So Shall I

it gets harder everyday,

sometimes it feels as though

my bones are on fire,

half the time I’m not sure,

if it’s physical, mental

or spiritual,

or maybe a combination

of all three;

I know it’s the diabetes,

it’s getting serious now,

no more fooling around,

no more slight inconvenience,

it has become the monster

all the experts said it would,

a crazed killer,

without conscious,

a psychopathic beast,

who knows neither mercy

nor compassion,

devouring everything

in its path;

sometimes I just want

to get a bottle of whiskey,

take a few pills,

with some Billy Gibbons guitar,

playing on the headphones,

make the pain melt away,

drift off into the fog,

never come back,

sometimes I just want to

make it stop,

physically, mentally

and spiritually;

so easy,

so final;

but that would be the easy way,

the path of least resistance,

the broad gate,

the road that leads to destruction;

He is worth more than that;

in the evening darkness,

I search for His light,

in the morning silence,

I listen for His voice,

He is there by my side,

He gives me strength

when there is none,

He picks me up

when I am down,

He will not let me fail,

He will not let me give up,

He has defeated this world,

and through Him;

so shall I.

.

.

this too shall pass

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass;

like a river it flows,

on and on,

from here to there,

over, before it ever

had a chance

to begin,

in the morning

you were gone,

never to return,

your taste still fresh,

your touch

lingering

on the wind,

your smell like

lilacs on a warm

spring day;

the last breath is breathed,

memories slowly die,

laughter gives way to silence,

the final journey awaits,

the empty darkness looms

ahead;

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass.

.

.

The Trail

I come to you at last,

my secret refuge,

my final stand;

it is a journey I have

been making,

all my life;

you taste like chicken salad

sandwiches, and bottles

of Pepsi-Cola,

on the last day of school,

before summer break,

like hot, July mornings,

when your dad is taking vacation,

as your mother packs the cooler,

for trips to ‘Deer Forest’ or

‘Tower Hill’,

sampling her potato salad,

wanting more;

never enough,

never enough;

time is running out,

it is there in every step,

every whisper,

every breath,

but it is okay,

we all arrive at this destination,

eventually;

my spirit cries out,

just once more,

just once more,

but the body says no,

never again,

so you travel in your mind,

in your thoughts,

you remember the view,

the touch,

the feel,

you remember the cool breeze,

blowing on your face,

the crows cawing out,

the valley floor,

lying so far below,

the sun shining on your face;

you remember the quiet,

the solitude,

the peace;

you remember

the days gone by,

you see the road ahead,

with a sigh,

you start down the trail

leading home.

.

.

Walking Through the Valley

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.   Psalm 23:1-6

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.   Ephesians 6:12

once again,

I enter this dark place,

this cold, empty, deserted place,

this place from which most

never return,

my enemies wait outside,

gloating over the misery,

laughing within at the naivety,

mocking from afar,

standing firm in their ‘moral’

and ‘intellectual’ superiority,

waiting for the fall;

once again,

You stand by my side,

letting me know You

will always be there,

helping me to rise when

so many others would not,

softly reminding me that

I never have anything to fear;

“Don’t be afraid, just believe”

once again,

You prepare me for

a battle most will

never see,

in a war that

rages continuously,

around everyone

and everything,

rescuing me from places

which no man could overcome;

teaching me that through You,

I can do all things.

.

.

An Apology

the night quietly gathers,

one last time,

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;

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 really 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 am sorry.

.

.

We Are Gone

in the spring,

you may look for us,

but nothing is all you will find,

for we are gone,

traveling the hills westward,

soaring over mountain peeks,

gliding through sunken valleys,

we are gone;

left behind,

with all the recycled trash,

yesterday’s news,

trapped within the hollow strands

of tomorrow’s tragedy,

laboriously flailing along,

like forgotten refugees,

displaced by new dreams

and decaying winter filth;

we are gone;

do not look in hidden summer sanctuaries,

nor behind effervescent nooks and crannies,

the dawn will bring no more questions,

the sky no more answers,

mystery bemoans her children,

destiny awakens from its slumber,

we have become the evening shadows;

all things fade,

all things disappear,

all things end;

we are gone.

.

.

