Those who cross, this nighttime terror, will be sure to know his name,
From ocean blue, to Timbuktu, the ghost of the man is to blame.

He rides upon, a howling steed, he sets women's hearts aflame,
He will dismount, only to pay no heed, to the life, the gods call, 'game'.

Beware, oh Bandit, do not pierce, the eyes of the open believer,
For what you have seen, on the journey of one, has made thy soul, cleaver.

Hated still, the tainted will, of the man who rides, in the palm of despair,
Points his fingers to the sky, in faith, that the heel of truth will be there.

The bandit will leave less on hands and feet, when he comes through,
Yet, he will leave more than tears, when with your ******, he must make do.

So true is his arrow, nailing to the tree, the reigns which he has overcome,
Out of sight, he is a patriot to the desires of his heart, serving no one, but one.

Where will you go next, bandit, what treasures will you next seize?
What of the riches in your heart, crucified by forgotten responsibilities?

He searches, this bandit, for the one elusive key to his caged soul,
As if it were on race ahead of himself, always out of reach or toll.

Aghast! He halts in treasure cove, at odds with the sight before him.
What layeth on the ground, is a sight that attempts no boredom.

Here! Is a sight for eager eyes, here! Is the quencher for desire.
That which is in front of him, will extinguish his mind's wild fire.

One foot, in front of the other. As if he had no longer the ability to walk.
Made the bandit, his way over. To the treasure that made him gawk.

It lay in fragile casing. It had a lustrous stare.
Even though it was alluring, it should have made the bandit beware.

But, oh! He was too hasty. For the jewel, evidently tasty,
Incited him to grasp it firmly, like a gluttonous man upon pastry.

What was it, in the cave? The treasure that could powerfully ensnare?
Oh child, I cannot tell you, for fear, that you will go there.

From the depths of the sea, they came. Homeless.
Creatures of hapless form, and formless bodies.
Animals carved in the nature of blindness,
without godly supervision; deities.

Convicts they were; that which is wrong,
Leaving behind a world lost to them. Alas,
Their crime is that they did not belong.
But even in exile, they hold debt to their past.

They flopped, they crawled and oozed,
Out of old skin, they became something new.
So the years passed and frequently bruised,
They became gargantuan and further still; grew.

Inhabiting a land, once uninhabitable; now tamed.
Creating dominion over raw nature, they climbed.
Hills, valleys, mountains, volcanoes! They claimed.
Even in the face of annihilation, they climbed.

Above it all they choose to rest, touching the sky.
The creatures learned time, then they chased it.
Always pursuing it, always getting one step ahead. Fly,
They soon did, faster, faster, faster, they chased 'it'.

Until they broke out of the awesome surface.
Like once before they made prints on lands once untouchable.
The creatures are creatures no more. At least not all.
But, soon. All the creatures will float away 'pon solar winds.

I look back on the first of them all. The scared,
Unsheltered and curious creature of the old world.
It looks upon me, with questioning, unaware of destiny. Unprepared,
In its dark eyes, I see light. Light that I am closer to taming. Knowledge unfurled.

The ecstasy in the harmony created by the symphony 'pon my guitar... the chaos rending quake, of a glass breaking in the kitchen as melodies echo into the void caused by aging seconds. Part of me. Living in a utopia of sounds; the other, startled by a panicked accident. This is the nature of coincidence. This is the nature of the world. Harmony and discord, sharing the same cup.

Weeks spent searching for an answer.
Inside, I've only been finding cancer.
Grow strong, you'll be a dancer.
"You're wrong, that's not the answer."

I'll grow into a crook, roaming streets.
I'll crack open stores, like nuts, for eats.
Prostitutes will be my daily conviction.
My homes will slay me with eviction.

Little did I know, I'd become a legend.
Like Bilbo humbly living at Bag End.
Plenty stories to tell, mistakes to defend.
Dragons I've slain, lovers in deep ends.

