She smiles while she’s talking. She smiles with her eyes.
And yet, for all her smiles, her smiles are still lies.

She’s cutting through the ribbon, the grand op’ning of her veins.
She’s trying to remember the Greater Crimson Stains.
She’s cutting in the hopes that like the humors of years old
She can let flow the blood of vengeance, for you are yet her goad.

You, who love her dearly, how could you do this thing?
She’s but a hurting child, and you the venom’s sting.
She’s looking for Redemption, for a care beyond the grave,
And yet you, you never mention that there’s hope within your rave.
So she smiles while she slices a scar across her heart.
The chasm opens wide: Flaming arrows ... Cupid’s dart.

She’s disconnected cause/effect. She missed your lesson taught.
Could you blame her, now I wonder, if this was also not your lot?
For whom has more to lose than the one who’s lost before?
Or is it that your piety demands her breaking on the shore?
And so I pose the question, like a heathen seeking grace:
Is virginity so precious that your daughter you’d disgrace?
So a boy defiled her childhood, but you have raped her soul,
So she smiles while she’s cutting; this child is not whole.

You, who watch her closely, what do you hope to do?
The past can’t be rewritten; it’s the future we look to.
Her pain is not from falling, but her trampling in the mud.
You drown her in your tears and grief; a petty, pointless flood.
So remove her from the guilty--these offenders of her hope--
But extend to her forgiveness, not the noose, the hangman’s rope.

She’s cutting through the icebergs forming o’er her mind.
She’s trying to rekindle the fires meanings find.
She’s cutting in the hopes that one day it will be true:
She can find love and acceptance from you and You and you.

She smiles while she’s crying. She smiles, eyes bone dry.
And yet, through all her smiles, her smile is her cry.


Weary Not

Weary I am often seen, but weary I am not.
Instead inside my bones decay; my bones begin to rot.
I feel my spine begin to drain, my eyes to flood with tears.
I've not quite felt quite this alone in several passing years.

She smiles when she sees me, but then the smile turns.
She smiles kindly for my eyes, but then the bridge 's burned.
"You're not my friend," she kindly says, though I love her so.
"You're not my friend, and toward that end we shall never go."

'But why?' I want to ask it. But I, I never will
Because she has no answer, and has no answer still.
I tell her that I love her. I laud her pretty form.
I extend to her my beating heart; a hole from whence it's torn.

So back to Beauty I return and beg to know the end:
How do you love the girls around who ne'er'll be your friend?
The Smile answers back in cold and furtive tongue,
"You, my boy, are just a lad, and far too youthful, young."

Thus to Despair I find my way, and lay dead at his feet.
"Ho, there, what's this? Why do you die?" The Brow turns down to meet.
No words are left for my reply, just a single gurgled groan.
My flesh has fallen in a heap because I've lost all bone.

My wilted mass just will not move, nor is there reason to.
I see the blood from every vein into my stomach pool.
Within my mind I ask her to; I beg and plead in vain.
She is a tigress on the hunt. She's beauty, wild, tame.



A shadow hides behind me though it is not my own,
But still so much a part of me that I can not disown.
A weight is pressed upon me, and yet I take it up.
I'm starved and dehydrated, and yet I hold the cup.
It's me but not myself. 'Tis I, and yet it's not.
Hidden in my past is what the present wrought.
Incapacitates, debilitates, and hinders how I grow,
The very things that I hold true are what I do not know.
Every lesson that I've learned is now so much of me
That every one that has proved false is true as true can be.
I don't believe the lies I've heard, but live as though I do.
I seek a way to still survive the lies that live as true.
My value is not what I own, nor what I make or tame,
But neither is it who I am or my simple name.
My worth is more than this worthless existence that I am.
But who will tell me truly? For there is no one here who can.
A need I have, indeed I do, and yet it's not fulfilled.
A need to work, to mass produce, to say, “The sluggard's killed.”
And so my worth becomes my work, so I, myself, I don't
For who can bear the great burden of saying that I won't?
I can not lift myself up, nor could I climb these rungs,
And so I sink here, drowning, as “beggar” fills the lungs.
It's time to rise, to shake off sleep, but how does one awake
When the hours of the day do not give but only take?
I don't expect myself to learn, so I can not hope to change.
How does one cope when all he does is nothing but estrange?