A Day the Lord Has Made

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.   Psalm 23:1-6

today is a new day,

a new beginning,

a new way,

a fresh start,

the closing of one chapter,

the opening of another;

today is a day

the Lord has made;

Lord, look down on me now,

see the hope growing within,

remove the darkness,

smooth the rough and rocky places,

make me lie down in pastures of green grass,

lead me beside the still waters,

restore my soul,

lead me down paths of righteousness,

prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies,

anoint my head with oil,

rescue me from this prison

that has surrounded me

all my life.

.

.

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.

.

.

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.

.

.

War

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.   1 Peter 5:8-11

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

all around, the battle rages,

the enemy silently waits,

unseen, unknown,

beyond sight,

beyond touch;

beyond understanding;

slaves to all that we see,

all that we hear,

all that we feel;

yet we see nothing,

we hear nothing,

we feel nothing;

mirrors and smoking guns,

illusions and disappearing truths,

cheap parlor tricks played out

on morning talk shows,

here today,

gone tomorrow,

the war never ends;

the enemy never sleeps.

.

.

soon enough

love,

death,

hate,

war;

soon enough,

soon enough;

shadows fall upon

hidden fields,

covering invisible wounds,

followed by morning

inconsistencies,

somewhere lies

middle ground,

fresh and innocent,

untested and true,

struggling among

the forgotten debris,

running from unknown

memories,

lost within all

the other dirty details;

soon enough,

soon enough;

you think you know,

but you do not,

you never can,

you never will,

there is so much more,

so much beyond

all that you can see,

so much more

than you can ever know,

quiet moments,

late night visits,

fallen kingdoms,

far away dreams;

soon enough,

soon enough.

.

.

something else

for you I become

something else,

something more,

something new,

fresh and alive,

creatures without a past;

stories with no tomorrow;

you take me into worlds

never before touched,

places unknown,

beyond flesh and thought,

past barriers and genders,

it is here we hide,

seeking sanctuary from

a world of violent fools,

waiting for the storm to pass,

listening for the sound

of dreams played out;

for you alone,

I become something else;

outside they wait,

desperately trying to penetrate

the darkness within,

but they never will,

they never can,

it is far beyond all they

will ever know,

more than they will

ever comprehend.

.

.

Mimi

storm clouds gather,

the final darkness awaits,

the time and the place

were never ours to choose;

in the quiet calm,

the past comes bubbling up,

Christmas and pearl necklaces,

lost among the rubble and ruins,

innocence and honor,

victims of the maelstrom;

Mimi, you were never finer,

the seven-sevens never smoother,

the truth was never better,

the night was never longer;

rest well my friend.

.

.

This Place

every day I leave this place with

an incredible, overwhelming sadness,

my daughter says this place

is sucking the life out of

me;

perhaps she is right;

but I think it is something

much deeper than that;

I feel the fear,

I sense the hopelessness,

I understand the grief,

I know the despair;

it is almost more than

I can bear;

I am part of everyone,

I am part of no one,

I am part of everything,

I am part of nothing;

it has been a long education,

but now the end approaches,

I am done with the false hopes,

I am done with the fantasies,

this world has nothing left

to offer;

You have showed me truths,

that no one else could,

You have taken me places

where very few have been,

I no longer have the strength

to fight the manipulators,

the users,

the phonies,

the fakes,

the self-righteous hypocrites;

they have their reward,

they have their world;

this place belongs to them.

.

.

The Last Song

lately, my writing has become

like my lovemaking,

the desire is still there,

but the potency has long

since gone,

I suppose the two go hand-in-hand,

there were many times when

words were just an extension

of certain body parts,

so perhaps there is some validity

to this observation,

now the question is;

can it be more?

and for this,

I have no answer;

the fire is going out,

many areas of my life are dying,

some days I cannot even

remember the point,

and that is a very dangerous

place to be,

I am slowly being reduced,

to one side of the fence

or the other,

no more in-between,

no more middle-of-the-road,

no more shades of gray,

no more lukewarm,

hot or cold,

black or white,

life or death;

life changing decisions,

require life changing

choices;

there is much I could say to you,

but nothing can undo the hurt

I caused you,

nothing can bring back the life

I stole from you,

nothing can make right

the wrong I did to you,

everything has come down

to this moment;

the last poem,

the last word,

the last song.

.

.

