Evolution

The world turns,
we grow more disoriented with time,
spinning, spinning.....
Most of us spending... half our lives deprogramming what we spent the other half installing
So some of us die young and dumb, but righteous, sure...
and others die old and wise, but they constantly lament
But what is there to regret?
And what is there to be sure of?
None of us built this world
there is no human tutorial
and so you second guess...and guess, and
guess again
Until you
just don't care
Guessing it was all static to begin with
and there's nothing you can do to help.

New Eden

Despair anchors you to a confused state
where the sun has faded to myth,
where you imagine that Hell surrounds,
as though I might fail you, as though you are an island
No.

We will make our paradise, hand in hand...
blanket the ground with flowers
build a kingdom in an oasis
screaming our prayers to the skies
and the tears we've shed, and shed still,
shall fall back upon us--consoling, cool rain
to water our ambitions
as a reminder of shadows we have endured
to remind us that those dark times did not end us
nor shall they ever,

for, the fruits of life are ours to plant
and nurture, and reap;
paradise shall serve us, shall have us long before we have our last breaths
we will not wait for it, will not wish for it
it will simply come to be, and none will deny it

The Reformation

Today,

We will make a God in our image
absolve our own sins
manifest heaven in a dream
reclaim Eden, recast the commandments
recall all sacred texts and pen personal scriptures;
Install a new religion
derived from whatever our souls speaks of,
whatever heart sings for

Something never to be undone

Fade to White

Teetering between flight and fight...
with the promised land in my soul's sight...
but somewhat sunken by my plight...
a pessimist, too dark to see how the world shimmers from my light...
becoming more and more the stay at home type...
More inclined to stay alone and write...
or read words from dead poets who feel more like my type...
Than typical trendy young socialites...
If I should die, I pray I'm born again as solar light-
the first sun beam who cuts through the dark and kills the night.

Solidarity

That which I touch shall never lose my imprint
My past is encased in stone
I've mapped my footprints
though at the time I made them, I knew not where I trekked...
at times, I reflect on my misdirection with a heavy heart
but those steps are immovable, final
for better or for worse, or some middling scenario
or whatever...
my movements have grown more dexterous since
though I wonder if age grants us wisdom
or if we simply hold firmer to our conclusions

When a man Loves

A man believes that he loves a woman. She is his destiny, he is sure. What he does not know is that she does not love him. She just loves that he loves her so. She loves that he tries to save her soul after she herself has damned it, auctioned it and stifled it. And she knows she does not deserve him, but she feeds herself to him, gets him love-drunk and addicted. He is sure he can change her. No, not change her; shift her, guide her spirit. He does not know this endeavor spells his misery. He is fated to suffer with this woman he loves. She will ride him. He will help her chase her dreams to the ends of the earth until he realizes he cannot stop running and is being hounded by a nightmare.

Holy Man

The Holy Man grew irreconcilable doubts,
Faith used to be his gauntlet,
and everything he touched shone white.
but now he travels a wayward path,
does not beautify the world, and
God can not, will not give him beauty
not him who basked in shadow
to grow evil wings
and fall out of love with heaven.
His heart dried to dust--his soul forever dusk...

The 12th Day

Molten rain scorched the earth for 11 days.

Burning cities to ash, burning people to dust.

Some survivors will tell you GOD’S hand came down.

The cataclysm affirms their faith.

Fills them with manic zeal.

They know they’ve been selected. 

Others say the chosen have risen,

Leaving only the wretched.

DayKeeper

Love was a Passion of Power.
He had to have her every way.
Invented new ways to possess her.
His love was an equation for Decay.
Caged beauty loses luster.
She’ll surrender to him and dim forever.

Flashback to Reality

Standing on the bus stop Friday night

With your young flyness

On your way to being fun and bubbly

With a few choice friends with money.

A coal black woman with a screaming mask face approaches you,

Yellow jaundice eyes take a long drink of you,

Dusty black lips crack and bleed as she smiles slowly,

Shows a mouth full of jagged corn-yellow baby teeth.

You stand there frozen while she laughs, raspy, hateful, and sorrowful,

Her breathe smelling like old shit. 

You both spend the night trying to forget each other and yourselves at the end of a bottle.