Words

I'm losing touch with this

I'm losing frame of mind

I'm getting lost in the effortless

And trying hard to find

A purpose to this needlessness
Some safety, and some time.

My words are found more tame these days

My brain has found it's purpose

But if I, in that, have lost myself

My words will find no service

Conspire against the one that serves you

in order that you may not be served. A request

you make unto yourself and fulfilled by it's originator

has no greater purpose than to self-propagate.

Therefore, find yourself a new steed, ivory, lined with gold

and with it claim the hearts of those who

have plotted against you, their drip with envy, yet they

dare not see another in your stead. Rejoice.

Beast of Misery

It always comes at the best of the worst times
That beast of misery, that shallow fool
It tears at my heart and strips my humanity
But I digress, because my humanity is a borrowed one anyhow.

Therefore, my shield of faith is drawn, and though it is strong
I am not fit to wield it. Or is it that I am, but do not use it correctly?
And when the beast of misery comes, smiling, extending his hand
With my own slight of hand, I will cut it, and leave it’s pieces
Where it belongs, trodden by the feet of men.

And yet, it’s presence still overwhelms me,
And I find myself a recluse, in the body of anyone but.
I regret the day I took it along side of me, my partner, my friend
He knew me too well, and I him, so that should one of us
Fall into lust, the other would save us from what
Essentially was the truth.

Oh, you sly bear, you clever fox. You found where I’ve
Hidden my pride, in the book case behind the stairs. Yet,
No creation of God will bare it’s fang against it’s ownself
For the purposes of self-righteous greed, lest it attack
What he might truly seek.

Beast of burden, leader of the wicked, the apocalypse
Of your nation is near, and I will come riding triumphant.
Steed of ivory and gold, it’s rider the saint of men, His
Image will I bear, and you will weep when all that you know
Becomes all that ghosts of the past whisper about.

Beast of misery, you are king of the spoils of the battle
You lost millennia before the first flag was waved.

Magnify the Scenario

I don't understand the rules of the game that we're playing
Do I freeze when I'm hit with the ball, or go back to home plate?
It seems like the rules like to change when I'm up to bat
and my teammates give looks like my sanity is up for debate

so dont judge the words that i say, from the state of my mind
'cause it's a relative emotion,yeah
an irrelevant devotion, yeah
another wreckless serenade for the people i left behind

If I could grow wings, would I fly?
Not to be shot by the hunter passing by
a beautiful monster, the greatest mistake
I've ever been blessed to create

With my own two hands
but without any plans
i'd do better without wings anyway

So take them away.
They'll burn with the ashes
That everyone passes, without a clue
of the potential they hold.

Terrible as the day is longour words are meant subtle
but subtle only works in grace
and romance novels.

to exist

Cleaning our minds
To understand.
What is holy and acceptable,
that one should find refuge
and one should find beauty
and one should take peace
and glue them together
pieces from opposite puzzles
yet harmonizing in a song splendid
to only the ears of individuals
listening through what was not
created by God, but by the hands
of men. It is our reluctant virtue
that we take pleasure in only what
is good and right, and are pulled
like slaves to the gallows away from
the ways that we justify as culture,
when all along, the culture spit on us,
and we spit back, calling them sinners.

Now we show our friends our backs
and ask for them to lay hands on us
to massage, to propel, to amuse
and we rebuke their technique,
if it is not our own. Our faces are
hidden in the shame of our words
cast in the shadow of our thoughts
and yet we shed glance on One who
delivers the breath to our lungs,
and begs for our non-resistence to life.
And when our heads turn, He kisses
us anyhow, and lets us walk blind,
in the opposite way we should go.

The Speaker

"Lovers and heathens all of similar suit,
Come and dance, create this undefined rhythm
And we will celebrate the worlds end
with the birth of a dove,
wounded from it's own flight."

So as The Speaker proclaimed from hilltops on high
I watched as all stood, gathering like clouds
Casting the shadow of the darkest of ages,
Denigrating the speakers words and actions.

They marched to to him, with pitchforks and axes
And took up words unique to only themselves
To find that the words were useless against him.
Like beggars they ran to the feet of their gods
Fearing the speakers wrath would unjustly fall on them

Slacked-jawed amazement would scarcely define
The looks on their faces when their gods began to rust and fade
And they turned over the hourglass on their own lives.
Noise and unpeace was their world and tomb.

The Speaker was disturbed.
His people were empty shadows and shells
A glance to his own hourglass was given
Now, sold to the idea of a prophecy unfulfilled

Though his hour glass contained no sand
He turned it over, and watched the passion play
Of his own instruction
And writhed in his sleep at it's misery.

Now the hour was up, and sand had ceased to fall.
The Speaker covered his face, and began to dwell with his people.
Though His idenitity was obvious, His face was too kind
And His people were full of spite and called him out of his name.

In departing, he kissed the foreheads of every man, woman and child.
And left the ones who knealt with his knowledge.
Blessing them with a smile and tear, he tread back home
Enduring every lash of the words and weapons as he walked
Like a king praised by his enemy, and hated by his own.

"Lovers and heathens, all of similar suit,
Come and dance, create this undefined rhythm
And we will celebrate the world's renewal
like slaves free of their shackles."