, You grasp my hand,

once again, You pull me from the depths,

once again, You teach me to overcome,

once again, Your power sets me free;

the world continues on, wars and rumors of wars,

death and destruction, joy and laughter,

greed and self-satisfaction,

vanity and pride;

none of that matters now,

the flesh slowly dies,

only a fading mist,

a disappearing shadow,

I am finished with it all,

there is nothing more I need,

there is nothing more I want,

all that matters now is what comes next,

all that matters now, is You.

.

.

What We Have Become

This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy. Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good. Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.   II Timothy 3:1-5

easy to mock now, no more barriers,

no more inhibitions, godlessness avant-garde,

cool, hip, chic;

truth irrelevant;

poetry an abstraction, a train wrecked shambles,

a self-indulgent journey into self-imposed decadence,

masturbation of the mind;

without rhyme, without reason;

snotty, excitable little twits,

so full of themselves they can barely walk,

writing about things they understand

even less,

fluffy little balls of bullshit,

stuck in the diarrhea of their words,

political correction and self-satisfaction,

going hand in hand;

a religion for the masses;

everyone is a poet today, everyone a self-made god,

everyone is okay and getting better,

everyone capable of greatness,

everyone a master of their own fate;

it is our culture, it is our society,

it is our psychology, it is our national anthem;

it is what we have become.

.

.

Sand Creek

Sand Creek;

the truth dances like a ghost,

a mighty wind whispering through the silence

of the night;

who will hear the voices?

who will right the wrong?

hard to love when so much injustice abounds,

hard to forgive when innocent blood

runs across stolen ground;

dirty little secrets, deep dark memories

of which no one speaks,

you can never escape the past,

it follows you like a shadow,

softly surrounding you like a glove,

slowly becoming a part of who you are,

silently determining what you become;

all the treachery and cowardice revealed,

their souls laid bare, the self-made bravado

and false heroics, silently exposed,

sons of murderers, daughters of liars and thieves,

descendants of swine, a little lower than dogs,

somewhat less than human;

without honor,

without dignity,

without hope;

their homes built upon hypocrisy and greed,

their tongues filled with misconceptions and lies,

their legacy standing like a wavering deck of cards,

waiting to crash down upon their guilt-ridden heads;

Sand Creek remembers.

.

.

Unnamed Number 68

“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

a land of mindless sheep, led by corrupt shepherds

and hidden agendas, blindly running to and fro,

searching for the latest ‘miracle’ cure,

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,

turning a blind eye to 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.

.

.

Babylon Fallen

standing on the edge,

if you listen hard,

you can hear the last dying

gasps;

dreams gone bad;

betrayed by their lusts,

abandoned by their principles,

strangled by their self-righteousness,

drowning in their hypocrisy;

destroyed by their greed;

shaking with fear,

burned out shells,

well-preserved corpses,

waiting to collapse into the beckoning

grave of their man-made utopia,

trapped within the walls of their

self-made wisdom;

Babylon fallen.

.

.

An Uneasy Interruption

in the end I will fade away,
like the early morning dawn,

quietly changing from darkness into light,

without a sound, without a fight,

a passing whisper in the middle of the

dark, crisp night;

we all do, we all will,

we simply have little choice.

words will mean very little,

relationships even less,

memories but a brief moment,

an uneasy interruption,

a passing vapor, in a world of swirling mist;

I have been to the mountaintop,

I have peered into the oblivion below,

I have heard the small still voice,

I have known the touch of His calm, cool hand;

words will never be enough.

.

.

None But You

Therefore Jesus said again, “I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. He will come in and go out, and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”   John 10:7-10

Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.   Acts 4:12

the night time sky approaches, the last rays of sunlight

break through distant storm clouds, small patches of blue linger,

creating pools of tranquility within the departing maelstrom,

it is here I seek Your refuge, it is here I hold on to Your hope;

another day comes, another day goes,

the cost slowly taking its toll,

rising and falling with each passing breath,

all the meaningless decisions pass,

all the thoughtless words fade,

still Your love remains,

still You pour out Your blessings

where none are deserved;

light within the darkness,

life inside this death;

who can speak of wonders which

words can never say?

who can understand mysteries which

can never be known?

none but You Lord,

none but You.

.

.

