Beware, your offering,
Though precise as rain,
That each drop spilt,
May fall in vain.

A silent echo,
Fills the night,
The winged applause,
Of birds in flight

The judge is blind,
To class and cost.
What matters most,
Is what’s been lost.

The comfort of being clothed,
…Medicates…
The freedom of being exposed.

For all ages…
The rain has come.
The soft percussion,
Of a liquid drum,
Empties my mind,
And I become,
Voluntarily blind.
For all ages…

But that of success, semantics merely,
For what is less,
When none holds comfort so dearly,
As him who chases success?

Beauty, the abundance of luxury denied,
And happiness, the victor, an incoming tide,
And, falling headlong, she lays beside,
The pursuit of joy, with nothing to hide.

Final completion; the foreign mouth.
Unfounded in family; children or wife.
Not north or east, not west or south.
But love…better than life.

For who can say, “happiness merely?”
When one such tongue defines vanity clearly,
And holds dear the luxury of ignorance,
And blindly drinks the poverty of affluence.

And drinking deep the disease of debt.
Building on the compromise of sheltered regret.
Protecting secrets, already known,
Freedom of conscience; a seed to be sown.

This twitch 

Inside my finger, 

That begs me to see 

The question of belief 

Is bigger than me? 

Bigger than the question 

[Or a faustian solution] 

To a problem that cannot be solved. 

So why am I involved? 

In the means, 

When the end is near? 

And invites me to fear 

What I can’t see. 

And see what I can’t hear. 

Believe you me, 

When I’m finally free, 

That is my first lesson learned! 

The time I was burned 

By a little truth, 

Faith became abuse. 

An abuse of the use 

Of words to loose 

Self-seeking ends. 

A truth that bends 

Around my plans… 

Tight inside my hands 

‘Cause My soul can’t bare 

The blank stare 

Of a stranger in danger of becoming lost… 

Like me; 

Tossed like a wave; 

Tranquility begs questions 

Unanswered by doubts. 

And un-lacerated 

By second-hand nails. 

I see myself fail… 

I begin to bail… 

As I sink, 

Then I begin to think; 

But what’s the use? 

If my thoughts are abuse? 

And my mind, a cell. 

 A hell on earth, 

Rebirth into light, 

 Night to morning, 

 Gently mourning the death of myself… 

Falling from shelf 

 …To shelf 

…To shelf

Without regard for love or pain.

We flew in low, wind at our backs,

Embracing hope in glory’s lack.

And swimming hard with dead men’s bones,

Alone…

Gripping romance’s illusion and fighting better judgment,

Abandoned doubts and gripped hard to the promises of greener grass in pastures that shout.

For a moment we cease to swim and allow the current to rip us back to the pastures and the masters of our past.

So won’t you float with me?

Past old stories and memories of old glories,

With history’s subtle refrain;

MAKING GRACE SEEM TO GOOD TO WASTE WITH THE THOUGHTS OF WHO WE ONCE WERE,

 pasted inside the gentle reminder that hindsight is not 20/20 and

HOPE HAS NO MEMORY,

But that of the waves that fold to break our illusion of control.

She steps…softly, sternly toward the rocky slope.

[The Earth's End]

Her spirit whisps outside herself dancing perilously along the cliff’s crest.

Below, the shore and sea collide,

breaking motion’s wild tide.

Slowly the safety of Dry Land is devoured,

and swallowed by the sea.

This finite comfort is not eternal.

Here, an ordered chaos rules with iron fist,

Immoral and Just.

Her heals balance imperceptibly while her toes hang free over nothingness.

Vast, free nothingess…

Her weight, planted firmly on her heels begins to shift.  Swaying forward against the stiff breeze…

She falls.

The unfamiliar sensation of total freedom sweeps her soul away from its usual foundation.  Above the clouds drift as if unaware of her flight. 

Behind; everything that has caused her pain and joy and life’s fatal sensations.

Below; the sea’s open and unbiased mouth.

“Where is mercy now?” she speaks, as if writing on history’s long forgotten pages.

Even the memory of this life will fade.  The allure of comfort’s illusion and the promises of what might have been and what will never be again. 

Nature will not show mercy.

Gravity is Just and ill-moved by emotion or compassion.

Love is a foreign god. A pagan in the arms of an economy that rules blindly and WITHOUT THE DEBT OF SELFLESSNESS.

Death is impartial and perfect.

The shore is swallowed by the sea.

A cheap infatuation.

She promises wholeness;

The completion of a picture too full to grasp;

And presented only in part.

As if seen

through a key hole.

She pulls hard and beckons Only to forgo a fond farewell,

By pushing possible hearts to and fro,

rocking them free of solidarity

feeding lust-filled promises.

fattening them with addiction

that promises to be enough

to reach out and transform the eternal…

But only leaves

The heart in need,

Incapable of movement

Without the elusive push

Towards discomfort…

“The Inciting Moment.”

what have I to show?

But a broken string

On my Father’s bow.

When I take a bow

and Step out the door,

What have I to gain?

I’m just left wanting more.

The tracks have changed.

On a different course,

When I look outside,

All I see is yours.

I’m afraid to change,

To be left behind.

So I jump the fence,

And take your hand in mine.

