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.