Unnamed Number 67

waiting for the day to begin, lying here within these

walls of solitary confinement, silence fills the void,

outside the wind holds its breath,

I no longer understand these depths,

I can no longer bear this burden of separation;

this home has become a trap of death;

old friends return, bringing gifts from the past,

bringing peace within the unrest,

providing comfort to the poor,

rescuing the weak;

saving the lost;

no matter how far I might run,

no matter where I might hide,

You are there,

ready to heal,

ready to forgive;

ready to love.

.

.

Everything I Need

walking in this darkness, the pain grows stronger,

becoming more than I think my body can bear,

with every breath, with every step,

You teach me the value of mercy,

You show me the price of suffering;

You are the potter, I am just the clay,

even though I have nothing,

with You I have everything I need;

this body fades, time turns everything into rust,

being with You is all that matters,

walking with You all that I desire,

glorifying Your name my only purpose,

serving You my only mission;

You are the potter, I am just the clay,

even though I have nothing,

with You I have everything I need;

I am so close, look down on me now,

see the humility of my heart,

know the sorrow contained within,

remove the darkness, save me from the sadness,

fill me with Your love, lift me into Your arms;

every hour, every minute, every second,

everything I have, belongs to You;

You are the potter, I am just the clay,

even though I have nothing,

with You I have everything I need.

.

.

Purity

“I would estimate that I actively participate in only about 30% of the things I write. The rest of the time I just step aside and become a non-participating observer, a spectator standing in the crowd, wondering what comes next. It can be both exhilarating and frightening at the same time” – W.F. Rhoads (interview)

she has a genuinely gentle soul, fresh and clean,

innocent and angelic, a rare find in a world of trash-talking,

self-promoting, self-righteous, hypocrisy;

like an ancient dream, it haunts you,

waking you up in the middle of the night,

transcending gender or flesh,

thinking of the purity, tasting the sweetness,

wondering about the authenticity,

like a moth drawn to the flickering flame,

unable to turn away, fluttering closer and closer,

basking in the residual glow.

.

.

All That Matters Now

once I could do things most people only dream of,

I could run with the wind, move like a cat,

hit 90 mph fastballs, I had strength, I had power,

things most know nothing about,

I took it for granted, I thought it would last forever;

now it is all gone;

now I struggle just to move, I fight for every breath,

I strain to hold on, I live for the next meal,

my stomach aches with every bite,

I long for the past;

I search for a way out;

life is not fair, it does not provide justice

one way or the other, some have more,

some have less, some have nothing at all,

there is no guarantee, there is no certainty,

there is no balance;

life is an illusion;

it does not matter now, it has come,

it has gone, all that matters now

is what comes next;

all that matters now

is You.

.

.

dreams

who is right and who is wrong?

I am like a beached whale;

struggling,

turning,

pulsing,

heaving,

fighting,

rolling,

rising,

falling;

and who is right and who is wrong?

the silence remains, undisguised, unspoken,

forgotten, hiding behind darkened windows,

shadows within the night,

silky smooth, hot and bothered,

passionately pure, blends of this, shades of that,

pieces of the unfinished puzzle,

none of it real, none of it genuine,

none of it true;

who is right and who is wrong?

within these walls are many tales,

much laughter, rivers of sorrow,

oceans of tears, pools of sadness,

victims drowning within their own blood;

we are all right, we are all wrong;

winners and losers, fighters and failures,

lovers and haters, innocent and guilty,

doomed and redeemed;

together, this is all there is,

this is all we have;

I cannot dream what I do not know,

I cannot know what I do not dream.

.

.

holding on

we hold on to moments;

seconds, minutes, hours, days, years;

we hold on to forever;

the light burns low, dignity all that is left,

love the final offering;

in the end, triumphing over all.

.

.

grieve

I would do it, but the finality of it all stands in the way,

the uncertainty, the hesitation,

sometimes, I think this is the way it should be

all the time;

beyond feeling, beyond caring, beyond knowing,

beyond rewrites and perfection,

beyond judgment, beyond misery, beyond charades,

beyond lies, beyond self-delusion,

beyond love and fantasy, beyond wondering and doubt;

beyond self;

every denial demands atonement,

every question requires answer,

for every gift there is a price,

for everything worth having there is a cost;

I wish it were not so;

madness rules, darkness lights the way,

You are all that is left at the end of the day,

there are things bigger than ourselves,

beyond thinking or reason,

things that matter most,

things that define who we are,

the miles go by, the years pass,

the end is near;

soon enough,

soon enough;

this poverty has another face, another kind of soul,

quiet and alone, frightened and confused,

suicide can be so blind, nothing more than

a whisper, spitting and sputtering,

laughing and pretending;

you cannot love anyone, until you have learned

to grieve for everyone.