The Lure

I can not say with sadness what saddens me to say,
For night and dark around me stifle Freedom's day.
A pull does pull me onward. I go, I know I do,
But still within me's fighting the spirit of me New.
It sickens me to think it, but how I long to think.
The darkness is a horror, and yet I do not blink.
I welcome it with open arms and ask it then to go.
But whom am I now fooling? Me? But I do know.
I will not say I hate it, but I hate it all the same.
I love it every moment, but hate it that it came.
Oh God, You must now save me. Oh Lord, please hear this plea.
A soul is seeking freedom, and such a soul is me.
The whisper of the darkness does lure me to my doom.
But here I press against it, and here I make my tomb.



I haven't been quite this bad off in quite a bit of time.
The quiet of the quilted night, and silk of summer shine—
Both of these do harm the soul who seeks the dingy place:
The bar, the pub, the smoking room—escape from this rat race.
For quite some time I had forgot, forgotten all these woes,
The feelings of uncertainty, of youth, of loss, of holes.
All of these surround me now, and I am wearied more.
The thought of all that I must do: A locked and cedar door.
But here I press against it, for from here I must move.
There are monies t'be collected, and worth that I must prove.
But urgency just holds me back, and need does paralyze.
The light is just too bright, and darkness terrorize.
And thus you read this writing sired out of grief,
With vain intent to satisfy and bring about relief.


Rubbish Made of Gold

I can not work. I can not sleep. I can not play or read.
A weight is clinging to my throat, and somewhere I do bleed.
My blood is thick. My flesh is raw. My eyes are blind and dry.
A weariness has taken me and tossed me to the sky.
Heavenward I tumble. Hellward now I fall.
Thrown about by thunder. A gale to a rag doll.

I will not move. I will not rise. I will not dance or sing.
I can not even from this bed begin to take my wing.
I lay here still. I lay here yet. I lay and am unmoved.
I will not ever rise again until I am improved.
Skyward am I tossed. Earthward I am pulled.
Lit up by this lightning, like rubbish made of gold.

I have no peace. I have no grace. I have and have no fill.
This jewelry should adorn me so; instead I’m soaked in swill.
These rusted bits. This shattered gem. These flakes of gold of fools.
This pile, garbage, worthless junk, comprised of broken tools.
Air around me rushes. Earth evades my touch.
Pelted by these rain clouds I suffer nothing much.


Thoughts Thought

How immature to write my thoughts;
To write so you could read.
As if it mattered what I thought,
Or spilled this ink to bleed.
Who in this world will read these thoughts
And think they glad to’ve done?
As if I published this one thought
To shine light like the sun.

Yet here I write, and here I think,
And here I play and pun.
But what of that? Who doesn’t think?
Who of thoughts has none?
So this be it, I say, me thinks,
Because it is a seed.
A thought a greater mind sure thinks
Should not be given heed.


The Hours of the Day

What to do with empty days so full of empty thoughts?
The world in which a weary haze hangs limply as it rots.
And so much more have I to do, yet nothing is now done.
How I wish to be with you, to see the shining sun.
But now today is cold and chill with vague misgivings here.
The warmth of touch I wait for still, but wait with partial fear.
“Afraid of what?” I ask myself, but I do not respond.
It’s like that book upon the shelf unread, so I despond.
I hear again the haunting voice of one so distant, loved.
But here I’ve found so little choice, from her I feel I’m shoved.

Oh could it be that apathy has finally found me?
Or is true that I love you, but knew not what to do?

This wasted time crawls at my feet, refusing to go on.
And yet tomorrow will retreat before the coming dawn.
And what of that? What will I do, so weary as I’ll be?
So lazy, fat and long passed new—my soul inside of me.
It mocks me as it haunts me so, the hours of the day.
The value of a moment. Woe, for I delay.
I long for things that I have seen so long ago by now.
But who will show me everything? And then I query, “How?”
There is no need to end these lines to mesh with scheduled time.
But if continue symbol, signs, they’ll cease then to be mine.



I see just what I'm looking for, so wonder if it's me.
The eye of the beholder held all that it would see.
Mistrust I do, but is it true that lust is what it be?
Or is it mine and so the line points back and not at thee?