Yet, it's all come down on this bluff.
I'd always believed I was a tough.
I'll have you know, it's just a bluff.
When I jump, I'll fly into the rough.

I see her passing by like a shooting star.
How rare these moments truly are.
What purpose that drives my heart to devotion.
Devotion, driven, like swimming across the entire ocean.
Fate prepares before birth's first light.
Was it love at first sight?

I stole a rose from her garden.
At first opportunity, I gave it back to her.
"Oh, the most beautiful rose I have ever seen!" she admires.
It was once her's, dare I say she is in love with herself?
I was wrong, I see it this day, she is in love with me,
Finding excuse to attribute wondrous things to me.

I can't be foolish, I must be strong.
At second opportunity, I cannot be wrong.
"Just as the lake reveals to me the truth of my face,
Dear queen, you reveal to me the truth of my heart."
She delights in my words, but there is doubt in her heart.
A thorn I see there, but gifted with the proper acumen I am not.

At third opportunity, I come prepared.
To seek out the thorn, to vanquish it, but she is scared.
She has grown used to the pain of the thorn,
Now removing it is the true thing of scorn.
The operation begins and I am lost forever,
"Familiar it is to you, and you thought you were clever..."

"Whatever do you mean, fair queen?"
The thorn, it is poison, a dagger unseen.
"You put the thorn there! It was you that maimed me!
Your poison that's trifling, the ailment that claims me!"
I stare without word, I'm pale to the touch,
How cold I appear to be, confusion as such.

"If ever I did, and I do not say that you are wrong,
Truly it was another man, and not I that broke your song!"
She quivers with anger, the spittle is rain as she speaks,
I am drenched in accusation, unable to evade the shrieks.
"You broke my heart! Your rose was evidence of that!
Had you not stolen my innocence, you would still be a rat!"

They have fallen upon willing ears, her words.
No more opportunities, flown south with the birds.
"What will you have done, my queen,
I am undeserving of your mercy..."
Our eyes met and diverged from meeting.
Our hands, once acquainted, are strangers once more.

She says the words pronounced like kung-fu film fists to the face.
"To, the, guillotine, so, it, is, quick, and, clean, post haste!"
Her judgment is clear, I await the deed.
Taken to the pit where it is to be done, dragged by her steed.
I look to her and her eyes no longer reflect love, but doom.
She is the last thing I see, and death my last moment to bloom,
Like a red, red rose.

Sometimes, when I let go of you, I fall.
I fall into a wood chipper and cry sawdust.
I fall into ******* and bleed lust.
I fall into gold chocolate and I eat rust.
Nothing's more painful than letting go of the truth.

Sometimes, when I leave you behind, I forget things.
I think the touch of your skin is like slug slime.
I think of your voice like a broken nursery rhyme.
I think these wounds will all heal in time, in time.
Nothing's more regretful than being human; losing youth.

Sometimes, when I drown with you, I'm good at math.
Factor in all the times you made me lose the path.
Divided by the times I boldly faced your wrath.
Multiplied by that time I quit you cold turkey.
Nothing equals: why do I even love you after all?

Sometimes, when I dream of you, the other stars fade.
The secret to loving you explains how the universe was made.
The sun and the moon make love, eclipsed nightmares evade.
Venus and Mars make pillow-talk a banquet of bliss.
Our signs aren't compatible, but why trust the zodiac?

Sometimes, when we fight, there's a silver lining.
I mine for it and melt it down, polish it and wear it.
I'd never sell it, but I would brag about it.
I'd never forge one, but I caught you faking it.
Conduct a survey of my affections and find it unanimous.

Sometimes, when it's over, it's just beginning.
I see you on the horizon of dawn escaping the wake of sunset.
I hear you playing the harp of loneliness in a crowded cacophonous room.
I taste you weeping as your new love docks in from an ocean voyage.
Nothing's more dissolving than the nature of your serpentine carousel.

