Tuesday, May 31, 2016

sometimes
























we live in midnight institutions,
complete with limited resurrections,
searching for bedtime heroes
and untraveled imperfections,
among lost and forgotten erections;
they never knew,
just how deep the cut really was,
they never knew,
just what was taken,
on that day so long ago;
how could they?
early morning memories,
fill these empty corridors with time,
reaching out for just one more,
in this never ending reality,
taking hold of the mindless insurrections,
thrust upon this bodiless soul
with decided impropriety,
full of tight lipped incognito bullshit,
drowning in pools of molten metal mania;
sometimes it must be this way,
sometimes this is all there is,
sometimes we all go down;
sometimes it’s all right.
.

.

Writers Block





















they rise up,
like diamonds in a
dream,
begging to be taken,
waiting to be used,
screaming for recognition,
then poof,
they are gone;
never to return;
it’s always something;
time to eat,
football on television,
stomach hurts,
leg hurts,
too tired,
the dog needs to go
outside,
the groceries need to
be shopped for,
it’s always something,
but;
they’re really not interested
in your excuses;
cold little monsters,
killers on steroids,
no compassion,
no mercy,
ice water running
through their veins,
scumbags,
rapists,
torturers of animals,
mass murderers,
calculated doses of
instant poison;
they deserve
everything they get;
it’s easier this way,
nobody to blame,
nobody to pin
the rap on,
nobody to take the fall,
no one pointing fingers;
no one getting any
credit;
one of these days,
I’m going to set up an ambush,
lie in wait as they pop out
from their greasy little
hiding places,
then, BAM! got ya,
you little assholes,
you greedy, stinking whores,
no more havoc for you,
no more of your
pathetic shenanigans,
no more sticking it
in my face,
no more carrots
on a stick;
yeah that’s what I’m
going to do;
just as soon as this movie
is over.
.

.

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 the madness never end?
today I would have given
you everything,
yet nothing is all you took,
tomorrow’s troubles brings fresh sorrows
all their own,
freshly killed bodies,
floating 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, conciliatory,
blinded to the truth;
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.
.

.

use me


























where is the center?
dead edges are all
that is left,
come, let us leave now,
returning to better times,
bright golden laughter,
buried deep among gentle copulations,
quiet whispers;
listen closely;
do you hear it now?
do you fear it now?
is it all            clear;
now?
it is still there,
waiting until the end,
far below the naked sun,
burning out of control,
plunging out of sight,
disappearing into the cool autumn night;
desperation,
in desperate times,
make for cries of
desperate help;
take me,
abuse me,
hurt me,
use me;
then leave me
alone.
.

.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Blessed



















When I look up and see the green mountain tops, I am home. When I cross the James River and look down on its mighty flowing waters, I am home. When I feel the cool breeze blowing across the valley floor, I am home. And when I realize that this is only a taste of the home to come, merely a shadow of that which You have prepared for those who love You, I am left humbled beyond words or comprehension. Thank you Lord.
You have blessed me
beyond all that my mind
can comprehend,
You have led me through
traps and snares I could not see,
bringing me to perfect places
I never knew existed;
to You do I owe
all that I have to give;
Your mystery is unfathomable,
Your glory beyond mere words,
You stretch out Your hand
and all creation is silenced,
You speak, and Your word
becomes reality;
the Holy King of the universe,
the Lord of all there is,
the Great I Am,
Ruler of Heaven and Earth,
my God,
my Everything;
let me praise You
forever.
.

.

clarity




















he awoke with new clarity,
new purpose,
new direction,
fresh divinity;
it was as if he was alive
for the very first time;
the world echoed outside,
yet the silence remained firm,
they had taken everything;
but they could not take this;
within the darkness and chaos,
the small still light burned,
like a beacon in the night,
providing hope in a
hopeless universe,
injecting life into a lifeless paradigm,
where only death and sorrow dwelled,
breathing in solitary gasps
of struggle.
.

.

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 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,
begging 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;
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 an artist,
waiting to be sculpted
into unknown beauty
that defies description,
they are the face
of tragic cruelty,
beyond the limits our 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.
.

.

tsunami



















in a dream,
I saw the water rising,
I felt it’s power,
ripping and pulling,
breaking and destroying,
smashing and killing;
swallowing everything in its path;
I awoke,
gasping for breath,
overwhelmed by the sheer
magnitude,
terrified by the raw power,
overcome by the suffering;
you awoke and asked me
what was the matter,
a dream, I replied, a bad dream,
about the future,
when? you asked;


soon, I replied.
.

