Wanderlust

Wanderlust, traveler, perhaps even gypsy

So many labels they’ve applied, but in reality

Living life is all she wants, it’s really that simple

Her spirit shines through both her smile, and her cute cheek dimple

Life is meant for living, yes, a thing she truly gets

Singing, dancing, spinning round, she loves without regrets

Always brightening what is dark, this girl, so free of care

Defined by “one day at a time”, she’s happy everywhere

Some may say she’s weak, not strong

But she knows that they all are wrong

She is not lost, like others say

This girl’s just finding her own way

For all the things we say and do

There is but one thing that is true

Life, she says, is nothing more

Than canvas, white, awaiting more

It’s you who gets to fill the blank

And for this chance, we all should thank

This beautiful and wondrous place

For giving us the life it’s graced

Cause & Effect

Hatred, malice, walls, no door

Cities, countries, all at war

Fighting just to stay alive

Families struggling to survive

A world of waste we’ve made, it seems

Turned to gray our once blue streams

Pillaged, they have done to Earth

All just to increase their net worth

Sickening, it is to me

That they thought these things were free

That all this came without a cost

And yet, on them, these words are lost

As no one seems to think things through

For if your cause would effect you

The actions that you choose today

Would be quite different, I would say

Your children’s lives, you all neglect

Yet sadly, that’s what I expect

From a kind who’s quick to take

And never thinks of what’s at stake

Woe is Me

Friday night, bars are closing

I don’t know why I’m here

Feelings hit me deep inside, stepping in this Uber ride

It’s loneliness I fear

Every time, inside my head

I say that she’s the one

Naïveté and ignorance have got me acting with no sense

So why oh why do I keep saying this is pointless and I’m done?

Finally things are going well

But like every other time

The real comes out and causes doubt

I cant stand the paradigm

I don’t think I’m wrong but

You don’t think I’m right why

Can’t we get along and

Not do this every night

I’m tired of the fighting, and

I’m tired of the arguin’

This only causes breakups and

Makes people want to live in sin

I wish more than anything

To find someone who’s struggling

Someone who sees the world like me

Who doesn’t judge and lives freely

A person who embraces flaws

Instead of these unspoken laws

Who’d rather sit and talk with me

Than go out for a shallow drink

Sadness sweeps so subtly

The more I think of you and me

I wish this world was different, see

Filled with love, and yet sadly

It’s superficiality

That guides our actions, you agree?

I beg your pardon, woe is me

This world is just…melancholy

Trust.

After all the hurt and pain I’ve seen, I realize things aren’t what they seem

Life is one unconscious stream, to most a nightmare; some a dream

I like to say I think things through but don’t know if I really do

Can’t comprehend the things He knew and yet I keep on trying to

It simply can’t be justified, His answers – I’m not satisfied

After all those nights I cried, in silence now I must confide

They say his plan is just too grand, his reasons we can’t understand

No longer will I idly stand, to You right now God, I demand

This hatred was my missing link, the ship You sail I’ve set to sink

I care not for what others think, these words I write in blood and ink

I look you now right in the eye. Why was it her who had to die?

This place you’ve made; it is not just

Deceit. Corruption. Betrayal. Lust.

That is the world on which we’re thrust

Shining once, now rot and rust

This isn’t what you and Abe should have discussed

This world should be love. One of laughter; robust

Yet I look all around and see so much disgust

Poor, helpless families that never adjust

You had so many ashes; all you created was dust

So I stand here before you, because someone must.

I take my life back now, God. You’ve broken my trust.

My Release

Consumed by this confusion nothing works the way I think it should
Checked out of this world the day she passed now I’m misunderstood
Look back at the lies and the deception of my childhood
Human law’s all that’s between the things I can and things I would
 
People say to shed the hate and try to focus on the good
They don’t comprehend that I’ve done every single thing I could
You think I haven’t tried forgiveness? I like to wear this shroud and hood?
Spend one second in my mind and tell me that you’d “see the good”
 
 
Imagine how it feels to beg someone you hate to grant you peace
Knowing this world’s nothing more than His self-serving centerpiece
If some other realm had room I’d leave this place and sign their lease
A place where life works how it should where all the pain can come to cease
 
Instead I look around and see a black man killed by his police
A child raped by the same man whose congregation just increased
So please don’t ask me why I look at things through such a dark eyepiece
And now you know just what I mean when I say writing’s my release

My Calling

I look up to the sky and ask “please tell me, where’s my Father at?”