A Satisfying Day

we walked the beach today,

she made a remark about all the trash

laying around,

I told her it was from the weekend crowd;

“it’s our human footprint” I reply,

“our legacy,

everywhere humans go,

their trash is sure to follow;”

“you’re always so dark and negative” she says,

and in my mind I think, ‘she’s right of course;’

I wish it were not so;

we talked about current events and

certain actors behaving badly,

“I’m not sure if he’s delusional or a genius,” I say,

“maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing;”

they say bad press, is better than no

press at all;

we discussed my dream

from the night before,

(actually I did, she could have cared less,)

“what do you think it means?” I ask,

“I don’t know” she says, ”I never know what

your dreams mean, what do you think it means?”

“I don’t know” I reply;

and that was the end of that;

walking back, I fight the voice whispering

inside my head, to go to a bar

and get wasted,

along with not giving in

to the inner urge, telling me to stare

at the very attractive young lady,

laying on a towel next to her boyfriend,

with a very skimpy string bikini on;

all-in-all,

between trash and dreams,

and small personal victories over

basic human weakness and flaws;

it was a very satisfying day.

.

.

Days Like This/Behind The Crimson Door

desperation breeds invention,

creativity the key to survival,

it’s hard to give,

when there’s nothing left to offer,

even harder to take,

when you've taken all there is to take;

we’re all just holding on;

today was a picture perfect day,

not a cloud in the sky,

not too hot,

not too cold,

cool gentle breeze blowing,

sweet and pure;

days like this are the worse;

the sadness comes seeping to the surface,

the yearning for escape softly whispers,

the need to anesthetize cries out;

days like this,

always make me want to get buzzed,

days like this,

always make me want to forget;

so many traps,

so many snares,

so many one-way roads,

with destinations leading nowhere;

never going down that path no more;

darkness lives,

just outside this crimson door,

waiting like a stranger in the shadows,

slithering as a snake,

back into its hidden hole,

purpose has no meaning here,

clarity just a slip of the tongue,

silence fills the endless void,

words die like falling leaves on a tree;

days like this

never end;

the obsession grows,

steady and slow,

without beginning or end,

distant clouds on the horizon,

wandering in this wilderness,

the enemy waits for the moment;

the storm is never far away;

outside,

there is talk of change,

as some hold on to the hope,

still others grow cold,

either way the sun rises and sets,

with or without our consent;

when the Son of Man returns

will there be any faith

to find?

this moment no longer moves,

out here,

among the frozen wasteland,

dark and endless,

forgotten and alone,

cold to the bitter bone,

old voices fill the air,

cries of the raging beast,

secret sanctuaries,

hiding within the chaos,

butterflies flowing on the wind,

lost somewhere within nighttime shadows,

waiting for something more,

madness my old friend,

I can no longer deny your sweet touch;

it always begins like this,

it always ends as something else;

like the lead character

in a Fellini film,

wandering through fields

of golden nonsense,

swept away by the growing hush,

traveling a hundred miles

to move an inch;

the crimson door

knows no pity.

.

.

You'll Never Know

you touch me like a candle,

burning with sweet, tender, mercy,

as unseen worlds and non-existent walls,

rise up, only to crumble back

into the dark, angry ground;

but you’ll never know,

you’ll never know;

like an unobtainable dream,

you flutter into the room,

unapproachable,

unrehearsed,

fresh from the kill,

hot on the trail,

one more from the road,

your face the face of humanity,

your expression all that there is;

I feel your fingertips,

breathe your aroma,

taste your skin,

imagine the unimaginable,

you’ll never know,

never know;

you ride upon a high horse,

in distant places with no name,

frustrated fires burning within,

innocent guilt replaces

moments of madness,

lost inside the maelstrom

with no way home;

rest easy my darling,

soon it will be done,

soon enough it will be finished,

you’ll never know,

never know;

we scream into the wind,

searching for worlds

that do not exist,

running from the impending darkness,

unable to change,

unable to exist,

unable to love,

frustrated little gophers,

scrambling from one hole

to another,

waiting for evening meals,

complete with nighttime

love-making dreams,

tucked safely in lairs of

complacent apathy,

we are nothing

but dissolving shit,

bubbling and fizzing

our way into nooks and crannies

of indelible majesty,

where only echoes may be heard,

complete with one-way dreams

of suburbia bliss,

surrounded by walls of

utopian opulence;

innocent pawn,

rest your beautiful head

here in grieving arms,

sweet daughter of the night,

sister of the moon,

the morning sun does approach,

bringing forth its saving light,

and it is here that you belong,

where you shall shine,

like the jewel you truly are;

you will know my love,

you will know.