.

Awakening





















I was not sure when she left,
I was awakened by a light shaking
of my arm;
“Good morning, Mr. Alexsandar,
I am Doctor Popescu. How are you
doing today?”
“Fine, I think”
“Good, good, let’s take those bandages off
so we can get a look at your eyes.”
I felt his hands on my head as he
slowly unwound the gauze,
the light began to seep in,
slowly at first,
then overwhelmingly,
I winced,
I could see shapes and shadows
but could not make out
individual details,
“Ah, very good, very good,
the blisters are healing quite
nicely. Tell me what you are seeing.”
“I see light, mixed with dark shadows and
shapes.” I replied,
“hmmm, that is to be expected I suppose.
We need to give it a little more time
I believe. I will have the nurse put more
salve in your eyes and wrap them
back up”
“Good day Mr. Alexsandar.” he said,
as he left the room,
I could make out her shape as she
came into the room,
“Good morning Anatoly, when I left
yesterday you were sleeping like a baby.”
“The night nurse wrote that you
were out all night.”
“What did the doctor have to say?” I asked;
she chuckled, “As usual, he didn’t say much
of anything. But he did write that your eyes
are healing nicely and that I am to re-wrap them.”
“I am putting some drops in your eyes, you might feel
some slight stinging and discomfort.”
“So”, I said, “in a few days I might
get my eyesight back?”
“Perhaps”, she replied,
“Then I will be able to put a face
to your wonderful voice.” I added;
she was silent;
I decided to push the attack;
“What does your husband think of
you being around all these men?”
“My husband is dead” she replied,
“He was killed over a year ago. There are
many victims of this war”;
I felt the sadness in her voice;
“Perhaps when I am better, we can
get a cup of coffee together” I said;
there was more silence,
then she slowly spoke;
“Anatoly, you do not know
where you are do you? When your
eyes are better, you will be placed
in the recovery ward, with all the other
prisoners.”
.

.

Safe




















“Good morning Mr. Alexsan….. um Anatoly” she said,
I wasn’t sure when she had entered the room,
I only knew that she was there;
finally;
I had thought of very little else
the entire night;
I imagined what she must look like,
I felt the touch of her fingers as she
checked my bandages;
it felt like electricity,
crackling and popping;
“how did you sleep?” she asked,
“I’m not sure that I did” I replied,
“well you must have slept some,
the overnight nurse wrote that
you were snoring very loudly
when she checked on you.” she chuckled,
we laughed together;
I had not laughed like that
since before the war,
with my wife,
that thought brought it
all back;
her death,
dying little girls,
Tukarov,
the brutality,
the savagery,
the gas,
the sounds of gasping,
the coughing,
the weeping,
the darkness;
“Anatoly, Anatoly,
it’s okay” she whispered,
holding me in her arms,
and for the first time,
in a very long time;
I felt safe.
.

.

Gas


















then came the gas,
silent, deadly,
just a soft whump here,
a quiet thump there,
followed by swiftly rolling fog,
at first we weren’t even sure
what was happening,
many started dropping
before the thought
of donning a mask could
even be thought;
it seemed like such an ironic,
cruel twist of fate,
to have come so far,
only to be destroyed by
such a thing
as this;
everywhere men lay choking,
gasping for breath,
their faces twisted in deadly agony,
those who managed
to put on their masks,
powerless to help,
the burning of skin
hardly noticed by the joy
of protected lungs and
internal organs
from this slow and
evil death;
I thought of Tukarov,
I thought of my wife,
I thought of innocent little girls,
lying cold and limp in my
trembling arms,
I thought;
such a waste,
such an incredible,
stupid waste;
who has won?
who has lost?
all I could do
was cry.
.

.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Tukarov


















Tukarov was dead;
it seemed like only yesterday
we had danced at his wedding,
now his body lay quiet,
face down in the mud,
a gaping hole where
his chest had once been,
ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell
from a sniper’s gun;
I wondered if he had felt anything,
as the bullet ripped through
his flesh,
tearing out pieces of lungs,
it couldn’t have been much
I thought, he was dead before
he even hit the ground,
perhaps it was better this
way,
only a few months earlier
he had lost Ulena,
after that he had never
been the same;
“we must do something,
we must fight back,
we must not die like
sheep;”
convincing me to
join the ‘cause’,
now I could not
remember what
the ‘cause’ was,
only that I was cold
and afraid,
as I sat with the rest
of our patrol,
listening to our commander
brief us on tomorrow’s
raid,
wondering when this
nightmare would ever end;
Tukarov was dead,
long live Tukarov.
.