In short, never have I ever never gone a day without thinking of you,
Without wandering the wastelands wondering when I'll next see you,
Without my heart aching under the heartbreaking realization that you,
The edifice of my pining, are exactly who I thought you weren't, you,
Are healing poison, and I'll only drink when I wish to die whilst feeling alive again.

Have you ever had a bad cherry?
At first, they're succulent.
You feel thrilled, almost salacious.
You burrow for more.
You fill your hands with their gravity.
Red ones, dark one, even better.

Then you find it; it looks like all the rest.
You're ravenous, unable to pull your lips from its surface.
You expect to crunch down on its soft supple skin.
You find the horror within, it's bland, the taste is thin.
But each one before, held a marvel within.
Your heart is riotous; it looked like all the rest.

The anger has me writhing with a tempestuous din.
The sound of heartbreak yelps from inside.
How could it be that one?
How could it be that little thing that seditiously winks without eyes?
A piece of my soul it takes but it doesn't leave by any window.
It dies within, leaving my gut to wash its sin.

Sometimes you are that bad cherry,
That beast that brings mourning.
I sleep with the scar and heal in the morning.
The cherries look too good today to pass up.
But another bad cherry looms in the wake of my deep thirst.
Just as with you, there's always another day.

They ponder still, of the will, of the open book;
Better to be judged by cover, or by page, I await answer.

Foreign ink drops stain my words.
Eager notes scrawl my organs.
Passioned fingers, sweat my bonds; loose,
Like wings in the wind, my knowledge flies,
Unbridled.

They question more, the empty score, of the read bible;
Simpler to be believed, than misunderstood, agree?

Mumbling misfits, chant my contents in crazed ecstasy;
I made no commands, I wish for no harm;
I seek no justice, I want not blood, for fluid.
I wish for eyes and eyes alone.
Give it to me, these pleasures; alone.

They pass me down, the procession quick, and change me, day and night;
I am no babe, I need no milk for life, I have not mouth to feed, I need minds to seed.

The whispers they make in my presence,
behind closed doors is atrocious.
Do they ponder of me still,
to question my answers?
I care not, no more, for now, I am fractured.

For if you read, the broken pieces, the shards of my once reflective ode to wisdom;
You will gain naught but, an unbearable ache of the mind.

I know what she wants, I know what she needs.
Without my banana, she no longer heeds.
She spits out all of my winter seeds,
Down the river and caught in the reeds.

Primitive urges and sophisticated boredom.
Too much mail, not enough cats to sort ‘em.
She wants parlor tricks, not whiskey *****.
She wants sweet nothings, no liquorice sticks.

She’s a snake charmer in plural disguise.
Her double standards will be your demise.
She wants handsome, tall, not short and wise.
She wants musclebound, no porridge thighs.

She’s not sure about that or puzzled about this.
She has her way and you’ll do anything for a kiss.
She wants you dead before she becomes a pumpkin.
Smart as you are, you don’t know what she’s thinkin’.

**** a spider for her, spy for her, same difference.
To see her happy you’ll spare no expense.
To see her mad, all you need is common sense,
And to return to the frog you were forth hence!

She wants a man, a boy I’ll forever be.
All the world’s dreams are lost to the sea.
She doesn’t know that men don’t exist anymore.
Neither do women, growing up is a forgotten chore.

Betrayal, is like the mole in the pasture.
You thought you knew all about it,
when it popped its head up,
but god knows what it does underground...

Sooner or later, you find out, the mole was blind all along.
Didn't even really know you were there.

So how do you trust a friend who has no eyes to see.
How do you trust the uncertain problem solver, the maverick.
How do you trust the truth of Lady Justice, herself,
Sheathed in ragged, blood-stained cloth of the innocent.

Maybe the real question is, how do we trust ourselves?
Aren't we blind, when we live half our lives in darkness.
Still further, we live most of life in sleep,
Where our dreams are luxurious secrets, even to ourselves.

No one speaks of their lofty dreams, they stay perched in limbo.
To speak endlessly, until not spoken to, if only life were so simple...