.

.

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.

.

.

Some Things

dark, empty playground,

little girl all alone,

dirty little secrets,

so afraid to share,

believing inside,

no one’s gonna care;

some bruises

never show;

so many years,

so many fears,

so much silence

between the invisible tears;

some things

can never be

forgotten;

no where to turn,

no one from which to learn,

no one to take her by the hand,

no one to help her make a stand,

no one to caress her forehead and whisper;

“it’s alright baby;”

so many years,

so many fears,

so much silence

between the invisible tears;

some things

can never be

forgotten.

.

.

Socially Incorrect

we teach them to wave the flag,

we teach them to say the pledge

of allegiance,

but no one teaches them the art

of finding meals in a dumpster,

or the secrets of living

in a cardboard box,

as they go to bed cold and hungry,

in this land of golden opportunity;

for that they are on their own;

we teach them how to read and write,

so they can take their place on the

production lines of American industry,

where we take 25% of every penny they earn,

until they become sick or expendable,

then we kick them out on the street,

where no one teaches them how

to use a system,

designed for career, welfare mothers,

disguised as human baby machines,

who keep on pumping them out,

so the checks get even bigger,

a system created so white, corporate, America,

can feel good about themselves,

when they sit in their church pews

on Sunday mornings,

giving thanks for happy, laughing, children,

and summers at the shore,

while dishing out food once a year,

in Thanksgiving food lines;

they fall between the cracks,

as they watch their children

slowly starve,

because they didn't know so-in-so,

at the social security office,

or what’s her name,

in the unemployment line,

or because the color of their skin,

is socially incorrect

to be homeless.

.

.

Beginning to Understand

I think I’m beginning to understand her,

just a little better,

lying here, listening to her snore,

unable to sleep because of it,

it occurred to me,

she doesn't sleep with me

for my own good;

not hers;

just like she doesn't read what I write,

for me,

not her,

she leaves me that place

all for myself,

my refuge,

my home away from home;

I’m beginning to believe,

she’s much wiser than

I ever imagined,

that she loves me more;

much more;

than I could ever love myself.

.

.

Poor Poor Me

reading about Bukowski,

made me realize one thing,

I was only a few savage beatings,

and a childhood of ritual abuse away;

from being a literary genius;

I mean come on,

couldn't they have chained me

to my bed,

or come home drunk, and

smacked me around at least

once or twice?

maybe put a gun to my head,

threatened to pull the trigger,

something,

anything,

how the hell did they expect me

to become a misunderstood poet,

without the right kind of

encouragement?

dammit!

why the f--- did my parents

have to be so damn

perfect?

they’re always thinking of themselves;

poor, poor me.

.

.

A Rough Day

it was a rough day today,

not really sure why,

maybe it was my job,

where I pretend to be someone

or something,

I have never been,

trying to hang on to those things,

which were never mine to keep,

knowing all along,

that everything comes to an end,

as it fades into the darkness

of this grand illusion,

designed to deceive those

who think they have answers for questions

which never existed,

perhaps it was the war,

or the dream from the night before,

as I watched the red hot blade of steel,

slowly slide into the doomed leaders body,

as he lay on the cold brown sand,

ankles and wrists bound by ropes,

his screams of pain crying out,

while the whole world wept,

and I stood helplessly by,

waiting for it to be over,

unable to provide any comfort

or relief;

it was a rough day;

I came home and held my granddaughter,

played whiffle ball with my grandson,

ate dinner and watched law and order on TV,

talked to my mom in Michigan, who told me my dad,

who has had 4 heart attacks, 3 bypass surgeries and 1 stroke,

was in Kentucky playing golf,

worked out on my nordic track and took a shower,

made a carrot, apple, tomato and celery drink

with my juiceman,

laid down in bed and got ready

to do it all over again.

.

.

Back n Gone Again

eventually, everything comes home,

even this;

when words provide no comfort,

and the bottom line is reached,

it is then that the final twists are installed,

just as you knew they would (be);

welcome my old friend,

it has been awhile,

thought maybe you had left,

forever,

but then that was never the question,

(was it),

nor the answer,

it was always just a matter of when,

more than why;

escape was never an option;

still, your darkness does sting,

more than before,

but less than the sum,

of all that has yet to be,

crying alone, in the depths

of hidden, secret corners,

where kingdoms silently wait,

with the only answers understood;

tell me,

who would do such a thing (to you),

and who would tell or know,

even if they knew;

sometimes starvation is better,

than the alternatives,

sometimes it is better to forget,

than to remember,

sometimes silence,

speaks louder than words;

eventually, everything comes home,

as the sun is setting,

for the very last time.