With a Broken Word,

I can promise change,

Because I left my heart,

And Fallen out of range.

If you can’t forgive,

then I’ll eat this pen.

Or at least succumb

To what might have been. 

If you throw me out,

I’m afraid I’ll die,

or at least believe

That my heart’s a lie.

What you need to know,

is what I need to be.

Not what you want,

But what you need.

As the light fades,

The darkness shines

Unmasking stars,

The sunset dies

Like all these thoughts,

Preconcieved,

Will win our hearts,

Or be the death of me.

{THE QUICK FIX}

No matter the risk,

The gin and tonic mix,

I’m lovin it like Mickey D’s

And lovin me when im U…T…I…V… 

that’s Under The Influence – Vanity

An affluence of liberty,

That’s riding the fence,

That’s crawling the vents

between a eunuch and a whore,

Sparing little and slamming the door

On moderation and veneration of what is beneficial,

Not right…not wrong…but GOOD. 

I want to believe there is honor in honesty. 

I want to believe there is honesty in honor. 

I want to believe so many things.

The things I know are true,

But even “Old Scratch” knows the truth

So whats the use

When the abuse of good

can ruin like sharp vermouth?

In dry hands,

Hands that search,

That never stop

That only find

The sad reminder

That reaching the top

Is only for men,

Republicans,

Upper middle class,

Elitists,

Standing on the shoulders of giants;

The puppet masters

Of unborn bastards,

Wielding the strings of media

Writing the pop culture encyclopedia,

Mediating between God and man

The desert is not the sand,

Creating an idol;

The vital part of a tidal wave,

Polluting future history,

Pregnant with the mystery

Of future books

And future looks

And future standards,

Replacing the banner of truth,

With the graffiti of youth,

Welcoming a time

When fear is currency

And ignorance its rhyme.

…Welcome home…

A few weeks ago and friend and I went on a hike.  A “hike” sounds miles manlier than a “nature walk” which may be a more accurate description.  It was twenty miles total.  Ten miles to and from the “primitive” camp site.  I got a kick out of that name and was half expecting cavemen to inhabit our neighboring campsites.  We set off at about 3 in the afternoon after a friendly chat with the ranger, an older and mildly forgetful lady; a real sweetheart with what seemed a genuine love for the outdoors.  After getting lost several times we still had not arrived at our campsite and the sun was beginning to set.  The afternoon entered that dusk hour when the world blurs into a faded, wispy dream world.  Its like watching a black and white television.  The bright greens and golden yellows faded into translucent browns and frail grays and the forest starts to seem sleepy.  We started to feel urgency gently tugging at our shirt tails, which still smelled of insect repellent, knowing that it would be near impossible for us to find our primitive motel after dark.  It was the first time in recent memory that darkness had actually affected me.

When do we in America ever experience darkness?  We live in the light all day and when the sun goes down we retire inside, houses, bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and never really experience the darkness until we flick the light off immediately before lying down in bed for the night, welcoming it with eyes shut tight.  Yea, technology…electricity…It’s great…I get it.  But we must miss out on something, don’t you think?  How much more do these Bible stories about darkness resonate with people who actually experience darkness?  People whose lives ended when the sun went down; people who could not work, who could not travel, who could do nothing but sleep in the darkness and await the morning light.  In Exodus, Moses stretched out his hand and God sent a “thick darkness in all the land of Egypt for three days.”  This would not really be that big of a deal for us would it?  Three days of night.  Ok, I can deal with that.  Just leave the lights on during the day…most of the time they are on anyway.  The only difference might be having your headlights on when your driving to work in the morning.  Big deal.  Darkness shut Egypt down. 

We slept in a two man tent, which in my opinion was a one man tent.  As we spooned, I as big dipper and Nick as little dipper (we are both very comfortable in our heterosexuality), I was kept awake by the sound of animals all around us.  The crackling of branches, pine needles, and palm frawns was evidence of the business of nocturnal nature.  She breathed loud and yet hidden by the darkness.  We awaited the morning, covered in sweat and the sound of invisible kamikaze mosquitoes.

Nature’s morning breath is golden sweet.

“He reveals mysteries from the darkness and brings the deep darkness into light (Job 12:22).  Incredible…In the darkness, it is hidden.  Light is not the exposure of darkness, but of those things hidden by the darkness.  Paul says we are “children of the light” formerly in darkness.  Then a few verses later reveals that being a child of the light means not participating unfruitful deeds of darkness and instead, exposing them.  “But all things become visible when they are exposed by the light, for everything that becomes visible is light.”  (Eph. 5:13)

More than just a cosmic battle between good and evil, the Bible’s reference to light and darkness is about privacy versus transparency, secrecy versus honesty, resistance versus vulnerability.  To be a child of the light is to be exposed by that light.  When a plant is kept in the darkness it shrivels and dies.  When it is exposed to sunlight it flourishes and grows.  I have been shriveled by the darkness of privacy for most of my 23 years.  I feel like I am starting to flourish.  I have a long way to grow.  I am now not convinced that privacy plays any role in the Christian life.  And it does not seem to be a coincidence that these versus all lead up to the infamous Ephesians 5 marriage landmark.  This is where I am at.  I am at verse 8, hoping to get to verse 25.

Exposed