Why can't I fly? Because, I am caged in the bowels of bitter, deceit.
Why can't I dance? Because, my body is bound to the gravity of unacceptable, honor.
Why, can't I sing? Because, my lungs are choked by this haute reservoir of insanity.

But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the ladder of awe, itself, and walks the silver lining of death.

Why can't I write? Because, my hands are bound in the filth of my past,
meddling with broken things.
Why can't I speak? Because, the honor I am bound to, is to live, life, behind closed windows.
Why can't I see? Because, the blindfolds that sheath my eyes from sin, are more sin than any satan incarnate.

But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the rungs of the narrow road, and walks over the pit of doom, to save itself.
There is no explanation for this act.

So, why can't I shout? Because, I am voiceless to the concerns of the audience.
Why can't I beg? Because, the world has no room for weakness, fear and more loss.
Why can't I scream? Because...
Because...

Because the Trapeze artist dropped off the high-strung ledge of wonders...
And plummeted into a darkness, that has robbed my audience, of all conscionable thought.

Because... the Trapeze artist, is dead.

I bought the shirt
to tell you I was there
when the electric slide was
cool,
when I wore dandelion
hair.

I knew the words that could
school
your mind so that you'd
stare.
With your electric hide
you can go
anywhere,
but imagine your jealousy
when I'm in all the photographs,
not noticing I don't fit.

In the millennium's decade
I wove webs at bars
I healed dames their scars
and gave them my brand.
I told jokes with slight
of
hand;
left coats with nowhere
to stand.
Oh, I was the border patrol,
******* pockets,
though none could pass.
My security measures were
long and vast,
probing questions
slick with crass,
I'd lead them to pasture
epiphanies from my grass.
Yes, I wore the hat,
compliments, too,
but my hat wouldn't fit
no matter what
I told it to
do.

All that time,
searching for something to fit.
Keys slipped out of locks
Numbers ripped off of clocks
women deprived of their... talks,
for my language was divine.
That was the problem:
how could I be divine?
Was I the branded fool?
Was I truly sublime?
A prince I was, set to inherit the world
till misfortune struck, disaster unfurled.

I couldn't fit into my home
or wherever I'd
roam.
I couldn't fit into school
now a blunted
tool.
I couldn't fit into work
Who's that?
****!

No, no, don't feel sorry for me...
After all, I'm only 3.
Three things you wouldn't
want to be.
Too round, too soft, too... me.
I'm not the sort of peg
that fits in at any degree.

I'm just the laughing stock,
that you put in your wok,
who tastes bad next year,
that much isn't clear.

Yet if I live in the past,
I'll eat my own tail,
so in order not to fail:
into the future, fast!

Someday I'll find,
that fitting is not the key,
it's learning to
relax,
in something bigger than I'll
ever be.

Two phoenix feathers.
They lounge about a bar:
the man a ravenous flirt;
the woman arranging skirt.

She looks up to barely notice
The man's poultice of charm.

Alarmed she couldn't be
A strang-ed warmth in the knee
Her straw mind lit with glee
for the stallion to consume.

What of the body dear swan?
The man looks away to yawn.
Her desire becomes an agony:
fire building like dragon's breath.

Indeed, she pants for more...
Phoenix feathers burning galore!
Another look and she melts,
such bewitching spans veldts.

He looks away again, he's mixed.
She wonders if she's been tricked.
Indeed, from shadows another slinks.
Let us depart "adult" hi-jinx.

But do they gleam!
Their spots unseen.
The walls we climb,
aren't they divine?
There a spit shine;
not so disgusting.
Here a soiling secret,
but it's not rusting.
You may not like it,
so quit building it,
but it's here so you
cannot even escape
a world of crap,
while you keep out
the lifesavers,
that you've crossed
off the grocery list.
So obey the walls,
they're tall order.
Ignore the calls,
or the feint odor.
The greatest malls,
and all their *****,
you'll soon realize
are hopeless junk.