.

.

Today is the Day

I keep thinking, that maybe today is the day,

the day when I’ll get up and do something,

besides go to work, eat and sleep,

I have been working the graveyard shift,

and while I enjoy being away

from all the management weenies,

it leaves me with no desire to do anything,

I lay in bed, watching some courtroom shit on TV,

a sexy, red-headed female, TV judge,

who talks with a Brooklyn accent,

decides peoples lives for them;

who owes who,

who screwed who;

I roll over and close my eyes,

maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like doing something,

meanwhile the rain falls outside,

children ride buses home from school,

young marines die in Iraq,

the TV court judge, makes a ruling on a lawsuit,

I think about getting up, and going to the post office,

to get my mail which I haven’t gotten in three days,

and will probably have my post office box overflowing,

I think about going to my daughters

basketball scrimmage tonight,

but know that I won’t,

because that would cut into my workout and sleep time,

I think about one of the plaintiffs

on the TV courtroom show,

I think about how you know you’re getting old,

when people whom you knew when they were young,

are starting to die off,

slowly at first,

one at a time,

but then more and more,

being replaced by the next generation,

in a world where they’re not really missed,

even though people say they are,

but they only say that for a little while,

then after a bit of time,

nobody says it anymore,

and no one gives much thought about

it after that,

and gradually no one cares.

.

.

A Slow and Painful Death

I came home for awhile,

or at least to the place

which had once been home,

but now,

was nothing more

than a distant memory;

I came searching for a life,

and answers to questions

lying hidden deep inside,

instead, all I found was death,

and even greater questions,

for which the answers are

neither known,

nor is there any desire

for them to be so,

as I left,

no closer than the day

I arrived,

this place was dying

a slow, and painful death.

.

.

soul solitude

solitude,

a hard-sought commodity,

in this empty wasteland

called home,

returning to the places,

where so much was won,

and so much lost,

can be difficult at best,

while fatal at worst,

as realizations become complete,

within empty lives

and hidden words,

where the implications

have long since been lost;

even the past has a price,

demanding fair and

equal payment;

there is so much said,

in these words not spoken,

if only you take the time,

to listen to the silence,

where life is a never ending lesson,

on all the possibilities,

which might have been,

but seldom ever are;

they think that they see,

but it is only an illusion,

created from bits and pieces

of shadow and light,

rolled together to create an image,

which is neither truth

nor lie;

and I drink from their souls,

draining the life inside,

that tomorrow may exist.

.

.

Fine Line

such a fine line,

between genius and madness,

darkness and light,

life and death;

you and I;

for so long now,

we've been running,

no place to call home,

no yesterday or today,

no place to rest our head,

no tears to shed;

no living or dead;

if it were up to me,

it would all be wiped clean,

anesthetized,

tranquilized,

sterilized,

without right or wrong,

past or present,

if it were up to me;

it would have all ended

long ago;

I wait, as you walk out the door,

wondering when you will return,

or if you even will,

walking a fine line,

on the way to the other side,

running a desperate race,

with no place left to hide;

I have been to the mountaintop,

I have seen the other side,

I have returned untouched,

I am ready to begin

again;

I am ready for the bullshit,

I am prepared for the failure,

I am poised for the inevitability.

.

.

Waiting (unedited)

I am waiting;

searching for truth,

reading the words of fools,

listening to the voices

of liars and thieves;

I see their agendas,

I expose their hypocrisy,

I understand their fears;

there is no love,

there is no pity,

there is only judgment,

there is only condemnation;

and still,

I wait;

one more day,

one more minute,

one more breath,

passing by unnoticed,

unknown,

unheard;

clarity has no meaning,

in this land gone mad,

insanity replaces greed

when there is nothing left,

truth does not

give up her secrets

without a fight;

we have consumed

all there is,

we have taken

until there is nothing

more to take,

we have stolen our

children’s legacy,

we have sold

our grandchildren

to the highest bidder;

it is easy

to become part of the problem,

when there is no solution,

easy to let go,

when there is nothing

left on which to hang;