.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

'Back in the Day'


























watched an old video
while riding the exercise bike,
as my youngest daughter would say,
something from ‘back in the day’,
yeah, I watched Woodstock,
and no, I wasn’t there,
although sometimes I think
I must have been the only one
who wasn’t;
it brought back old memories,
so it was kind of like I was there;
Wavy Gravy and the Hog Farm,
the Merry Pranksters,
living for the moment,
like some lost ancient tribe,
it made me wonder
where they are today,
dot.com execs,
living in the hills
around San Francisco,
in multi-million dollar mansions,
or dead (farewell Kesey);
Richie Havens,
righteous and dignified,
singing about freedom and truth,
Canned Heat and the Bear,
bouncing around the stage
like a hippopotamus in heat,
lithe and graceful,
poetry in motion,
Joan Baez
rambling on about
county jails and causes,
blah blah blah,
fast forward,
I suppose she was cool
for the times,
but a little hard to take today,
the wounded dove,
sad little puppy dog eyes look,
gets a bit old,
Daltrey,
young and god-like,
Moon, wild and crazy eyed,
playing drums with demonic possession,
Townsend sending whirlybirds
round and round;
the workout came to an end,
there was other things
I had to take care of,
so I didn’t watch the rest of the video;
but it was enough;
memories from ‘back in the day’
only go so far,
before you remember
how badly you wanted them
to be over;
when you were living them.
.

.

The Ballad of Rico and Annabelle




















Rico is dying,
but he doesn’t know it,
every day he tells his friends
he is getting better,
every day he grows worse;
he has been to places,
no one should be,
he has seen things,
no one should see;
Annabelle lives alone,
she sits in her box like Greta Garbo,
isolated and alone,
dusted and sheik,
no reason for living,
no reason for dying,
traveling into the hidden night,
without a thought or care;
Rico is in love with Annabelle,
he has loved her for as long as he can remember,
everyday he sees her pass by,
everyday he remains quiet,
everyday he stares passively into the sky,
unconcerned,
uninterested,
that is the way of love;
it is best left unsaid;
Annabelle has waited all her life;
she holds Rico in her arms,
she sees him in her dreams,
she kisses his lips,
she caresses his face,
they make love in her mind;
life begins,
life ends,
this is the way of things,
there’s never enough time;
farewell my friends.
.

.

Friday, May 20, 2016

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
the 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,
all the thoughtless words,
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.
.

.

A Very Dangerous Thing


























The saying that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing is, to my mind, a very dangerous adage. If knowledge is real and genuine, I do not believe that it is other than a very valuable possession, however infinitesimal its quantity may be. Indeed, if a little knowledge is dangerous, where is a man who has so much as to be out of danger?   Thomas Huxley
deep within cavern walls,
victory but a moment away,
lying just beyond
the frozen landscape;
so close,
so far;
defining moments come
and go,
providing very little
meaning,
a temporary fog,
a momentary diversion,
a slight pause in the program,
a necessary distraction;
surely,
the price has been paid;
I feel the slithering presence,
I know the approaching omnipotence,
it is never far behind,
seeking more,
thirsting for the last drop,
sucking the last breath,
taking all there is to give,
hiding within the night,
running from the light;
giving in with barely a fight;
destinations change with the season,
faces never what they seem,
understanding no longer an option,
lost inside this never ending dream;
you know the answers,
you know the way,
you know the truth;
and that can be
a very dangerous thing.
.

.

Some Days


















dark days without sun,
some days you remember,
some days you don’t,
traveling down moonless roads
in the middle of this forever
winding night,
desperately seeking a
continuously changing destination,
even now you feel the sting,
even now you know the
hopelessness;
does this sadness never end?
somewhere on the journey,
you fell in love with the pain,
looking forward to the next
big heartache,
silently wishing for the loneliness,
secretly reveling in the emptiness,
taking comfort in the isolation,
finding solace in nothing and
no one;
inside there is a great vastness,
an untapped well of darkness,
stretching beyond the horizon,
more than the untrained eye
can imagine,
more than can be described,
it is upon these shores
that you drift;
it is the only place
you have ever called home;
outside they wait,
screaming for just a little more,
waiting for the finale,
thirsting for the ultimate thrill,
the final curtain,
the last call,
and you know that somehow
you will deliver the goods;
know matter what the cost.
.

