He put all of his
Trust in the Savior, Jesus
Christ, and all was well.

I had accepted my fate
Content with drowning
You woke me up
Made me crave life again
And just like that
You saved me
When I wasn’t looking for a savior

We are martyrs of deaths breath,  
       concussive retribution for living
in the light of decay.
Matter is a virus of consumption,
           exhausting the filaments
of extended fulfilment that will never
                                             be quenched.

But death is the saviour of existence,
      collecting on the overture of a
living rhythm, what sang to loudly
         now nullified beyond continuality.


The martyr did linger in disparity
       for life was a creation, but existence
is but greed. So let all ponder the
          expenditure of self and repercussions
of what existence brings to all.
             Death isn't an enemy,
its the saviour of existence.
Coalescing the need for continuity.

A glimmer breaks through the clouds,
A single beam of white light drifts
through the skylight above
As I lay with back to carpet,
watching the fan lazily rotate.

The fan wobbles and creaks,
it’s paint chipped and weary.
Chains dangle below, rattling
And the blades blur in rotation.

I do not blame the ones of before
for seeing a single hopeful beam of light
and dropping to their knees in prayer,
tears dripping down in the face of
a savior, any savior.

The layers behind eyes flitting with
joy, eyes that dart about, drinking in the scene
to that of unseeing blank, wide mouthed
as if in awe of the world above,
stuck in their ways for eternity.