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- Yearning for learning, but nothing is stirring; concerning the burning, the journey has halt.
- Churning and turning and swirling and whirling, discerning the hurting as church-led assault.
- Question the lesson or make a suggestion is seen as aggression—suppress in your sin.
- “Lessen oppression, and stop the digression. Just standard expression and whitewash-ed spin.”
- Lonely and coldly, am sitting remotely, abandoned so slowly, in shadows I wait.
- Wholly unholy, now only a phoney, and no one still knows me, a plateaued deflate.
- Listen for bliss—am just missin’ the kissin’ of spirited fixin’ my paradigm shift.
- Christen the ship and dismissin’ the tricks and the politics mix; yet am feeling the sift.
- Implicitly, complicit he perpetuates toxicity;
- He balks the talk while talks the talk because for him, talk is the tea.
- The fingernail a wrist impales while signs inhale and oaths exhale,
- “Or shall it be morality,” he asks as he tears at the veil.
- He treats his keys like vile disease, dismantling, yet still appease.
- He’s channelling a balancing between the charge and the reprise.
- Does he suppose that to oppose or, too, expose what no one knows
- Will bring him rest from this protest, at last be blessed with a repose?
- Yet clinging on, the singing gone, he still can hear the ringing yon,
- So fighting will and writing still, a dwindling hope still bringing dawn.
- Two worlds collide, the soul divide. To merge? To purge? It‘s all untried.
- Abandon one? Demandin’ one? One thing’s for sure. They will collide.
- Once was filled with life; now lifeless.
- Pearl of great price became priceless.
- Saved by Christ, but now just Christless.
- Tepid now, but once was righteous.
- Shadows dwell, replacing brightness.
- Blind, then saw; again am sightless.
- Freedom reigned, deposed by tightness.
- Spirit soared; today is flightless.
- In my blood and in my veins,
- In my heart and in my brain,
- In my skin and in my hair,
- In my eyes and in my air.
- Bathed in blood and burned by dove,
- Washed in oil and sealed above.
- All my life, and who I am,
- Where I’ve been, and all my plan.
- Does that even matter now?
- All the sweat from off my brow?
- All the blood from knuckles raw?
- All the tears from moments saw?
- All the tired muscles sore?
- All the times I dressed for war?
- Just like that you break it off?
- Turn around and leave with scoff?
- Throw away the times we had:
- Rad and sad and glad and bad?
- Kick me out and change the locks?
- Trash the gifts with tithes I bought?
- All the times I’ve said it’s true.
- It’s not me, so must be you.
- A castle sat upon the hill, where all the power lay:
- The storehouse, armoury lay inside, the treasury, every day.
- The ruler and his dozen knights would tax the peasants poor,
- Would take a portion of their food and money for their store.
- They promised safety from their foes, protection from the night,
- But told them when to build a wall and when to run or fight.
- They the makers of the swords, the helmets, belts, and shields
- They the holders of the keys, the oil, and the seal.
- The town, in time, began to grow, too big to keep control,
- And people died or wandered off or fell in empty hole.
- It soon grew clear the ruler dear cared not for every one,
- For those who died or became lost, the ruler mourned but none.
- In fact, the ones he thought to save were those who knelt before
- In adoration, loyalty, allegiance evermore.
- From these he chose his guards and chiefs and up the ladder climbed,
- And if they worked and kissed enough, they, too, were knights in time.
- But there were some who did not die or wander through the mist,
- Nor did they bow or heed the beck or betray their heart with kiss.
- They stoked their fire and scraped for ore and forged their own sharp sword,
- And shaped a shield, a helmet, too, a breastplate for the war.
- They pressed their oil, and cut their keys, and carved out their own seal.
- Then walked away, just one by one, to find a place to heal.
- They were free now of the tax, the burden of the knights,
- Their own heads high, their own hearts sure, and ready for the fight.
- I came across a snack machine, or so I thought it was.
- As I got close, I found instead, something that made me pause.
- There were no snacks inside, I saw, in each cramped numbered slot.
- Rather, shockingly I’d say, were several different gods.
- Some were white, and some were black, and some were big or small,
- Some were fat, and some were thin, and some were short or tall.
- And while there was variety, as much as gods do go,
- I noticed that the same white god was in the top two rows.
