Precious gold

There ain't no precious gold
comin' outa that there mountain,
if all I wanna do is sit and dream
of what I'll do when I get some.

Why bother ?

There's a voice deep inside
getting stronger every day.
I cannot deny the message
these urgent words proclaim.

Why bother ?

Why seek the truth ?
Why speak of what I find ?
Why behave as if I risk it all ?

When I could easily sit here
fat and smug and silent;
so not to rock your cozy boat,
or upset your preferred versions
of what you think you've gained
from all the smoke and mirrors
that got you where you live.

Why bother ?

Why in hell not ?
Why in blessed heaven not ?
It doesn't look like you or you
will choose this any time soon.

Why bother ?

Don't dare seek.
Don't dare risk.
Don't dare discover.
Or if you do,
don't dare speak
of what you've found.

Why bother ?

It's clear that someone must.

If you don't like what I say,
you'll know how to find me;
where I've been all along;
Here in your collective cross-hairs.
Go ahead, do what you must.

Why have i ever bothered ?
Why bother still ?

Because the only thing worse
than the truth of life's travails,
is the barren desert of the lies.

Whipping-boy

What kind of fool must I be
to have trusted one like you ?
I brought my vulnerability before you
to bare my many broken parts.

Yet it seems too many times,
you trampled upon these wounds.
It seemed to satisfy some need
for you to feel important.

I am not your hostage
nor your whipping-boy.
Never have I been.

You have always been mistaken
if you believed I could be swayed
by anything but the light of truth.

You do not own me.
You cannot ever scold me.
If you think I'll sit by quietly,
I am not some weakling child.

You say I must not ever leave
our sacred gathering of communion.

I say I'll do this every time.
Why this is so, you might wonder,
though it has nothing to do with you.

It's either choose to leave,
or stay and stir up forces
that are better left at rest.

If you cannot clearly see this,
I do not really care.
I am not your whipping-boy,
and never shall I be.

I am here now

I am here now.

I have removed my outer garment,
placed my trust within your circle.
I have come because you promised.
You told me you would be here
if I were but to reach out.

It is written in your texts.
I often hear it spoken,
when you come together
in what you call communion,
as you hold your hands together
while you pray for my salvation.

I am here now

Yet I look around this chamber
for any sign of loving kindness;
your eyes refuse to welcome me;
they do not choose to meet mine.
Though your words say something else
you seem busy with your self-concern,
and a need to play some role.

I am here now.

I have come because you promised
but that promise proves false.
and in my grief and sadness,
I don again my worldly cloak,
and turn toward the door.
There's no-one that pursues me;
No-one that might dissuade me.
I hear the whisper of your prayers
for myself and those just like me
echo softly as I walk away.

homecoming

there ain't no going home again....no, not ever !
it's this stark truth that no-one ever spoke about
down round them grimey shit-stained alleyways
where cops and saints and angels forgot to tread

i often saw pig-willy in his pick-up out on the prowl
long before his swinish face e'er graced the news
i've heard the sound that no-one ever wants to hear
a life snuffed out at the cold hard end of a sudden drop

the cameras set to save the likes of willy's victims
who knows why, turned off and faced the other way
it seemed to save the sorry likes of some or others
but tell that to the forty-nine out there where they lay

Dark side of the moon

You may not wish to venture into
grim and gritty places I have been.
It seems I have an inborn obligation
to paint a clear and honest picture
of things and people I have known,
out on the dark side of the moon.

Broken comfort

I came to bless you with the mystery,
and shine my light on you.

I did not know
you could not risk the light,
nor dare the mystery.

You were so long frozen
in the broken comfort
of your endless night.

The master you serve

You say you serve the master,
the same one that I bow to.
You seem to think this true.
Yet I do not believe you.
Out of kindness I don't tell you
you would not believe my words.

The die has long been cast.
The price already paid.
All the words in your holy books
cannot change the truth.

But you keep reading,
you keep looking,
you keep searching,
you keep hoping,
sometimes even praying.

Somewhere in the pages
of your hallowed tome
lie those precious words;
instruments of your salvation.

They must be there.
You keep looking,
you keep reading,
you keep hoping.
The master's words,
they must be there.

But they are not there.
They have not ever been.
The sacred map is not the holy land.
The chalice never the Savior's blood.

horror doesn't know itself

horror doesn't know itself for what it is
as the mirror cannot reflect from within

Above the clouds

Some days
I love to fly so high
above the clouds
that i can see.

If i were just to fly
so very fast and far,
I'd be right where
I've always wished to be.

In that place 
where all the worldly 
curves converge.

The place i was.
The place i am.
The place i'll always be

Right here.
Right now.
Beneath the clouds
with you and you,,
and me.