SALVATION
break the world
in screaming glory.
Shout ye triumphant sons
And daughters
Of flawed wombs and negligible seeds
Pray
That we may all reach salvation
Tepid and apostate
Cry
In fury. in pain. in love. in the dying.
And scream in glory for the breaking of the world.
Then await
Him
Who shall come to rule and reign
At the breaking of the world
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
LIFE IS A PLAID
LIFE IS A PLAID
life is a plaid
the patterns at once seemingly
simple and complex
our loves our sorrows our glory and shame
all compartmentalized into blocks of
dulling color
the parallelism in our collective existence
echoed in each row
and column of woven
thread
fabricated singularity
our paths cross but we never
stay
still
life is a plaid
the patterns at once
interestingly lackluster
like as we know it
…or know of it
who would dare unravel our
shared knit
to enlighten us
and break the world
break the world
life is a plaid
the patterns at once seemingly
simple and complex
our loves our sorrows our glory and shame
all compartmentalized into blocks of
dulling color
the parallelism in our collective existence
echoed in each row
and column of woven
thread
fabricated singularity
our paths cross but we never
stay
still
life is a plaid
the patterns at once
interestingly lackluster
like as we know it
…or know of it
who would dare unravel our
shared knit
to enlighten us
and break the world
break the world
LISTLESS
LISTLESS
Write a song pen a
Poem
Pass it
On
Burn
It off.
Or bury it deep
Within
In the impregnated nullity of the life we are familiar with
We shrug nonchalantly
To pathetically endeavor, attempt at filling in
The eternal void. Constant hollowness. We identify
We say, with each other our lips claim
As our eyes elope with our hearts
And chase after all
And every insignificant fragile
Little thing…
So write a song pen a poem pass it on burn it off then bury it deep within
Write a song pen a
Poem
Pass it
On
Burn
It off.
Or bury it deep
Within
In the impregnated nullity of the life we are familiar with
We shrug nonchalantly
To pathetically endeavor, attempt at filling in
The eternal void. Constant hollowness. We identify
We say, with each other our lips claim
As our eyes elope with our hearts
And chase after all
And every insignificant fragile
Little thing…
So write a song pen a poem pass it on burn it off then bury it deep within
SUMMER’S FOLLY
SUMMER’S FOLLY
Summer fades, and autumn summons
You are my folly
The winds are silent
As they rush by
Grim
Uncaring
You are my folly
My ruin
Summer fades, and autumn summons
The moon takes flight
Without a glance
In solitude
The cup has emptied
And the hearth burns low
The shadows stilled
You are my downfall
Summer fades, and autumn summons
You are my folly
Summer fades, and autumn summons
You are my folly
The winds are silent
As they rush by
Grim
Uncaring
You are my folly
My ruin
Summer fades, and autumn summons
The moon takes flight
Without a glance
In solitude
The cup has emptied
And the hearth burns low
The shadows stilled
You are my downfall
Summer fades, and autumn summons
You are my folly
OF KING AND TEMPLE
OF KING AND TEMPLE
My temple is shabby.
Yet I am King.
For the world Is. Is Broken.
My Temple is Shabby. My walls cracked.
My pillars fickle, my roof weary.
My font is parched.
My torch is sapped. Soused.
My altar is drained and desecrated
The soul that dwells within is shattered.
Yet I shine with a light that is yet undimmed.
And my spirit is at once listless and grave.
So…
For I am King.
Lean on my pillars, seek shelter beneath my roof, drink from my font, warm by my fire.
Worship at my altar.
Though my temple is shabby,
I am king.
My temple is shabby.
Yet I am King.
For the world Is. Is Broken.
My Temple is Shabby. My walls cracked.
My pillars fickle, my roof weary.
My font is parched.
My torch is sapped. Soused.
My altar is drained and desecrated
The soul that dwells within is shattered.
Yet I shine with a light that is yet undimmed.
And my spirit is at once listless and grave.
So…
For I am King.
Lean on my pillars, seek shelter beneath my roof, drink from my font, warm by my fire.
Worship at my altar.
Though my temple is shabby,
I am king.
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