- I guess it was most popular, its button worn near through,
- And though it took up several slots, all were bare but two.
- I took a seat upon a bench beneath an oak nearby
- So I could see what would transpire when one that god did buy.
- It wasn’t long before someone, who hungered for a god,
- Did come upon the god machine and stood there kind of awed.
- He stood a bit, scratched his chin, and cocked his head in thought,
- Then sure of choice, put in a dime, and pressed the worn out spot.
- And out it came, the favoured one, like many had before;
- It glistened now in the bright light and waited in the drawer.
- He held it close, examined it, then kissed it once for luck,
- Then said a prayer his parents said when he was young and such.
- It came to life, that idol cheap, and I could hear it speak
- It shocked me, what I heard it say; it made me want to shriek.
- “Hello, dear sir. I am your god. My precepts you’ll adore.
- I don’t want much. In fact, I’d say, there’s little new in store.
- I’ll teach you want you want to hear and won’t demand too much.
- I am smooth and comfortable and pleasant to the touch.
- I will never rock your boat; in fact, I hardly row.
- I’ll just lie back, in warming sun, and feel the cool breeze blow.”
- And then this god stretched forth its hand and patted on the head
- The man who purchased him just now and made his cheeks turn read.
- He giggled at the touch of the trinket god so bold.
- And skipped away, along the path, to pick some marigolds.
- The knight, with sword drawn high, struck down with strength increased.
- Slayed the dragon, but — surprise — himself became the beast.
- Toward the sweetened fruit, led the rod so strait,
- But through the years, from rust and strain, became the building great.
- Shedded plate and shield to fling a fatal stone,
- Then grew four feet, a giant now, for he’d become the foe.
- A stone cut without hands, careening down the hill
- The statue smashed, then in a flash, the statue’s place did fill.
- The silence of the grove, the buzzing of the bees
- Have been replaced with mountain halls secured by locks and keys.
- The mustang roaming free, wind whipping at its mane,
- Is bridled now, and saddled up, and hauling ’cross the plain.
- I long for days of yesteryear, when angels walked the land.
- When cool winds blew and warm flames licked the mountain halls so grand,
- When voices whispered from the earth and words appeared on stone,
- When blinding pillars fell from heav’n and time through portals shown.
- Today, instead, are heavens closed? Have angels gone and hid?
- The stones now cold, the voices hushed, the shadows the light rid?
- Prolific words of heaven’s throne replaced by leaky drop?
- The silenced trump encased in gold? Do keys not open lock?
- Will tokens, signs, and names endure, or will they vanish, too?
- Will compass lose its magnet soon? Will rule its measure true?
- No humming bees? No singing birds? No rustle in the grove?
- The puny arm stretched forth indeed the Missouri mighty slowed?
- My shuffled gait, my outstretched arms, I wander, search for brains;
- Perhaps a heart, or maybe faith, an answer to obtain.
- So aimlessly and hopelessly, my feet inch ever on
- To dimming sights and fading goals, my former life near gone.
- An echo faint deep in my ear, just ash in my cold breast,
- Just butterflies within my gut, no hands upon my crest.
- My eyes are glazed, my tongue is parched, my fingers feel no more.
- No smells, no taste, no sight, nor sounds, just hunger in my core.
- And joy, and peace, and love, and hope replaced by hunger’s growl,
- And, too, an overburdened yoke and brokenhearted howl.
- Satiation is my life in famine stricken land;
- Squeezing water from a stone, refreshment from the sand.
- I knew a man from years ago:
- His heart was strong, his tongue “I know”.
- He carried in his pocket close
- A compass sure, exactness chose.
- He painted art correct and right
- Of brightest day and darkest night.
- His path was set, the ladder climbed,
- The pilot lit, the pump was primed.
- But then he said goodbye one day
- Had packed his bags and gone away.
- I stood upon the steady beach
- And watched his ship sail out of reach
- The inches small turned into miles
- As he went on to unseen isles.
- As time went on, I lost this man;
- We drew apart, as strangers can.
- But on occasion, I have thought
- Of what he’d done and what he’d not.
- On where he is and what he does,
- For old times sake and just because.
- Does he still live deep down inside
- Beneath the years of pain and pride?
- Is he the one who tugs my heart
- Who cleans my wounds and soothes my scars?