I want, but is it my wanting that makes you seem so lewd?
You ride an edge I can not hedge, and so must I be shrewd.
I can not say what I would say--that would betray the feud--
And so I watch you follow her; and so I sit and brood.

You never used to run about. I never saw you shout.
But since she came it's not the same so bring I my doubt.

I fear for you. I fear for her for she is dear to me.
You tread upon a sacred place I feel you should not be.

So much can not upon a page be placed without display
Of what it is that I believe goes on here everyday.
If it's just me and what I see I would be wrong to say.
But if my fear is far too near I'm wrong to silent stay.

You leave me in a place of rage, mistrust, disgust, and scorn.
I know not what to think or do, and so here am I torn.

I write these words to comfort me if all goes ill or not.
But if you are as I suspect, please know that you are caught.



I love you and I love the way your whining wearies me;
The way your griping never ends as you fight the sleepy sea.
You hit me with your little fists, enraged at your own pain,
And so I smile fondly down and grin that you're insane.
You dare not sleep because the dawn brings days you can not bear,
And yet you yell vehemently that you must somehow prepare.
My love, peace, peace. Enough's enough. No struggle's worth your tear.
I wish you sleep and comfortness. I wish you to be near.



I want to be alone, I do. I want to be alone.
And yet I want, oh, yes, it's true, to be with flesh and bone.
I stare, but she's not looking. I look, but she's not there.
I crave and beg attention. Oh Life, you are not fair!
I look with lusting longing. I long, but I don't look.
I'm caught, entrapped by beauty and skin's appealing hook.
For what, pray, are you looking? And what may be your gain?
You rant and spout out poetry as if you were insane.
I know not what I'm seeking. I'll tell you when I do.
But something from me's leaking like blood or morning's dew.
Tell me what I'm missing. What secret does she keep?
What holds the mind so spellbound the body does not sleep?
I do not wish her to be mine, but mine to now enjoy,
And so I see that selfishness is all that holds this boy.



I see a face in the mirror, he looks much like me,
But he's searching and looking for what I can't see.
A face here reflected with eyes cold as stone.
The lava is flowing and freezing the bone.
It's a wonder and marvel that I am still here,
That dust from the ground can spring forth a tear.
It's amazing and awful what she does to me,
That bone of my bone is not made flesh for me.
I am weeping and crying, but tears I don't shed.
I am tossing and turning alone on my bed.
She smiles with laughter, with mirth in her eyes.
Just such a person gives birth to my cries.
I would kiss and caress her and play with her hair.
I would hold her and tell her that I would be there.
I'd delight in her beauty as long as it last;
Then would the future have eclipsed the past.



Or am I weary?
Or should I be?
Awake and so unrestful;
It's like I never want to be.
But here I am indulging
In nothing that I want,
And so I'm satisfying
Nothing but a haunt.

Nothing here to grieve.
What have I to leave?
Alone yet much surrounded
As if this were a crowd.
I speak in muffled whispers,
Afraid to speak too loud.

Or is this living?
Or should I be?
Existing in suppression;
I'm fighting all that's me.
But here I am, a new man,
Old, and yet so young.
And so the battle rages
With songs yet to be sung.

I find I feel a fleeting thing,
A worried thing, a sting
Every time I find myself
Beside a youthful spring.
It resonates, reverberates,
Incarcerates, and baits
All with what intention?
On my nerves it grates.

All with answers.
But why afraid?
It matters not that waking
The dreams are there displayed.
So sound again the trumpet
That calls us all to arms.
With sword of tongue I'm fighting
The word which from me harms.

Oh, what is it I'm missing?
Why feel this way tonight?
Tomorrow fast approaching,
And bringing morning bright.
Has hope forsaken purpose?
Has purpose failed us all?
When will we meet existence
Untainted by the Fall?

The title
So soulless chosen words.
The writing
Just catharsis
Unknown like raging herds.

A cacophony.
Our one end.
And so we walk this weary earth
Seeking our lost Friend.
We search the faces of the young,
The beautiful, and pure.
But He is not a woman, friend,
So look not unto her.



