critical malady

if you wish to know the nature
of the critical malady called life
place all your focus here and now
upon the one you choose to hate
all those worldly words of wisdom
will dissipate and melt away
within that blazing spiteful rage
and all your hopes of lasting peace
shall be adrift within the smokey haze

dare to speak

I'm here to force each moment to it's crisis point.
Not just for me, but all those I encounter.
When I just let the scene play out,
I'm stuck in some murky shade of grey.

The patterns of abuse are etched in stone.
Why can't I leave these harmful things alone ?
"Just let it be !" is what I'm told.

I ask my God what must I do
the answer is this;
Dare to live !
Dare to feel !
Dare to dream !
Dare to speak what must see change !

Bone and ashes

You think you know me;
that figment dancing in your mind's eye.
You think you understand me;
that puppet dangling from imaginary strings.
You believe you know what's best for me;
as though you could see inside my soul.

I am that one which in the end
feeds upon your flesh and marrow,
when your faerie tale has ended;
when the legend of yourself
has come to mud and dust,
and all that's left is all that's been;
bone and ashes and endless time.

Another magic tale will call for telling.
Another kingdom born to rise and fall.
And the heroes and the villains,
with all those damsels in distress,
will utter pithy lines of verse.
As though what they cry and chant
were somehow real and more than just
bone and ashes and endless time.

no way out

Not a poem

I hurt;

like a Frankenstein monster.

Iron fist
Unrelenting
Squeezing my heart

The campaign has begun
the villagers gather as I speak
it's only a matter of moments now
they are coming
nowhere to run or hide
heart pounding
panic
taste of blood and rust in my throat

i must make my peace

certainly not with them
it is too late for that
but with my maker

the Frankenstein monster cries;
"Who are you that has made me thus ?"

to the villagers
I am but but rags and bone;
without heart or soul.
it's easier that way,
for what must be done.

no way out

they are here
they are closing in

it is done

It's not personal

A stroke of the almighty pen,
and the execution is complete.
no need to wash your hands,
see my face or know my name.
I am that one who's least of us,
who must suffer for your sins,

It is written in the scriptures,
drenched and sealed in blood.
Some poor unlucky soul must
be sacrificed upon your cross
to relieve you of your guilt.

only ever thee

my garments have
been stripped away
along with any hope
of tender mercy
these feet made bare
and sorely bleeding
it's time again to bear
your earthly burden
clearly still you know
not what you do.

if it is for me to suffer
neath your bitter scorn
i gladly do so with the
blessing of our father

I pray you come to see
it can only ever be
it's not me you see
upon this bloody crucifix
but only ever thee

Child of the desert

I am a child of the endless desert.
This arid heart has long endured
the coldest, blackest of her nights,
and lay buried dormant through
the cruelest of her searing days.
Yet she is the holiest of mothers;
to her I owe the breath of life.