Dead Ritual

Stress, Pressure, its time to relieve opium’s obligation to the people’s public,

with your bowing hands and kiss to the altar, or some other similar action,

masses pass the yoke to break the necks of the young and impressionable,

hammered in your head, this necessary belief, this pulling burden and to escape the grasping fit,

of those not understanding your necessary beauty given by heaven’s touch,

long hours pass with drawls of image based stances past the open gate,

How I have longed for more than distracted notions of how I can’t make this up,

what have I missed when my prayer so formulated with ‘our father’ so misused?

How Am I to escape this performance based dance that will end in blistered feet and

broken limbs? What will I say or do that is worthy of your crushing condemning words?

I cannot escape this maze cornered in Empire structured foor wall buildings, that bears earthly glare,

that tells me that i’m not worthy that there is some 400 stair step I might climb,

but that leads to nowhere….. At the end of that I find myself strangely level as before,

Recieving what you’ve given me and how your still loving me drives me mad,

I’m decieved by lies telling me that I’m unworthy, I’m captured by shame that is deeply hidden,

that tells me of inferiority,

It is not me, It is fully who you’ve told me you are, but that we bear your image and not to be ashamed,

for why did Adam Hide with quickened run? And why with such disdain? Knowing Truth and Evil

He was blinded by his descion to know not love, For worldly knowledge hides perfection,

Distance proves the Safety

Walking on rotating metal that grinds as tennis shoes hit mall floors,

sitting watching cars pass as thoughts run by at similar speeds,

drinking a mocha to satisfy my tired self, and the fact that days mean what we make them,

The journey is beauty and I know that as I have seen leaves blow down trees,

that I can put within my heart the hope to believe, in something greater, in something holy,

Although when it came to what Love was I knew not that, And will not, and try not,

too many dark cloudy days, I have sat in the rain and had my only company’s discretion,

I have held the strength to fight for my own and to that I owe supreme alliegance,

I have held many at ten feet of space but for good reason, I’m hurt you see but the

open red wounds have long since closed and the darkness of my musings fain describe

manipulations, the pulls and abuse of whats really right but what is really wrong?

but terms are terms, and at that I flee useless repetition of those guilty thoughts,

that lance me that tear me into shards even though my heart is right,

I will walk along lakesides and not worry for thou art with me,

In all things I turn but what am I looking towards? That is the question,

I will hopefully find that one day, but for now I run far away from the cords

that tied this restless hands, and sit in the patience that I knew would help me best

for in the distance proves the safety of knowing you do not have me, and I will not grow tired by

obligation.

Blind

It is not necesarily guilt that drives the man to hold heavenly penance,

but that not so clear direction of where he knew he was going,

In our state of need and disrepair we have flung ourselves at swine,

and pearls have been cast to the lowest bidder that knows no value

It is the willingful choice we make from day to day to leave the love we know,

To travel to shores and moral wilderness from which it seems there is no return,

so we skipped stones when the wind stood still, and we smiled when reason had naught for us,

and in the times that changed we realized that we had not and stayed similiarily the same,

Its not the theories that we composed and held but the actions of our soul and why we stayed so far away,

from the reveling pride that steeped the youth, to the boxes that lie scattered and choices we made,

and the truth is…. I know consistently and strongly the way that I must take,

the road stretched far and I did not, but you helped me to so I could walk the circumference of its steps,

so I could sit in the shadows and listen to the sounds of the earth that called back at me,

so I could understand what love was and how it understood who I was,

For we knew who we were but not as we should have, And what we are is what fills this vacant

space that we all know by name, and It shook me like a pinecone from the tallest forest tree,

until I tumbled from limb to limb and from expanse to the sky, it is that distance from which I see

into why I fell, and how we all who have fallen go to pickup our limbs and walk again.

Temporarily November

Wet roads and crunching broken christmas lights in clear abstract sight,

tingle my senses, I go in circles in this haze  of intermixed memories that

beg bleeding emotions, its like a collection of my beautiful tragedies that compiled

historic beauty, you created me to see those undefinable moments that beg the objection to reason,

with that wet paper cup you threw at me in ruthless resistance, I trail those moments

in hijacking the expectations of our parents and my burdensome title,

in those constant meetings on orange nights that spoke of Christmas bound steps

and egnog chai in starbucks, Bicycle rides in snow and unfettered mentality tell tales of dsyfunction,

although I would say that i’ve taken dysfuntion and made a masterpiece out of painful

iron wrought tears and clear wanderings where I remebered the messiness of beautiful

momentary bliss, my body shook but shakes no more but it’s my mind that travels like

a train wreck bound, on a course to seek the mae and everglow, evenings with

the dust settling in a welcoming covering, why have eyes looked on open lonely spaces?

Why Have I seen the use of me to your satisfaction? Why have I hugged sorrow’s doorstep like I

needed it? Clouds are like statues greet me daily in this unassuming head,

when did journeys through canby town peel me down to those naked emotions that became me?

Dazed in a stupor of feeling, this is my objective reality, when it comes to it,

when you played with October’s leaves and the essence of seasonal glee,

I care but you don’t, I’m ina state where I need your breath encapsulating me,

and your fingers guarding me from harm, where home is here in our hearts

and I see the backslidden past, escaping into vapor like clouds,

that float into the invisible unseeable, so will you Jump?