It's little wonder in my mind why I find I fancy her,
For every day I see her twice, sometimes thrice, though not for sure.
But you are not quite so certain--this curtain has hidden you.
Thus others vie for my heart's space, take your place, like frost of dew.
The crowds and press of human beings quickly brings separation,
But underwater, undersea, it's just me: Speculation.
The way she feels and moves just so in the flow of water cold
Makes the moments with other folk just a joke and our love old.
Imagine me alone again, where I've been, and what I've thought.
These bitter words of things I've said in my head express me not.
With you I wish to be alone or just shown why I should care.
For what's the point of loving you if it's true you're never there?
But now I hear the outraged cry, “'Twasn't I. It's not my fault.”
It's true, so true, but even right, in the night it seems like salt.
So sapped and parched I go to sleep and will reap what I have sown:
The weariness of bitterness, and the kiss of a skull bone.


Allaywontu Elgril

Norgiven unt allaywontu,
Ere fie bon kay lof shol.
Cerc gof ay lomp on verm la-gue,
Wan est borg lang endole.
Sherngil dom wert ilgram, elgril,
Kay lom frong awsp delfong.
Jormelitong lof hazsinor
Erlay bon goflar hong.
Surp ein, sorpel, Soleran,
Orge gravven torrel.
Pertenaf er bawnerkan,
Ang dof lan kerp ellel.
Mokquyar hornbas, peliang,
Rorphash lenftol ah ren.
Sorsh bonikel ay verrilang
Nom felinosh cort wen.


The Tragedy of Love Fulfilled

I met you yesterday
And everything you'd say
Was great and fine and dandy, all the same.
Somehow along the way
We both started to stray
And now I hardly know you, so I'd claim.
We used to spend all day
Talking like it was May,
But winter's come upon us, and it's lame.
It seems the price you pay
Is high, and so is grey
The joy of playing in this high stakes game.

And if love will bring us closer
Then time will part us further
If we ever find this love fulfilled.
Thus this tragedy:
When e'er a girl love me
I find eventually this love is killed.
And so must be reborn
The love which we have sworn
For frail the human heart has now been stilled.

You once meant more to me
Than anything I'd see,
And Beauty would have been your middle name.
But now that we are free
It seems we'd rather be
Apart or separated, such a shame.
Forgive insanity
For finding that, well, we
Were happy when before it was we came.
And so distressedly
I sing this simple plea,
Asking once again that we be tame.


Humanity is Frail

How can I now say to you anything but lies?
All the pain you bear is borne in your frightened eyes.
And thus I mouth the words again, somehow I get them out,
But deep inside I'm struggling to not just scream and shout.
I must refrain from killing things, from breaking things, from pain,
For given just an instant more I would have gone insane.
Repression is my way of life. Emoting is unfair.
And even if I did emote, you can't stand what's in there.
I cannot really be myself, or say what's on my mind,
But then again, I've never been considered to be kind.
So sulkily I silently sit here and pour forth rage
Upon a simple canopy, a spotless, perfect page.
Deep within my inner parts the bile rises swift,
And thus my head instead has said, 'These curses are my gift.'
Oh how does man get up again from such a night as this?
Even now I feel repulsed just thinking of a kiss.
It sickens me, it makes me ill, to ponder joy and peace
Because of how the hell has grown and darkness never cease.
How do we rise from this place? How dare we greet the dawn?
Unbearable is this our life, yet all I do is yawn.
For this, or something like it, men will beat their wives.
For this, or something lesser, girls will sell their lives.
For this, and nothing greater, all hope is lost or sold.
For this, and nothing further, we try to grasp and hold.
But too much time has penned away, and so I take my leave,
Leaving us no proper stance, and leaving us to grieve.