.

Waiting For The Show to Begin


















the sun beats down,
102 degrees as you
silently wait for
the show to begin,
it is always like this;
a pause,
a cost,
a loss;
there is no other way;
the knife cuts deep,
you seek a finish,
a final place of rest as
it comes upon you cold
and wet,
rushing and wild,
strangely familiar;
empty and final;
there are things bigger
than fear or lust,
bigger than insecurities
or satisfaction,
places where the night
gathers once more,
never what it seems,
never what is expected,
licking every last drop,
leaving nothing behind,
raging like a beast
with no hope for tomorrow,
purging every second
for all it is worth,
ripping flesh into
mountainous shreds,
scattering forgotten remains
upon the blowing wind,
howling until the morning
dawn;
a place which no one can see,
a land that no one can understand.
.

.

An Apology




















one last time;
the night quietly gathers,
as the sun slowly disappears,
I will never see your
vast, luscious valleys,
never taste the sweetness
of your swift running streams,
never hear the sound
of your softly rustling leaves,
blowing in the cool, gentle, breeze,
never find the peace of your
distant, fading solitude,
never know the mystery of your
intoxicating touch;
again;
should have left well enough alone,
should have let it die,
a friend indeed is far better
than a lover gone,
yet sometimes weakness
overcomes strength,
sometimes dreams are more
than can be resisted;
some things are better
left unsaid;
and that is all
which can be said,
now it shall be no more,
just as so many others
which were but are not,
nothing, nothing at all,
simply a fading mist,
a slight murmur among
the daily buzz,
goodbye my love
that is but never was;
I’m sorry.
.

.

Past Due


























Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come you who are blessed by my father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you? The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine you did for me.’ Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you? He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’   Matthew 25:34-46
now it begins;
the time arrives at last,
no more excuses,
no more pretending,
no more room for denial;
you watched as my children
lay dying,
broken and bleeding,
naked and alone,
crying out for justice and mercy,
you smiled as I suffered,
you laughed while I was beaten,
you turned your backs
as I slowly starved,
your pursuit of pleasure and
perpetual comfort, made
you soft and weak,
your greed has crushed you,
your delusions of grandeur
and self-importance have
blinded you,
your lack of understanding
and compassion has sealed
your fate,
your denial of truth has
damned you,
your destruction is assured,
your chosen leaders have abandoned
you to the grave;
now it begins;
O Babylon, your time has come;
payment is past due.
.

.

Consumption


















I am slowly being consumed,
dying a little bit more
everyday;
anger,
bitterness,
hatred,
darkness;
and I wonder
who is listening,
and who is only
pretending;
I have nothing left to say,
everything has been said,
I cannot make people listen,
I have done all I can do,
on my own I can do nothing,
nothing at all;
the past moves on,
quietly becoming no more;
the misery,
the suffering,
the struggling;
everything changes,
everything fades;
even this;
they watch from afar,
waiting for the destruction,
carried on by the wind,
glowing with the anticipation;
there is no beginning,
there is no return;
farther along,
somewhere down the line,
deeper into the divide,
shattered by the consumption,
confusion spreads it’s mighty tongue,
buried deep within the confines
of this burned out refuge,
where even the echoes
become silent,
these lines to nowhere,
these forgotten denizens;
when do you fall?
I have come to a crossroad,
I can no longer find goodness
in people,
I see only hidden agendas,
greed, self-righteousness;
we are all failed,
we are all ravenous dogs,
we are all hypocrites;
all our noble deeds,
all our false concerns,
simply a show;
in You I cling to one last hope,
in You I still see the potential,
in You I have been redeemed.
.

.

eventually


























I cannot go where you are, in
this land of impossible perfection,
this home of beautiful dreams and
never ending fantasies, where
tears do not fall;
a world for others;
not us;
in the morning I watch your face
for the last time,
we both know words
will never be enough;
everything ends,
everything temporary,
everything just an illusion,
always just a touch
beyond possibility,
always a bit more
than can be imagined;
this great sorrow,
this magnificent sadness,
this other reality;
eventually truth catches up
with us all.
.

.

