Home.

Cross the dark unfamiliar heavens, to run my hands through dark familiar hair.
Cross the ever changing oceans, to see that ever constant stare.
Encase all my own earthly belongings, leave all I've ever loved and known.
To embrace the one for whom I'm longing,to be abroad but finally home.

The Tabernacle

Blue red and deepest sunset purple,
Framed in linen clouds.
The sky the tabernacle.
God's simplest shroud.

Purple red and turquoise blue.

White linen for their temple.
An offering from man to you.
For a home a covenant a curtain.

Beaten blue, purple and peirced to run red.
Your offering for man.
The king of kings with a crown of scars on his head.
And a nailed scepter through his hand.

Blue Red and purple curtain torn.
A new covenant born.
A new temple and throne.
A home of hearts for the spirit alone.

Jealous of the moon

I'm jealous of the moon.

She stares through your window every night.

When you’re lying in your room.

When you’re sleeping and you turn out the lights. 

She stares at you for hours.

And hours turn to days.

Despite all her powers.

She can turn the tide but she just can’t turn away.

I’m jealous of the sun.

He touches you and warms you with His light.

Even though he comes undone.

And blushes when he leaves your side at night. 

He stares at you for hours.

And hours turn to days.

Despite all his powers.

He turns night to light but he just can’t turn away.

And the sun’s confused cause he is used to long to hold the moon.

But since you were born his heart is torn longing to be close to you.

But just like you and I.

They float on through the sky.

Blinded by the weather and momentum keeping them apart.
They both wanna cry.
But they just get by.

With the light they send each other from the heart.

They stare at you for hours.

And hours turn to days.

Despite all their powers.

They keep you alive but they just can’t turn away.

I can relate to the Son.

He reaches for you every way He can.

For you He’d come undone.

Leave it all and become just a man.

He reaches out for hours.

Those hours turn to days.

Despite all His powers.

He turns death to life but he just can’t turn away.

For Miriam.

Sand man

The dust slides between your toes.
Into your eyes and up your nose.
And suddenly your sinking, the lights are twinkling.
You blink and you tear.
It sinks in your ears.
And we hear the wind and yawns of the now stirring dawn.
In the warmth of your bed.
Into the corners of your head.
It fills it with warm dry fodder, so soft and warm you could lie in it forever.
Seeping where dreams quake in the deep.
And awake when you sleep.
And hold plays in your mind the only stage they can find.
While you watch from aside.
Or take part as they guide.
With tandem schemes, and random scenes.
So unusual that as consciousness stirs.
You can reflect but can't remember.
And as you wake and dawn shakes the night's disguise.
Clear dreams and clean the dust from your eyes.
The night's worries slept on and crushed.
Your mind sharp and swept and the voices hushed.

Apocalypse

And frost once said the world would end in fire, I have a contradicting theory...
Plotting the race to fulfill our desires, will bring an end to you and me.
Only when love surrenders and lust is crowned, befriending becomes networking.
Charitable hand held up only holds you down, and raising becomes parental appraising.
And romance becomes light to get into someones' pants for a night,
Love replaced by mammon and commercialism will make us lists.
You stop being human, start being an individual and cease to exist.
Pity fire won't kill us for fire would be a kinder way to go.
Seared with desire and lust till we're not human anymore.
End? The end is only a beginning.. for those alive whose love forsakes living.

Hands of soft selfishness.
Ever gorgeous face of anarchy.
Luscious words to worship myself, I and me.
Lips for sale stale and meaningless.

Oh we'll taste those poisoned lips.
Never knowing we sip of the apocalypse.

Ever overcome by what we've undergone through history.
Accepting that we're doomed to repeat it.
Repeatedly indulging in what is seemingly free.
Then the cost will be death's profit.
Hearts to selfishness will bend... Heralding the end.

Hands

Hands offered, thumbs twisted.
Arteries opened splintered, healing fingers blistered.
New open hands splattered, tortured digits quivered.
Dying lain nailed offered, a bridal gift for scoffers.
Slain and cruelly lifted, by hands gifted.

Isaiah 49:16 See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands...

God's mission for man.