Incessant Rape

The soul bears weight that heart or mind cannot contain in full.
That something of such great beauty is now so less than whole
Is more than man can bear to see, or hear, or touch, or stand.
My eyes refuse to shed these tears for they won't reach her hand,
For they are far too hot and dry with anger, pain, and sin.
Disgusting are the pleasures of a man who burns for skin.
And such a man stares back at me, a mirror of my face,
And yet so twisted up inside he curses his own race.
Desires make a different claim when dark is day around,
And yet in sunlit shadows here such wanting is not found.
'Just one more time; a little more', and so perpetuates
The lies that hurt us deeper still. The silent Savior waits.
Who remembers yesterday? Who's seen the setting sun?
So why have we these awful things that leave us so undone?
Morning dew is nothing new, yet nor is lust that burns,
And as the days pass into night again they take their turns.
The innocence of nakedness, oh where have you now gone?
Instead we wrestle quietly and miss the Morning's dawn.
There's something buried in her face and lost from her fair lips
That once dripped out like summer sun, now in brothel drips.
We glimpse, we note, we see it brief, but then it's gone again.
The purity I never had makes me want what once has been.
Dear Eve I wish I had known you before the world was lost.
From the rib was made in you a treasure beyond cost.
And now I long to gain that prize no man since then has seen,
But sweat and blood and brokenness is sold for paper green.
You know not, girl, how much I long to want you pure and right.
Why is this thing, this part of me, so prone to crave the night?
Sick it is, and sick am I. We want, and yet we don't.
I'd trade my wants for happiness, but then again, I won't.
How can I look indignantly upon what I've enjoyed?
Who has not in secret times with such ideas not toyed?
Forgive me, lass, forgive me, all, for give I never do.
I take, I want, I'm never full, and so I look to you.
What joy 'twould be to see you pure and naked in the sun,
While I did nothing more than sing such praises to the One.
We've lost the joy that this pain pounds to make us more aware
That beauty in a female form was once, and yet is there.
My soul longs to be intimate with yours and with your heart,
But long before that future day, today must be the start.
I cannot even start to dream to what that would compare,
For sin has so encompassed me that I'm no longer there.


Lack of You and Me

I wish to cry this disconnect, the lack of you and me,
The weariness of loneliness, and guilt of this salt sea.
And as I walk so sluggishly, aware of Beauty's draw,
I wonder at my own eyesight, and women with their claw.
I gawk, I stare, I drink it in with eyes of tears unshed.
The dryness of my emptiness is dust when I am bled.
I know not even who they are, nor would I want to know,
But still in this there is a pain, a hole that still does grow.
I lack the thing they do not own, and praise what they can't hold,
And still we search most desperately for Beauty as if gold.
What secret now does Wisdom keep? With her what can be found?
Beauty is a passing thing, but Wisdom stays around.
What part of You is in her breast? Where are You in her face?
What can I yet learn of You in lips, her hair, her grace?
I close my eyes, yet open them. I know not what to do.
In her, I see perfection. In her, I'm glimpsing You.
But in all this I am a man, and so I do her wrong.
The universe was made like her: with words and more: a song.
In Heaven we don't marry, and this may be because
Here on earth is envy, but there nobody does.
What we can do imperfectly with one, a single bride,
Is there redone eternally with God there by our side.


A Deference to Difference

A deference to difference I doubt I can maintain,
Especially when everything is every way insane.
'What am I to do with you?' The thought is answered not,
Like all the many rationals and other answers got.
I try my best to rest, sort of, in humble peace in vain,
For all the reasons given here, and more, this is my bane.
'So flippantly he holds himself, and others in contempt,
'And yet he bids us respect him, for fate we must not tempt.
'He rants about a many thing, and then he shows he's wrong.
'He loads us down with other things, and more and for a song.'

An inference from insolence is that I am indeed
Just a meager, minor mind, in need of being freed,
For how could I have come upon a rule broken by time?
There is no way to end on top unless you start to climb.
'But what if I were to succeed in superseding waste?
'Could it be that ignorance reveals a truer taste?
'What about the other ones who break and fake this too?
'Could it be that you are wrong? I need to know what's true.'
And yet it is repeated more; what's more, it's said again:
“Others know the better way.” I say, “That's where I've been.”

Perhaps, perchance you could persuade that I perceive in err,
But certainly it can not be completely all unfair.
I must confess some bitterness, and praise for this and that,
But in the end the all of it is nothing but a gnat.
So convince me, if you can, of course, and correct me when I'm wrong,
But don't you dare look down on me as if I don't belong.
I am too young to give this up, too old to be walked on,
And so I pose a conundrum; a checking, queening, Pawn.
So “off with you, and with your head”, and other things like so.
I've spent enough of this lost night, and so to bed I go.


