physical flesh
of minds electric
exhale purple images
upon galaxy screens  
silky neuron fabric
weaved with dreams
tie memories
to feeling

Gravitational forces
towards something better
as if it exists
buried beneath
some distant desert

what is it
that strains to convey
itself
in this broken poetry
as if truth were at
the tip of its tongue

perhaps it's to feel real
for only a moment
to escape the routine
of making a living
which only yields
a skeleton
compacted in dirt

Take my writing
let it fly upon the wind
let it touch the four corners
of Earth's spiritless surface
Take it farther!
upon the wings of doves
and sound waves of conversation
to red and gaseous planets
let even the martian men
attempt to
translate

Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love

The moment you are about to quit

Is normally the moment near short of a miracle

I have a paper heart
In which you will forever part

But see

This stupid heart of mine is in a rut
I try to reach but it turns to paper cuts

People don’t need water to drown
You need someone to always put you down, but in that case, I’ll get you a crown

I do want you to know I tried
I even held a smile while I cried and cried

While I’m in my pain fill hut
My fingers get sore from all these paper cuts