I have often wondered why on earth I am on earth.
If perfection is within reach why are we placed where are defenses are breached,
And we're dying from our birth.
Where triumph over temptation only opens the door to a more subtle convention.
Or opens our heart to pride and a messiah complex growing inside.
And yet we're expected to save and achieve before the grave.
Write an epic story and yet not hog the glory.
Live and yet not contradict the life of he who would give life.
And therefore not live but die that our souls be restored.
It's confusing and impossible to understand.
God's mission for man.

Crushed.

Crossed and double crossed
Rushed and quickly crushed.
Under foot and fully sundered.
Shuddered broken and shattered.
Hedged from the skene to center stage.
Edged to dredge the rampage.
Dead playing the role in our stead.

I blame you for me.

In a world where shadows are a solace.
From waking in the tomorrow under clear skies.
You couldn't just let me exist in darkness.
So I blame you for the sunrise.

When I was hell bent on believing the lie.
That I was worthless and uncouth.
You wouldn't let me be deceived and die.
So I blame you for revealing the truth.

When the only excuse I had.
Was a past that had me chained completely.
You released me from the scars driving me mad.
And I'll blame you for turning the key.

That opened me to all I am.
Unleashed my potential and set me free.
Free to be enslaved to your perfect plan.
So Finally I blame you for me.

Hidden between the concrete and the sky

Hidden between the concrete and the sky.

The ravens are seen cawing lullabies.

To their chicks sleeping on the telephone lines.

And the bats in alleys hiding from neon signs.

Hidden beside the canals and outcasts homes.

Are the places where street mongrels roam.

Feed their young with the scraps from the street.

Play and run the tarmac searching for food to eat.

Hidden on the ageing Odeon's ballustrade.

Is the vine of slowly spiralling night shade.

Filling the street with a strange perfume.

Of warmth rather than the factories toxic plume.

Hidden between the shore the spray and tide.

The red scavenger crab scoures rocks and hides.

From the monitor lizard that basks from time to time.

And fishing gulls who lay mollusks on the railway line.

Hidden inside cold concrete metal frames.

Are broken mangled souls that have been maimed.

By themselves others and time passing by.

Hidden between the concrete and the sky.

Vicious Silence.

When there's weakness and soul less-ness.
When there is innocence only just less than the mess.
When it's claimed blessed by the maimed and the less.
The least are silenced and your unwillingness.
Your laziness and arrogance in saying it's for the best.
There is nothing more and nothing less I can do for this...
Person born to bleed like us need like us feed like us.
Born to live like us, laugh like us, live a life that's just.
But we claim innocence, turn a deaf ear to God's wishes.
A deaf ear to their pain endless, their life's hopeless.
Their need for help, but yes! Their death in all inevitable-ness comes.
But that is no reason to act deaf and dumb.
Don't they hear our laughs? see our hopes?
Will they ignore us, our cries, as our soul finally dies?
We live a life of indulgence and lose the humanity that is precious.
That's when our silence is vicious, to others and us.

The Hunter.

There's something about the chase.
The cold sweat on your brow.
Bold breath on your bow.
Body poised yet still.

That moment you feel your heart race.
Your living in the here and now.
And yet someway, somehow.
Your not living for the kill.

Your living for that all consuming embrace.
For the cold breath that turns to fire.
The heart torrent with desire.
For the supple vicious thrill.

Now we just substitute it with other races.
Competing salaries, athletics, dating.
Bigger targets, contests, daunting,
Testing our will.

Cave men in Armani suits instead of painted faces.
Cash instead of tooth bone souvenirs.
Blackberry's instead of spears.
Excess is our fill.

The only change to it's face is grace.
Society is the hierarchy.
Systematic anarchy.
No blood spilled.

Civilization the killing floor, rat race.
Call it what you will.
But we still.
Live for the kill.

Between the shelves of time.

Between the shelves of time.
Beside the annals of your plan.
I'm just a line, a rhyme.
Written by your hand.

Across the sea of glass.
That divides life and death.
I'm just a blade of grass.
Savoring my last breath.

Inside the great divide.
Between your heart and mine.
Like a vapor on the tide.
I'll catch your son beam and shine.

Before I cross the shelves of time.
Over the sea of glass.
Ascend the divide, complete the climb.
And am in your arms at last.

The Balm.

When home doesn't feel like home.

And breathing isn't living.

When crowds make you feel alone.

And the silence is deafening.