Fear of Unbelief

I fear that none believe in me, and doubt when it is said.
It matters naught how oft' succeed for praise is quickly shed.
And oh, for one who could dispel the terror of my being:
That everything I've said and done is not what I've been seeing.
For when I try to do the best, I'm not and never was.
My motives wrong, and thus am I even more because.
And in my sin I find myself and desires held at bay.
I know my sin, but not my God. What more is there to say?

Does God believe me as I have proved believe in Him?
Does He smile in delight at me this flame so dim?
And if the past shows future ways, I'll end as I began:
Chasing God and everything, but falling as I ran.
“Shortcoming” is my middle name, my last is “Failed Once More”,
Yet God tells me, “Keep knocking. Keep knocking on this door.”
I fear His unbelief the most, that He's given up on me.
I've had my chance to yet succeed, and been all I can be.

Does God believe I'll overcome? If so, then I sure will.
But if it's true as I have feared: He didn't, doesn't still.
It's like He's waiting to concluded, still making up His mind.
And so I chase perfection vague, but know I'll never find.
If it's up to me at all, then God, just take me now.
But if by grace or greater means change me, I know not how.
If You will, or do, or can, in tears I will go on.
I'm happy in this Kingdom game to play for now a pawn.

I fear You don't believe in me. I fear You wished You cared.
And thus my fears have frozen me, and I of You am scared.
Your grace has no prerequisite, Your love abounds in joy,
But what if You were yet to quit and give up on this boy?
You won't, You've said, but nonetheless if hope is but in You,
Then I am far too far away to know what I'm to do.
So God, it's me. I'm here again with eyes so full of fear.
Wrap me in Your arms of love, and let me know You're near.


Sin's Greatest Crime

The pen bleeds black upon white page and releases pent-up humors.
Thus bleeding is the cause and aim of truth and lies and rumors.
Spoken not are all the things that minds and wills withhold.
No one dares discern the truth that we are all hurt and cold.
Today will end like yesterday, and tomorrow much the same,
But still will I be sitting here none the surer of my aim.
For all my faults and follies had I've had enough to bear,
But still they come, and ever numb, I take more than my share.
She lays on me the many things I can not standing carry.
These burdens of a hated love are wounds we do not bury.
Such is pain of heart and mind when souls fight flesh and time.
Sin has pains much worse than hell; this is its greatest crime.
Alone we are in many ways, more distant now from God
Because of all the pain inside, and for comfort but a nod.
Honestly our honesty is hardly much at all.
We've felt the need to hide and such since the moment of the Fall.


Nonviolent Surrender

“Okay, that's it. I'm done and all. Please have Your way with me.
“No longer will I strive to find my way on this life's sea.
“Of course I want the dreams You gave, and hope for significance,
“But over are the my younger days of mistrust and happenstance.
“I'm sick of finding my own way, for I am blind and frail.
“Tomorrow would be yesterday if I wrote my own tale.
“So since I live within Your world, a member of Your cast,
“Take this, my life, my everything, my future and my past.
“No longer do I wish to strive to make my life turn out.
“I'm sick of everything that fails, and how I always doubt.
“So, instead I wish to give You me, so I no longer choose the road.
“I give You worry, apathy, and You take with that my load.
“So God, I've found my many plans just bring me stress and fear.
“I give up them and the rest to rest in knowing You are near.
“You give and take, but take to give, so here my life is laid.
“I guess because I'm overwhelmed I do not feel afraid.
“Yes, yesterday I would have run, as I have since I was born,
“But tomorrow is another year, but my youth I do not mourn.
“I'm happy with where I have been, but now I must move on.
“I could not bear to end today with evening not a dawn.
“In every trial that awaits, I wish not to be the judge.
“In this, my life, I don't do well in cleaning out the sludge.
“So when problems fly so thick and fast, remember I am dead.
“Rescue me with Your great love, and lift my weary head.”


