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What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.   Ecclesiastes 1:9

I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.   Ecclesiastes 1:14

with each passing day,

I see the hopelessness,

I understand the futility,

I know the inadequacy;

I have been to the edge,

I have seen all there is to see,

I have known all there is to know,

I have said all there is to say;

there is nothing new under the sun;

old homes fade,

new ones crumble

into the dust,

this world, this life,

no meaning, no purpose;

without You;

holding on,

waiting for a different way,

desperately searching for the light

of a brand new day,

standing accused,

guilty as charged,

nowhere left to run,

nothing more to hide,

line after line,

coming and going,

flowing like a mighty river,

and still, it is not enough;

I am less,

than what You

made me to be.

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My Cup Runneth Over

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

in the quiet of the slowly setting sun,

lie answers hidden so deep,

far from knowing eyes or

understanding minds;

there are stories no man can tell,

there are places no man can go;

you looked for the light,

but darkness was all you found,

you searched for redemption,

when condemnation was all that

you deserved;

and yes, there are stories no man

can tell, there are places no man can go,

but still you held on, waiting for an

uncertain future, following clues without

a trace, living without validity,

settling for pennies on the dollar,

surrendering to an enemy

already defeated, making a home

in the middle of celestial wastelands;

you dreamed dreams,

wrestled with demons,

witnessed angels,

ran from the darkness,

faced the wrath of an

undeniable truth;

now I belong to You,

what more could I ask for?

what more could I need?

my cup runneth over,

surely goodness and mercy,

shall follow me for all my days,

and I shall dwell in the house

of the Lord forever.

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Nothing Can Ever Be The Same

the rain comes at last,

the storm has been brewing

for days, for weeks,

for months, for years;

for a lifetime;

changes come like lightning,

new creatures, emerging

from under the spotlight of

iniquity and anonymity,

the metamorphosis complete,

the way back,

closed forever,

the way ahead;

lost in the melodrama;

down in these sewer pits,

drunken monkeys rant and rave,

rampaging through the

dark, eternal night,

precious time lost

valuable energy spent;

gone forever;

words?

Rimbaud had words,

Morrison had words,

Bukowski had words,

I have words;

I have no need for theirs;

I observe them like a disease,

just a glance here, a taste there,

carefully preventing infection,

swallowing the antidote,

puking up the symptoms;

now, nothing can ever

be the same.

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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.

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Last Laugh

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.   Ecclesiastes 1:9

poetry has become an abstraction,

a train wrecked shambles,

without rhyme but more importantly;

without reason;

I bought this journal and pen,

something on which to write

new words, new thoughts,

cornucopias of expression,

symphonies of sound,

bright, white masses of exploding light,

a spattering of pure, unadulterated originality,

but now, as I stare at these blank pages,

the realization occurs that these new words,

are the same as the old words,

its has all been said, and said again,

used and reused,

just a different format,

a revised version,

only our simple-minded human egos

prevent us from seeing the truth,

let alone admitting it;

there really is nothing new

under the sun;

we titillate and capitulate,

until it all seems fresh and alive,

patting ourselves on the back,

creating monumental trophies and awards,

for the same old bullshit;

reading the collected works of man,

is like walking on a treadmill,

you struggle and work,

but no matter how far you go,

you end up right back where

you started;

Morrison had the last laugh,

he wasn’t a god, not some mystic,

warrior poet, just a drunk who

liked to hump, a degenerate,

a bold-faced, killer clown,

with the soul of a madman,

the ultimate masquerade,

yes, Morrison had the last laugh;

long live the king.

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One Truth

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 their preconceived ideas,

creating vast empty empires, complete with

testimonies of flesh and blood, monuments of

self-glorification, exercises in futility,

deceiving themselves with grand ideas and

philosophical babble, which crumbles like dust

into the morning mist, but in the end truth remains,

in the end truth is all there is, in the end there is only

one way, one life, one truth.

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no more

who sees these shadows?

who knows this hunger?

every word,

every thought,

every feeling;

inadequate;

the day is gone,

the night moves on,

the bags all packed,

waiting for the final call;

like a cancer it grows,

this monster,

this disease,

this curse;

toxic,

poisonous,

deadly,

infecting everything

it touches;

if I could,

I would end it today,

before it destroys

everyone in its path;

once you go through

that door,

there’s no going back,

no return,

no tomorrow;

no more.

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