When bleeding doesn't hurt.

And your clothed but cold.

When your clean but feel like dirt.

When your free and yet feel sold.

When your deaf and dumb.

Blind and yet unimpaired.

Cause your soul is numb.

And it leaves you in despair.

When your body is sound.

No cuts or strains.

No wounds to be bound.

But your numb from the pain.

The heart is what's wounded.

It doesn't bleed like the body,

Time and balm can't mend it.

The cure is an ample rarity.

It's a balm that can't be bought.

One that must be given.

One that can't be wrought.

Only received from another person.

Living gift that must be given.

Only to be received.

Via bonds that can't be broken.

Entities broken united to be healed.

Light that heals the blind.
Offering warming the numb mind.
Voice that breaks the silence.

Embrace that fills emptiness.

Love was what redeemed man.

Overcomes the undergones and fulfills His plan.

Virtually healing reality and covering sin.

Everything perfect every life worth living.

Sister.

Dark haired sister see.
Hark you call to light life's mysteries.
And epitomize the compromise that comes from looking in your eyes.

You'll always be a mystery to me.

I watch you dance.
I stare entranced.
Every step choreographer and planned, in depth drafted by His hand.

But You'll always be a mystery to me.

One glorious day with a smile.
Stunned in love I'll walk down the isle.
You'll shed a tear and box my ears and say you better come here for new years.

But I'll ease your mind when I say, how could I ever walk away.
Your my sister and you see.
You'll always be a mystery to me.

Overthinking.

Over thinking everything can be truly exhausting.

Whether the weather is hotter or colder.

Whiling trying struggling, defining loving and dying.

Or if summer days are longer and winter is shorter.

If work or play is the better way.

Whether I'm growing, or my perceptions are shrinking.

If dismay always leads to a better day.

Simply to understand anything is better than agonizing.

And then squall why agonize at all?

While ignoring the question of apprehension that's sinking in.

If agony enthralls, and we choose to fall and crawl.

Why am I agonizing, why am I over thinking?

Binary to reality.

Detained by a desk.
Caught in a cubicle.
Restrained by grotesque.
Drafts and articles.

These tube lights blind.
A/C fumes choke my lungs.
Please give me breezes unrefined.
Lazy days in the sun.

Where I can let ink bleed on the parchment.
Run on naked feet on grass not pavement.
Stare at greens on trees instead of screens.
Stunned at the un-pixelated clean emerald green

Use arms to climb, reach, caress and feel.
Lose myself only to find when I'm lost, I'm real.

Freed from binary breathing.
Totally living to be.
Indeed that would be finally living.
Mortally broke, but free.

The bridal dance.

Here's to the brilliant dance.
This thing between us.
That leaves me entranced clumsy, and stumbling to keep pace.
Circling behind your calm, hypnotic, grace.

Moving to one rhythm,
One beat, claps ringing.
To the music's whim.
On bare feet, to your singing, your clapping.
With bare hands reaching.
Bare hearts on our shoulders.
Circling and longing.
For the song to bring us closer.

For the rhythm of life to change to a waltz.
So I can fall into your arms.
And listen to the worlds' white noise and faults.
To fall silent to your charms.

Till all I hear is your heartbeat.
Your breath.
And I your bride in death.
Am by your side,
Finally alive and complete.

Why I wake up smiling in the morning.

I wake up every morning,
Knowing that you watched me in the night.
Knowing that like dawn in a land full of darkness and dying.
That there is hope in the light that is to come.
For you have said.

I will renew you on the wings of the morning.
And on it's first rays I feel like I'm soaring.
Past the past over the unders up past the downs.
And suddenly the terrors and worries of the night before.
Seem so out of place, like clowns,
Walking through a grocery store.

Cause every morning I'm reminded when the sunlight leaves me blinded.
That Verily He is coming soon.
As surely as the light flows into my room his spirit in my heart testifies.
That with these very eyes I WILL AGAIN be blinded.
By the light not of the sun... but of the Son.

And I am reminded.
And I look forward to being rewarded, rubbed and hugged stunned when he says son well done!
Shocked when the gate is unlocked and he says...
Enter my rest good and faithful one.
And I stand there, tears streaming mouth gaping.
Caught between shock and awe .
So undeserving.
And that's why I wake up smiling in the morning.