You say I'm getting too close for comfort
Baby, I'm just getting close for my comfort
but comforts not an island
where we can getaway.

She says get away from me!
I'm not as happy as can be,
because that would require a sojourn
free
of time.

It's sublime when you say,
"Stay with me, please stay,"
because I've got a plan in which,
staying
is the secret recipe.

Can't we stop deliberating our feelings?
Can't we stop stalling and start stealing;
stealing moments from The Man
when rebellion is sweet? (and necessary...)

I've got pennies in my pocket,
One for luck and one in my sock, it's
to sock it to any buster who looks you
up and down. (and hope he faints...)

I know this is all talk
you'll stop listening
and away you walk,
but remember how
I tried and how you
laughed.

We're winding down from fun and games
suddenly there's no one to blame
when we forget to love
end up singing
blues.

The living were born
The dead did die
The fear won't let
the sleeping dogs lie
when the shadow comes
creeping
through the town.

The pastors yawn,
the demons frown;
sometimes you're up
sometimes you're down,
but you can't listen
to what the devils say.

I've heard the kettle
whisper
when I came by to
kiss her
but I've never heard God
get comfortable with sin.

I think I'll try getting old
before I lay down to die.
No matter what,
when it ends
I won't let them lie,
no,
but when I lie,
the dead will mourn for me.

There's coffee in the fridge,
there's whisky in the ***,
so many things I did backwards,
like buying your nonsense in lot.

I've been sitting pretty
is it make-up, or is it wit? See...
I don't have to be pretty
to be loved by dumb luck.

When I go out to meet her
I'll be checking my dresser
Hat, shirt and dress, yes sir,
You'll be colored yeller,
but when I die,
it doesn't matter what they see.
Cuz when I lie,
the dead will mourn for me.

I'll be buried empty,
but the plants will have plenty,
of all my meals I'd rather leave behind.
I don't have money,
don't take that to make it sunny,
but I'll be cooking where I'm hard to find.

I've got oil to spare,
to lay your body bare,
and spend your love
to keep my engine running.

I'm devil may care,
I'm angel may stare,
and hope no one's lookin'
when I pass you saucy
love letters.

Arguments fine tuned,
we leave common sense marooned,
when we box pandora up
and let her free...
continually.

I've seen the moon go red
Like every word you said,
and I'd rather chase some ***
then get insurance,
because when I die,
no,
when I lie,
yes,
when I lay down,
the dead will mourn for me.

You once sat,
in the palm of my hand
told me love,
was our home to share.

Did I forget?

You once raved,
of my stellar cooking
often looking
where I couldn't see.

Did I forget?

I paced the hospital floor
seeking an end
to the anticipation of doom
you couldn't fight.

Did I forget?

A long breath leaves you
lost in the atmosphere
you die alone
in endless night.

Did I forget!
Did I forget that you made me?
That you toiled for hours in the womb of love
nursing the fractures I had when you found me?!
Did I forget how you taught me symbols of communication
that allowed you to understand me beyond the shallow
shadows that I was so used to receiving as love?
I must have forgotten? My heart must be rotten...
Did I forget the taste of the salt on your lips,
as if you were a boundless sea that would
never drown me, or sequester me from light?
I must have lost my mind, why!
Why can one act unbind the seams
of such a precious gift: the threads
of love and the tome of truth!

When I fell in love again,
I must have forgotten,
because for the first time
in my wandering life
I didn't know you
anymore.

Into the folds of the dress and the mold.
Though he is old and he has no more sense.
You've never heard this, it hasn't been told,
Of the babbling coot: his all-seeing eye.

Drooling over his woodcarving he waits.
The boys find him, his eyes rolling circles.
Old man! Tell us. What's in this box of dates?
Another box, old mans says, just a box.
And within that box? A little boy grates.
Another box, the old man says, just a box.
The boys chatter with glee at what truth sates.
They run off, "Old man ain't crazy! Just old."