.

.

All That Will Be Left

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.   John 15:13

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.”   John 15:18-19

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.   1 Corinthians 13:1-13

love is not about telling someone what they want to hear,

not about being positive or keeping your mouth shut,

not happy thoughts or living in fantasy worlds which do not exist;

love is telling someone what they need to hear,

whether it means they will love you in return or not,

love is sometimes struggle and pain,

sometimes sorrow and tears;

sometimes torture and death;

the world does not understand love such as this,

just as it does not understand that someday,

when the flesh has withered and decayed,

when knowledge and wisdom are gone,

when hope and faith serve no purpose;

all that will be left is love.

.

.

Discipline, Perseverance and Other Voices of Insomnia

I never had much respect for middle of the road,

it was always the extremes which captured

my attention, the ones out on the edge,

pushing it right to the limit, leaving it all on the field,

nothing held back;

this is what I admired;

most of the good ones slipped away, like killers in the night,

discipline never a strong point, perseverance not a possibility;

I browsed through one of his ‘posthumous’ books the other day,

I almost bought it but eventually put it back on the shelf,

the words seemed to fit but somehow it just didn’t feel right,

it felt a little too ‘perfect’, a bit too ‘contrived’;

more than coincidence?

I imagined his widow sitting down at a table,

throwing a bunch of words together whenever the bills were due,

claiming to have some secret vault full of previously

unpublished material, then again I could imagine him

talking to her on his death bed, giving her specific instructions:

“feed it to em slow baby,

give em a book a year,

that’s all there is, but it should be enough

if you spread it out.”

either way, I put it back on the shelf,

I didn’t want to be guilty of supporting fraud,

I’m much too ‘clean’ for that;

much too ‘dignified’;

later I will go home, write all these words down,

the thoughts and ideas springing up from that short

book store glance, wishing I had bought the book,

knowing the words really belong to him,

wondering how he knew he’d be inside my head

16 years later, while sitting at a kitchen table

at 4:12 in the morning.

.

.

Righteous

I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.   Luke 15:7

walking along the ocean shore, the sound of crashing waves,

cool breeze blowing in my face, I realize we are all

living on borrowed time, no matter how hard we work,

no matter how much effort we put forth, it is never quite good enough,

it is never quite hard enough, none of us has what it takes,

none of us can pay the cost, we are all faking it, we are all alienated,

we have all fallen short, we are all without defense, we all deserve

the punishment of liars and cheats, of murderers and rapists,

of swindlers and thieves;

we are all guilty;

inside we run from the truth, not concerned with right or wrong,

but rather about the opinion of others, how others see our efforts and toils,

how others judge our actions and decisions, we delude and deceive ourselves,

thinking we can measure success by money and wealth,

patting ourselves on the back, holding up self-made scorecards,

saying ‘look at me,’ I made the right choices, I made the right decisions,

I am successful, I deserve respect, I have earned the right to retire

and spend all day walking the beach;

I am somebody;

the truth is we are all nobody, without the grace of the

One who created us, without the sacrifice of the One  who suffered and died,

to let us know that we do matter, that we were worth the torture and pain;

that in heaven, there is more rejoicing over one sinner who repents,

than over ninety nine righteous persons who do not need to repent

.

.

Only the Wind Remains

your beauty fades, the darkness of night

does approach, there is no truth left,

no more hope before the dawn,

this moment of ordinary clarity disappears,

chance encounters inside realms of

creative laughter;

another answer,

another possibility,

only the wind remains;

words flow like delicate swans, wrapping themselves

in royal robes of comfort, deep within

the sound of your breath, soft and secure,

speaking unknown mysteries and telling tales of

untold valor, staggering like drunken sailors on

maiden voyages, weaving inside blurred lines of

forgotten innocence, lost upon midnight dreams,

unable to grasp even the fundamentals;

the window is closing, the time almost here,

the silence roars without a sound,

the hour upon which it stands grows near;

only the wind remains.

.

.

