Never Been to Prison

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

Never been to prison,
but I feel like
I’ve been behind bars
since the day I was born,
never seen the desert,
but I think I have been
planning the trip
all my life.

Now my life
is almost over,
dried up
like an abandoned well,
a gentle mist,
a fog shrouded vapor,
see it fade,
see it change,
see it rearrange,
movement becomes hard,
pain a way of life,
everything is gone,
everything is different;

everything is new.

We reap what we sow,
and I have sown the seeds
of perversion,
wallowed in the ways of lust,
fulfilled the desires of the flesh,
reveled in the excesses,
partook of the debauchery,
delighted in the thrills,
I have lived for the moment,
searching for forbidden fruit;

I deserve nothing.

All my life
I have lived in worlds of fantasy,
trapped by delusions and
non-existent details,
flirting with madness
and disasters beyond
mere magnitudes of mortality,
searching for finality,
witnessing untold destruction,
forever knowing,
continually waiting
for moments that came
and went like liquid glass;

the night belongs to those
who have nothing else.

Sadness is an art
known by only a few,
understood by none,
without beginning or end,
without mercy or compassion,
techniques and classifications
have no hold here,
no amount of money
can buy membership here,
words can save,
words can kill;

turn around
before it is too late.


once more
the darkness closes in,
once more
the abyss lies before you,
calling, beckoning, caressing;


save me Lord!……………
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Choices

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Romans 12:21

“Now fear the Lord and serve him with all faithfulness. Throw away the gods your forefathers worshipped beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your forefathers served beyond the River, or the gods of the Ammorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

Joshua 24:14-15

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”

Matthew 7:13-14

The hot sun beats down,
the sweat slowly runs,
the anger and hatred grow,
the bitterness spreads,
life is finite,
all things come to an end,
we have no control
over the places or times,
the circumstances and situations,
it is there with every beat of our heart,
it speaks with every breath we take,
it is all that we are,
it is part of the life we live;

participation is not optional.

In the end we choose
the reaction not the situation,
the darkness or the light,
to control or be controlled,
the truth or the lie,
the narrow road that leads to life,
or the broad road that leads to death;

choose wisely.
.
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"I knows shugah"

Over the weekend
my woman and I
drove out into the bayou
to this little parish town
she knew about,
where some Cajun thing
was going on;

her charm and smile
got us in,
if it had been just me
I would have been chopped up
and thrown into the swamps
for gator bait;

but with her
I was ok.

We had a great time,
squishing crawdads
then sucking the juice
out of their heads
as zydeco music
played in the background,
we drank warm beer
and danced late into the night,
I tried to act cool
and indifferent,
but by the end of it all
I was dos-e-doing
with the best of em.

On the ride home
she sat next to me
with her head on my shoulder
and her hand
resting lightly on my crotch,
the stars
shining brightly
in the sky
overhead;

“oooooh weeee bebeeee
I luvs you more dan ze moon”

I said
in my best Cajun accent,
she just smiled
and said;

“I knows shugah
I knows.”
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Beautiful Dream

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.

Like a carefully guarded secret
she hides quietly within;
flowing like an underground river,
dancing like a butterfly on the wind;

mesmerizing and energizing,
a gentle whisper,
a bright white light,
fresh and clear,
like a star twinkling in the night;

my last pure thought,
my only reprieve,
when everything else has been
shattered or destroyed,
exposed and denied,
she is my silent refuge;

my beautiful dream.
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America's War

America is fighting a war it cannot win;

a war that began many years ago
when men believed
they could dominate other men,
controlling them through fear and intimidation,
a war that gained momentum with an idea
planted over 200 years ago;

that liberty is sometimes better than life,
that there are some things worth dying for,
that freedom at any cost is sometimes better
than life under the rule of others;

that all men are created equal.

A war given a face
by a nation of farmers and merchants
who defeated the most powerful empire in the world,
a war reinforced
by a terrible and bloody civil conflict
fought on the principle that economic gain
does not justify the enslavement of other men;

America is fighting a war it cannot win,
against the only enemy capable of defeating
her vast power and might;

America is fighting a war
against herself.
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On Patrol

Time no longer matters
in this land of no return,
where control of existence
is power,
even among the least of men.

If you listen
you can hear the thunder
of the demons beating heart,
as it cries out in agony,
waiting for the chance
to unleash its deadly, putrid vile,
dreams fill the void,
crossing bridges of despair
over chasms of life;

goddess of the night
come warm your icy soul
with the heat of lust
generated by a thousand
beastly cries.

Once there was honor,
now there is darkness,
cold, hard, empty
power with no reason,
other than power,
death with no meaning
other than death,
angels of light
mourn for lost lovers,
impaled by their existence
to gods who cannot hear.

Sleep comes slow
for those who lay and wait
in their coffins of pain,
as silence stalks its prey,
seeking to devour
its just rewards,
waiting for a dawn
that never comes,
cast down
into pits of emptiness,
where cold hard reality lurks,
as eagles burst into flames
and die screaming
their last goodbyes.
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Battle Stations

I wrote this several hundred feet below the surface of the ocean onboard a Trident nuclear submarine on patrol. It was written after one of a thousand battle stations missle drills which always seemed to take place a few minutes after finally falling asleep in an attempt to get an hour or two of sleep before going back on watch.

Down here,
in the ice cold deep,
we play a game
which is supposed to be deadly serious,
but which nobody takes too seriously,
otherwise,
it could be deadly,
so we compromise
and try to sleep it off,
but some still insist
on playing the game,
so we play,
and most of the time
we lose,
not that we really lose,
otherwise
we’d all be lost,
and then
there would be nobody
to play the game,
and the game
has to be played,
otherwise
it wouldn’t be a game,
it would be real,
and politicians would panic
and press little red buttons,
out of fear of losing
something which only they
have to fear losing,
because everyone else
has nothing to lose;

oh alright,

I’ll wakeup,
yes I’ll play the game today,
hold on to your poopiesuit,
but I won’t play much longer,
so use me while you can,
because soon
I’ll be using you
to play the game
for me,
so I can sleep at night
and not dream
about little red buttons;

will somebody
please cut out
that annoying,
snickering alarm!
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