Talking to a black bird, the old man sat.
The boys find him: bird nodding agreement.
Old man! Across the sea! How old's old Pat?
A scratch of the chin. "Why, she's fifteen, boys."
The boys, perplexed, walk away; that was that.
"They'll bury him there," old man said. Bird squawks.

Rocking in chair, whistling his old, old tune.
The men find him looking young than ever.
Old man! Been years! Where's the pirate's treasure?
The men drunkenly wait for the magic.
Old man whispers in the ear of the eldest.
Eldest pulls out map; his eyes almost burst.
The men run off as if chasing the sun.

A shovel shakes off its last bead of dirt.
Tears, precious pearls of sorrow, ease burdens.
The men, swathed in finery, mourn for friend.
"Old man!" New eldest asks, "You knew didn't you?"
Old man titters, "I only saw, boys, see?"
New eldest grabs old man. Birds squawk in trees.
Black clouds ooze across the sky overhead.
Winds rattle the old man's house... death rattles.
The men pull new eldest away from there.
Old man drops to ground. He stands up to stare.
The spooked men run off back to their home town.

A black bird swoops onto old man's shoulder.
" 'Twas my box of dates they showed me that day.
Twas my great grandchild Pat who they spoke of.
And 'twas my gold they were all looking for.
My eye only sees what belongs to me!"

The old man sat down in his rocking chair.
In the moonlight, a glimmer of gold eyes,
spoke of a soulless pirate king's riches.

From the fading warmth of my cheek,
her arm cascaded to her side,
like the minute hand of a clock:
how minute I felt in the absence
of touch.

It was her touch
that revealed what it is
to be alone.
It is her touch
that cemented the truth
built up
like a fairy-tale tower,
plastered upon my skin;
rooted
in each step I take.

As time passes,
in my lofty solitude,
I forget her face.
I forget the trace
of touch,
marking out the
far reaches of
my heart,
the territory she stole,
the jigsaw piece she
lost.

What remains is a memory...
Enshrined
in the gems
of dragon's treasure;
entombed
in the lands
of hopeless measure:
it remains.

I seek it out
in a perilous journey,
across arid time, and crooked space
it bathes in rubies,
it's slender edges, and soft lace;
there's her face!

The memory in the crook
of my lap, it sates
my bleeding heart
my barren fates
circadian rhythm, it sings to me
it's precious here
a sight to see
go now life
leave me be
with her I'm fixed
no broken dreams.

I cradle memory
turn it over to find...
What's this? An edge is cracked?
How come!
Is it the witching hour?
Where's loaded gun?
The memory pours
out forth the fun
I lose the memory
dear love is done.

Out on the steps
of my life post-love,
I share a drink
with a charcoal dove.

Sooner or later, the trees die, the seas evaporate
Sooner or later, one life ends and another begins
Sooner the sun rises, and later, the sun sets

The sooner love begins, the later it dies

Once in a while, the ice melts and the weather changes
Once in a while, the gun fires, and the target evades
Once, in happiness I felt everlasting, it took a while to change

Once the end is nigh, love will only last a while

Just in case these words fail to reach their purpose
Just in case life is nothing but a passing, but hopeful dream
Just in case death is a journey to a better place

Just listen, and in case you don't reach the end, in time you will smile

Because maybe there's an answer to the mysteries of the world
Because maybe there's a silver lining to every hopeless existence
Because the sun will set later then maybe you can hope to imagine

Maybe, there's more to love than the nightmare that persists

Sooner or later, once in a while you will have happiness everlasting
But just in case; you haven't, because maybe you're not looking

Important roles to play, we all do have,
but fools **** the day, you don't know the half.
In entirety we've lost, our will to live,
but fools sap your kindness, till you've not to give.

You can't change the channel or buy a book,
when you're face to face with this kind of crook.
You still have your sight, but can't seem to look,
at the mess they've made, the arrogance took.