Not Much

it may not be much, but it’s mine;

not some teacher’s,

not some mentor’s,

not someone else’s idea

of good or bad;

it is mine;

it tears them apart,

knowing they spent years,

learning all the rules,

all the techniques,

all the proper pronouns,

all the perfect suffixes,

paying all the dues,

establishing all the provenances,

only to find out it’s all bullshit;

it’s either there,

or it isn’t;

I have seen their lies,

I have watched their hypocrisy,

I have heard their almost truths,

I have bought into their system,

I have accepted their penalty,

I have paid their price:

I am free.

.

.

Today Will Have to Wait

I started to get dressed, instead, all I could do

was lay back down;

today will have to wait;

that is how it is, when the clock runs down,

but it continues to move, so there is still hope;

on television, angry crowds protest,

screaming words of hate at little children,

staring out of bus windows,

wondering what they have done wrong,

to be the objects of such maniacal wrath,

when the truth is, they have done nothing

except be born, in a world where might

makes right, and wealth demands privilege;

the mob stands firm, in their positions of moral

and political correction, but their comments,

their words, their agendas, their motives,

their ulterior objectives, their over the top protest,

silently gives them away;

in it all, there is fear,

in it all is self-preservation,

in it all is greed;

I no longer participate in this self-illusion,

this mockery, this secret subterfuge,

this moral dilemma, it is what it is,

nothing can change it, nothing can undo it,

darkness knows not mercy,

evil has it’s day;

good people, blinded by hate,

drowning in the cesspool of their own

self-righteousness;

today will have to wait.

.

.

A Day at the Mall

Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.   1 John 2:15-17

He also told them this parable: “Can the blind lead the blind? Will they not both fall into a pit? The student is not above the teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like their teacher.   Luke 6:39-40

I look at the latest gadgets, the coolest toys,

the ultimate possessions;

all I see are things;

pieces of trash, dead, useless,

plastic, lifeless;

my soul yearns for more,

my soul yearns for You;

I have spoken the words You gave me,

I have shared the truth You taught me,

I am tired, I am worn,

there is nothing left,

nothing I desire;

I am ready for what

comes next;

blind guides leading the blind,

in love with the sound of their own voices,

lost within the illusion,

deceived by their own vanity,

fading fountains of mist,

disappearing clouds of vapor;

here today,

gone tomorrow;

bring me home to You.

.

.

The Way, the Truth, the Life

Jesus answered: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”   John 14:6-7

truth, when the last breath has been breathed,

when the fantasies and illusions are stripped away,

when the imposters and wannabes have all faded;

what else is there?

truth does not come easy,

it lies hidden among the wreckage

and excess baggage,

simple and plain, without motive or agenda,

without prejudice or conditions,

no compromise, no faltering,

no respecter of persons,

truth is not dependent on belief or faith,

it stands sparkling and clear,

shining like the sun in the eyes of a child;

truth stands alone;

many claim truth, twisting and turning facts,

attempting to fit preconceived ideas,

creating vast empty empires complete with

testimonies of flesh and blood,

monuments of self-glorification,

exercises in futility, deceiving themselves and others

with grand ideas and philosophical babble,

crumbling like dust into the morning mist,

but in the end truth remains,

in the end truth will be all there is,

in the end there is only one Way, one Life;

one Truth.

.

.

Looking in the Mirror

woke up last night, felt like I‘d been asleep for days,

looked at the clock and only a few minutes

had passed by, sometimes even the truth

is just too hard to bear, but we are what we are,

that’s just a natural fact, as inescapable

as the morning sun;

sooner or later, the road always leads

back to here;

I’ve been to the end and back, but it doesn’t

mean a thing, because it always come down to this,

it makes me wonder what the point really is,

when it just goes round and round;

I like things that are real, Bukowski, Hooker,

things which are natural, wolves and Native Americans,

I hate smooth talking poets and slick playing musicians,

things which pass themselves off as the real deal;

when they are not;

perhaps this is the reason I’ve never learned

to like myself.

.

.

A Long Way

if I could still feel the wind,

you know that I would,

but the voices come slowly now,

like strangers in the night,

never quite sure when or if they

will return, as mystery gives way to bright,

white illumination, hot and searing,

seeking inner truths, but finding only minor

revelations and hidden indecision;

you and I old friend, have come a

long way, on a journey without beginning,

without end, you have shown me a tomorrow,

while withstanding the yesterdays,

and for this I shall love you forever.

.

.