Spared


























quietly we waited for the dawn attack,
silently hiding within the refuge of the
dark, lonely night,
sleep was impossible, as we tried
to hang on to every minute,
every second, knowing they would likely be
our last,
on the other side,
the enemy waited also,
just as afraid, just as unsure,
soon it would be us or them,
kill or be killed,
for most this would be their
last day on earth;
many openly wept,
remembering mothers and fathers,
sisters and wives,
brothers and children;
I saw the face of my wife,
as she had looked before
the war, before the madness,
before the chaos,
before the hatred,
sweet and serene,
I was glad she had died
early,
being spared the emptiness
of what we had now become,
the monsters we had all been
reduced to,
capable of any cruelty,
living only for death and revenge,
reflections of what had
once been human;
I was glad she had been spared.
.

.

Friend




















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.   1 Corinthians 13:4-7
I watch you blossom,
I hear the joy in your voice,
I see the happiness on your face,
I feel the peace inside your heart;
my beautiful desert flower,
my warm, sweet dream,
my refuge within the storm,
my last pure thought;
you are my friend,
I love you unconditionally,
I love you completely;
I always will.
.

.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Haves and Have Nots/A Dream



















it’s easy to turn your back,
when you’re one of the haves;
have a job,
have a home,
have money,
have food;
have affordable health care;
believing the lies,
giving into the fears,
buying into the stereotypes;
they’re all lazy,
they’re all immoral,
they’re all looking
for a free lunch;
they all get what they
deserve;
so afraid
they might take
something that belongs
to you,
some of your hard earned
treasure,
all the things
you sweated and slaved for,
all the idols you fall down before
and worship,
all the things you sold
your soul for;
the have-nots of the world
are beginning to rise,
they’re not going away quietly
anymore,
they’re tired of the abuse,
they’re no longer content
with the crumbs,
there are things
bigger than themselves;
things worth dying for;/
the children of men hold their breath,
a final sigh before the meltdown,
a silent pause within the maelstrom,
hearts fail from fear,
meeting in secret places,
waiting for what is to come;
like a thief in the night
it sweeps them away;
trees smolder and smoke,
bursting into flames as
tires begin to steam,
rubber melting
to the highway surface;
no where to run,
no where to hide;
like abandoned wells,
their water runs dry,
they sit withering in the sun,
wandering through the wilderness,
lost and alone;
the day is here,
the time is now;
Your mercy endures
to the end,
but who shall hear the message?
who shall accept the grace?
when the Son of Man returns
will he find faith?
.

.

I Am Going
















the rain outside reflects the mood;
cold, wet and tired,
the world slows down,
unable to sustain the momentum;
we hardly take notice;
moments pass by,
until there is nothing left,
betrayal becomes inevitable,
behind treacherous walls of
sardonic infidelity,
complacency swallows up her victims,
like leftovers in lonely dumpsters,
filled with jewels of the night
and other bedtime stories;
I am going,
but I’m not going
quick enough;
youth lies wasted,
energy a one-way street,
you can never go back,
you can never return to the places
lost among the shadows;
somewhere within these ruins
lie strangers empty and drained,
hidden by lost memories
and walls of battered abuse;
forever searching,
forever wondering
forever knowing;
sometimes it’s nothing more than words,
sometimes words say it all,
sometimes words are all there is;
sometimes words are not enough.
.

.

Tired



















life was silent this morning,
distant and confused;
I am tired of the pain,
I am tired of the suffering;
yet still You raise me up,
even now You carry me forward;
without You there is nothing;
the dreams grow,
the time almost here,
the moment rushes forward,
payment past due,
the taste becomes bitter,
inside this dry and dying
cauldron;
I am tired of the pain,
I am tired of the suffering;
yet still You raise me up,
even now You carry me forward;
without You there is nothing.
.

.

soon

















I’m tired of trying to determine
who is right, who is wrong,
why this happened,
why this didn’t,
who’s to blame,
who isn’t,
who should apologize,
who shouldn’t,
when none of it matters,
none of it means anything at all,
we’re all wrong,
we’re all right,
we’re all to blame;
it just doesn’t matter;
and I am tired,
and I am sick,
and I am dying;
and it just doesn’t matter;
I am tired of worrying about tomorrow,
and yesterday,
and last week,
and last month,
and 2 years ago,
and 5 years from now,
and 15 seconds from now;
I’m just tired;
I want to hold on to
the moment,
I want to experience
perpetual orgasm,
I want to make it all
go away,
I want to hold on to everybody
and everything, but no one
or anything,
I want to feel high
forever;
I want to let go
once;
just once;
soon, soon,
but not soon enough.
.

.

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.
.

.

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