Hiding in the skins of gods, these fools wait,
To prey upon innocence, odds are great.
There's no amount of stupid that will sate,
these sober morons, and their world-wide plate.

I saw her softly combing her chestnut hair
Each motion like parting smooth ocean waves.
I had to know her and how she behaves.
Yet my heart filled with terrible despair.

My friends told me to turn back,
but I braved the restless sea.
I seem to have a knack,
For finding any key.

I found her reading my favorite book.
She was delighted to know I knew it.
Nothing was more obscure than our love,
for a writer more obscure than his peers.

I dreamed of her every night
her passions warm
our victory right;
in either
dorm.

Every meeting with her I carried
my fantasies: a shell eclipsing the
very truth I failed to see, or so they
said of my nights' shameful proclivities.

We shared our hearts like pastries,
devouring one another's
thoughts until we
knew the taste
by rote.

Of course, we were so engorged upon the
fictions of our authored lives that something
had to be real; had to be tangible
beyond mere spooling tales wagging to tune.

Ignited like a forest fire was the lust coursing through us and
in gleaming moonlit fits of ravenous lips and tender bits
our bodies danced in only so many ways two
chiming instruments can rattle the soul
knocking and injecting essences
to quench the flame that
can never ever be
quenched...

Oh, Lord!

I lay there breathing wishing to die in
the moment I knew I loved her that I
may immortalize the knowledge thusly
ending potential doubt and teeming lies.

A month later, we were still burning and
alive and burning alive but we don't
threaten our haven, we just consider
ourselves lost in a wonderland of ***.

Then a man, a few years my senior came,
and he wanted words, he felt entitled.
He felt entitled to her, her mind, her
body, her genius, her love and her ***.

A month later, at a bar back at home,
I saw it all too clear and regretted
ever knowing her, ever loving her
every succumbing to the ***: that drug.

She's somewhere now, loving him, because he was entitled;
his name was on her history, in her language, on her
books, in her mind, on her, in her, every time
I thought it was just me, he was there
dancing with her, holding her
my hand was a ghost
all along.

My darling portends the end of an era,
but my life began with her and that soft kiss.
My darling portends a life of searching for,
cure to a heartbreak that mends with further pain.

The scholars do stumble,
the sinners do mumble,
the God-folk humbled,
all in sight of God.

He walks with language,
he talks with umbrage,
for those who can't gauge,
the cure of his truth.

I tell you here,
faith is easy.
It is a decision to leave
man behind
in the dust from which
he came.
To walk forward
with God
into the light from which
he came.

Faith is easy;
as easy as sight does see;
as easy as touch does feel;
as easy as thought does think;
as easy as smell does smell;
as easy as taste does tell;
as easy as breath does breathe;
faith is as one does believe.

When one acts by faith,
You are as Christ does live.

As the sun set,
I waited for the cool breeze.
I had not felt yet,
the moisture of cold
in the joints of my knees,
but out over the churning waters,
of my mistress, sea,
I was reminded of you
and what I dreamed we'd be.

Too often on nights like this
when the moon affixes my eyes
to the heavens aglitter
I remember your face asweating
and I won't be forgetting
the scar on your belly
that I caused and won't regret.
We'd given birth to a world
that we cradled in our arms,
and we split that world apart,
each claiming to be Atlas, or Hades.
No God deserves such precious gifts.

As the sun rises,
I walk out into the pastures.
My feet are christened by such little blades,
but it is my heart that's cut, torn, bleeding,
and I'll never see you again,
because you died for one of our worlds.

On the shore,
the fire cracks and fizzles;
my yawn pauses the world
after which,
I realize my significance...
because before me rising
higher, the crack of dawn,
like an egg splitting open,
gives birth to a new life
within me.
In that moment, there isn't
a single rebuttal that I have
against standing up and
walking without hindrance
down the shore, with no
destination, except to know
the world in its full glory.
Because once I knew myself
and all my capabilities,
I had to know what made
all that I am, possible.