Or play the safe road? Come with me rediscover our aged love

that those saw in black and white, but you’ll have none of it I suppose,

that makes my soul groan in the waiting wounds that I would have

healed by your embracing love,

Cold water trickles down old roads I walk on,

I come to those heights and I realize I have the pages,

the chronicled stories I have with me,

looking into the crown point of the city I realize…

that destruction was the point and these flailing arms are the testament,

as the lamplight burns I will never grow cold for you,

but wait as the widow waits for her dead.

Beautiful

Arms on your Bibles, hands on your hearts, words on those lips,

have you ever felt tired of that? Of some obligation to something that meant nothing to you?

For To obey is not always to understand, and not understanding the forced rule kills inspiration,

and killing that is what kills me day to day, Am I the scholar or the master of wisdom?

Surely not! But it is the principle that moves me, the life of He who loved the World,

And when I mean love, I mean love like a large hug to the throbbing planet that walks with a limp,

to the ghosts of people that walk like illuminated 3D sphere’s empty and hollow,

the world’s storm has sucked the life out of them, leaving transparent pieces drifting in the mists,

I want to see the restorer, The Jesus that reconciles the life to the vine, and us to the beginning of all,

Not a code, but a lifestyle bringing wholeness and holiness, rapturing our souls for the days to come,

now the question we all have asked and the yearnings to be more than what we are have placed us precariously,

on the edge, striving, fighting, wanting, pursuing the wholeness and strength that God would Give us,

the deeply woven compassion and lovingkindness tattooed and knit into our hands as we serve amidst the Pandemonium,

As the sweat storms down our faces and the heat of spirtual exhaustion haunt the weary pilgrim,

We seek that chamber, the door into which we walk to see the blinding light of your unfading promise

Scepter

Long drawn blinds cause distant echoes of forbidden silence in step with the beat,

this pulsing rythmic proportion of whats been left out and how this came to be,

the emotional narcolepsy and then some catching distant reverb that strums me out,

Long cold held stars play a banner that I cannot sing, but sung by many,

the thought of wrapping arms and desire that burned have all but been snuffed out,

I stand cold, like the pagan winters, like the stones that made europe famous,

Unmovable for the scepter over me has placed me in cold dungeons that hide the warmth,

and I don’t think a magic wand can do the trick,

Its when you realize that your alone and you won’t let yourself come out,

long distraught emotional agony of what i’ve found drives me into dissolution,

diluting into oblivion of what I once was,

no longer wanting the static electricity that bound us together,

but dead like a black hole that once remembered its glory,

Shine

Long whispers have summarized all that was needed to say,

I have long wrought within myself the need to speak,

and told the rest that truth was ours when we quoted it best,

what was with us when stars collided and shine appeared in great great glory?

When campfire songs and long walks across rough sand scraped your toes?

When we left the waking world for a curious dream beyond and hurled?

Trips on long forest roads and signs of smalls shops line the beach pilgramage,

I think the beauty is in the process, In all that we strive to find, and the steps in which we take them,

Stepping on the edge of whats been and what will be,

Thinking that what lies between revelation and ignorance is the mystery,

the deep deep chasm that spaces the distance of understanding and reason,

So with no pause needed and all running joy I leap towards God,

in long drawn arms to follow his ways, recreated day to day and from beauty to beauty,

I see thats the way and the rythm of life,

when folded hands were more than religious symbols,

and prostrated entrance was a sign of long held devotion,

When I sit there with you and I see the stars that shine,

All that has wrapped us in intricate delight fills the open air,

Writer

Words fall on deaf ears do they not?

lyric and rhyme, verse and time,

to captivate to catch an ear, I write,

hopefully what is read will make your blood flow,

So you’ll know you captured chaos,

the truth is… I’m inside your head,

undoing your mind like a spider’s web,

Do I scare you or are you excited?

the prospect of flight has now been taken

and you are my first passenger,

I’m the drug the verbal ecstasy with your apple juice,

take me in thats all there is and paralysis will set in,

of knowing your mine

Miriam

I have known the company of doubt, and the friendship of shame,

An open hill is blown on about by a fierce wind laying all things bare,

steps through dark caves with my illuminating confidence lead me on,

through misery and through pain I have found my journey,

knees on sidewalks and arms pointing to the heavens,

I find my piece in the sanctuary of knowing you hold all things together,

that you are the lord and that you know my angst,

long black curtains close the show from which we were struck by long bodied awe,

I fall into space waiting for the catch,

The dreams we thought up and the events that made them break,

is an ever passing cycle that captures the foolishness of our hearts content,

miriam lies by the lakeside… to many struggles to bear in this heat of worldly hate,

I have found myself there… with her bound in the reeds that once swallowed men whole,

my only prayer is that through this swamp… is that I will become one with the mystery of your suffering,

Walk the Fog

The sandals lay lazily on a wet deck covered by heaven’s dew,

Stirring in my head an arm grabs the couches edge to force an uprising,

red numbers grace the clock like beacons of hatred,

that penetrate the eyes with fierce independence,

I ignore the fact and take stride in mounting sandals,

a brisk walk down weather beaten stairs and balancing acts multiply,

the basin….. I wander in fog and clouds

with offshore waves lapping in the distance,

Christmas lights on cold clad firs,

Amy grant and memories relapse into happiness,

I walk for I am sure.