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.