I live in a world

begging for redemption,

I live in a world

searching for truth,

I live in a world

dying in its own filth,

destroyed by its own wisdom,

caught up

in its own righteousness,

floating on its own

fantasy,

I live in a world,

blinded by its own

darkness,

afraid of its own fear;

look deep,

see that which no one sees,

reach out,

touch the night,

be one with the blackness;

I have survived so many setbacks,

I have moved past

the letdowns and disappointments,

what’s one more?

eventually nothing matters,

nothing is real,

it is all a fake,

it is all just another

days work,

nothing matters,

not me,

not you,

not today,

not tomorrow,

not the day,

not the night;

nothing;

fuck all the little

piss ants everywhere,

they can take their shit

and stick it up

their lily white,

red-neck,

bullshit,

one-way,

asses;

hey,

he said fuck,

he said shit,

he is crude,

he is pathetic,

he is exciting,

he is dynamic,

he is a poet,

he is an artist,

he is shit,

he is a sad

little piece of nothing;

I am waiting;

now I write for me,

not for you,

not for others,

not for popularity,

not for approval,

just me,

life’s little dramas

play out,

going round and round,

falling down,

sinking out of sight,

forever gone;

words are never enough,

thoughts can go far,

when left to their own devices;

does anyone listen?

does anyone care?

once again,

I go into the darkness,

where madness rules,

and hope lies still,

facing the night,

waiting for the dawn,

trying to survive the fear,

searching for the light;

does anyone listen?

does anyone care?

You are all there is,

You are more than enough,

You alone hold the keys,

You are all I need,

help me now,

hear my empty cry,

save me from the enemy

waiting just outside,

when the words won’t come,

it gets hard,

down here,

in this lonely land of the dead,

where everything

is not what it seems,

as faces come and go,

and the truth lies hidden

among the lost and fallen;

for the first time,

it feels like the end.

.

.

A Day the Lord Has Made

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.   Psalm 23:1-6

today is a new day,

a new beginning,

a new way,

a fresh start,

the closing of one chapter,

the opening of another;

today is a day

the Lord has made;

Lord, look down on me now,

see the hope growing within,

remove the darkness,

smooth the rough and rocky places,

make me lie down in pastures of green grass,

lead me beside the still waters,

restore my soul,

lead me down paths of righteousness,

prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies,

anoint my head with oil,

rescue me from this prison

that has surrounded me

all my life.

.

.

Somebody's Fool

all my life,

I have been somebody’s fool,

doing the shit jobs,

being the chump,

taking bullets for the team,

falling on my sword,

watching as others took the credit,

working so somebody else

could climb the corporate ladder,

pretending that it didn't matter,

giving until there was nothing

left to give,

holding the anger inside,

tasting the bitterness,

until bitterness was all

that was left;

all my life,

I have been somebody’s fool;

this world will use you up,

until there is nothing left,

then toss you aside

like yesterday’s garbage,

if you allow it,

laughing as you desperately

try to hold on;

eventually,

everybody loses;

all my life,

I searched for something

or someone, to whom

I could give my allegiance,

a King worth dying for,

a leader holy and righteous,

someone who deserved

all that I had to give,

then I found Him;

or rather He found me.

.

.

Darkness

And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?   Luke 18:7-8

darkness,

all my life I have known darkness,

I have flirted with it,

I have danced with it,

I have felt its intoxicating touch,

I have watched it destroy

innocent, naive fools,

I have seen it claim its victims,

without mercy or remorse;

darkness,

yes I know darkness,

I have seen its cruelty,

I have known its calculating coldness,

I have hid in the shadows,

as it silently passed by,

I have stood at the edge

of its endless abyss,

staring into the eternal blackness,

I have been an unwitting,

and unsuspecting witness, to its

terrible and irreversible effects;

I have survived when so many others

did not;

yes, I have known darkness,

I have seen its writhing, invisible tentacles,

slowly spreading across society,

quietly planting seeds of doubt,

secretly robbing the world of faith,

steadily dousing the light,

surely and confidently

waiting for the end;

soon, the darkness shall be no more,

evil shall no longer exist,

the world shall be free,

the light will shine once again,

every tear shall be wiped away;

He who testifies to these things says “Yes I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.   Revelations 22:20

.

.