Zion Waits

A silent page looks back at me, like these silent regrets.
And all my fears are haunting me, spreading silky nets.
Because I am the way I am, I feel the things I feel.
Beware of those who say, like me: Emotions are not real.
Can such a thing begin to change: The heart of hurting men?
Cruel world it is, and so much more to be where I have been.
Dare I write of anything, for words from me just fall.
Does anything from anyone make any sense at all?
Everything has been denied, yet granted just the same.
Enjoy this life while you abide beside the lion tame.
For in a while, or yesterday, a drastic thing has passed.
Forget, forgive, and finally, forgo to wind and mast.
Give in to where this life will lead, and follow happily.
Grace and peace will be with you, along with sympathy.
How long is it before you know what purpose this has wrought?
Heaven waits to tell its tales so all comes not to naught.
Instead of lashing out in rage, or fear, or what you will,
I've found that it is better far to wait and just be still.
Just because you feel much hurt, and helpless, on your own,
Justifies your actions not, for this is not your throne.
Kindly sit there humbly, and learn what I must learn.
Kiss the hand of He who saves and you will never burn.
Learn this well, for I have not: You seek not what you want.
Laugh at me, oh if you must, but pleasure is a haunt.
Merry are the men indeed whose deeds are not in vain.
Much of what we do and say leads not to joy, but pain.
Not that we intentionally bring about such vice;
Never would we seek to be the pair of losing dice.
Of course, you see, how often we are those who draw first blood.
Oughtn't we, instead be free to dam the coming flood?
Perhaps it would be better then to live a life apart.
Persuade me if it is not so that you can keep your heart.
Quit this mad pursuit of yours to finish this begun.
Quite enough is said by now to blacken this day's sun.
Rejoin the world of yesterday, when fools were still in love.
Reject the fact that you are now left holding broken dove.
Stay in the dreams and memories that got you to this place.
Surround yourself with visions of the end of this lost race.
Try to be a saltless sea of tears that are not shed,
To make the home of all your dreams within a marriage bed.
Until the day you wake from sleep and find that all is lost,
Uproot your last restraint of will and think not what this cost.
Vanity, all vanity, to think that joy is yours.
Verily, I say to you: It's not within these shores.
Why must we be cursed to see this life as all there is?
Where has madness left us now, for we could yet be His.
Xerxes tried to replace her: Queen Vashti, cherished prize,
Yet what he got was so much more held in her Jewish eyes.
Yes, so I close with tears of joy, for beauty not yet mine.
Zion waits to welcome me, but I will take my time.



I taste you on the summer air when you pass me on the street.
I try to look into your eyes while not letting our eyes meet.
Your form, your face, your hair and hands captivate my mind.
And expression satisfactory I know I'll never find.
Yes, beauty pure, unbridled held within your shoulders soft.
So salute your prettiness; to that my hat I've doffed.
The tears are hiding behind my eyes, vast oceans to yet spill,
But they will not be shed at all, or at least until
I find a way to sing or say what in my heart and head
Has waited longing, ever long, to finally be said.
I want you not, so fear me same, but beauty I desire
Not like any lustful flame, but like Heaven's perfect fire.
My mind implodes into my soul as feelings explode like stars.
Every relationship ever had now looks to me like scars.
You hold a thing outside my grasp that I was once meant for,
And to this day, in every way, that thing seek I restore.
What it is I do not know, for never have I held
What God intends for us Above once sin has been dispelled.
So bear with me, yes, all of you, for I must bear this weight:
The crushing blow of sinfulness when glimpsing something great.


I Don't Belong

'To write of even better love.'
A thought I cannot bear.
Yet still within my inner mind I feel this shove in there:
'You must somehow express this pain,
'For joy is far less sweet.'
And so I write these nonsense words, without a gain to meet.
'You love, you fool, and far too well
'To not express its whole.'
These moments of frustration come from Hell and tortured soul.

'Please bear in mind and bare your heart.'
I would if I knew how.
“You hold my eyes but every time from every start to now.”
'Decry the way we love and cry,
'For glad are lover's tears.'
I cannot say for anything how much I've tried these years.
'You are a fool, a hopeless mind,
'For you cannot yet say:
' “I'll love you with my everything, and find a way to stay.” '

If I could cry a well of tears,
Or scream like mythic bird,
I would begin to show the way our fears are never heard.
This pain, it burns like one insane
Does writhe when loosed of chains.
These words begin to fall again into what page contains.
No more to write in this sad song,
For flow has failed this pen.
And so I'll say with confidence, “I don't belong again.”