The only thing he gave me was His judgment and a baseball bat

Looking back, it hurts so much that all I do is shake my head

Take a sip to numb the pain and write things in an empty bed

An illusion wrapped in chaos, this life I’ll never understand

In youth my lens was crystal clear, yet nothings gone as I had planned

I cannot help but ask myself, since all He gives are question marks

Why my mind was once so bright, but now has faded into dark

And though inside I’m stricken by confusion, malice, fear and spite

Such burdens sparked the things I love and what I think about at night

Passion, purpose, paths ahead, for so long were a mystery

An emptiness that I’ve since filled, a truth engulfed in irony

That which now I know so well was always there for me to find

This pen and pad have saved my life, opened eyes which once were blind

And now as I return my gaze to He who only ran and hid

I realize writings raised me more than my own absent Father did

I’ve gripped the future, finally; its fate is under my control

I’ve peered so deep into its eyes, I own its very heart and soul

Its twisted, yes, that in the end it’s loss that’s what has given me

The answer that I needed most: My Calling is my destiny

My Last Supper

*Partial credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber of Jesus Christ Superstar, 1973*

Look at all my trials and tribulations

Sitting in a gentle pool of wine

Don’t disturb me now, I can see the answers

Till this evening is this morning, I’ll be fine

I’ve lost myself in search of something greater

I refuse to say “I quit” and that “I tried”

And when I retire, I can look back at life

So they’ll still talk about me when I’ve died

Always hoped that I would be a writer

Knew I’d make it with her as my guide

And now that I’m here, I can share my heart and soul

On this journey that we call our short life’s ride

Keep the Prayers

Keep the prayers, I request, to your own faithful self. They’re distant to me, meant for somebody else. I was close to your God, admittedly you see, until he ripped me apart; abandoning me. I’m told “There’s always a reason”. Yeah, well I disagree. No purpose is found in response to my plea. His “love” ripped the life from my family tree and left nothing but branches, bare as can be. Yet I’m expected to thank Him for who he DID leave? The knuckles and thorns that cause nothing but grief? I’m asked to embrace this great Sculptor and Thief, who steals life from creation yet demands its belief? How twisted the logic of Religion must be to pass judgments on those who don’t blindly believe; we who dare question the infallibility of He who locks his own house and gives evil the key, corrupting his own tenants that in one breath could be free, if only the Lord would allow their release?

I don’t care what your pages, prayers, or priests tell you. There is no realm in which the amount of unwarranted death, suffering, and destruction this world is subjected to can be justified. No false eternity, no empty promises, and no alleged punishment of those who oppress, rape, or murder will ever merit the evil allowed in this world. These are nothing more than lies to masquerade the suffering as something worth tolerating. A pathetic grasp for meaning in a meaningless reality.

Breathe.

Listen, I don’t want to offend, just please comprehend that the time that we spend in devotion and admiration of who we thought was our friend is now something that, sadly, I can no longer commend. The magnitude of my mind’s malcontent effects pain impossible to mend, as I see nothing but an empty dead end for which I can no longer expend what little strength I have left to fight or contend. It’s like He created hope just to strip it away, to apprehend our only tool to desperately suspend the realization that for every start, there’s an end; that the shadows and darkness will always descend; demonically disregarding the tales we believe and the life we pretend.

I’m conflicted, consumed and confused by this sense of abandonment I’ve no choice but to feel, ashamed I took the bait; deceived by a false rod and reel. I can no longer find cause to embrace, heed or kneel to He who ignored every cry and appeal, my pathetic attempts to take her pain and conceal all the heartache she suffered and the hurt that he’d deal. And yet, through it all, she still prayed that she’d heal, to one day finally break that constricting tight seal, in hope that the answers she sought would at long last be revealed.

There are no words in existence which can adequately describe the degree of sadness, emptiness, hopelessness and hatred that such hindsight instills.

Once more, I ask that you respectfully forgive what many would label as harsh conjecture. This is not the shallow recant of some closed-off, short-sighted miscreant. These pages contain the unabridged passion which defines me; nothing more.

So I ask that you forgive, as every night I can’t help but relive that month which felt more like a year, when I sat plagued by inexplicable fear that her death was so close; unavoidably near. How vivid is that memory, hauntingly clear; the image of she who I held so close and so dear, lying in tubes on that bed as the shell of the person who used to appear; now drifting away with no life to cohere. And as I sat next to her writing through every cry, sob and tear, I tried my absolute damnedest to be strong, persevere, begging God that He’d save her so for once in her life she could taste happiness; cheer.

I watched the tube being pulled from her. That final, feeble lifeline pathetically attempting to breathe life into her poor lungs. I collapsed, terrified, against the wall. Defeated, completely helpless and puddled in tears as I witnessed her unconscious body desperately gasp for the oxygen that her fragile body’s grip could no longer grasp. It was, without the remotest doubt, the worst sensation I have ever experienced, and one which I would not wish on even the worst transgressors of humanity. Feelings such as those felt that moment would not exist in a world claimed to have been created out of love. This is the harsh, unarguably candid truth.

Regarding my opinions and views of God, I ask not that you agree. I have no request, nor desire, for sadness or sympathy. I merely wish that my words and contempt fall on minds that are free; free of the judgement which has for so long met my plea as I fail to articulate that which I now so passionately see.

For thirty years I have bowed, as my whole life I would vow, yet I stand here no longer acting holier than thou. I can simply not continue to allow my unjust allegiance, as every drop of sweat from my brow is shed for He who destroys, whom I tonight disavow. It’s not born of vanity, and not that I’m proud. I’ve just at last cleared the malicious dark cloud that’s wrapped my plagued mind in the blackest of shrouds. Despite His cold embrace, I’m finally free; and the death of my mother is the answer, to how.

Please, keep the prayers. I just…don’t need them now.

Picture This

Picture this, a long hallway all lined with words

There’s writing on walls

Perched atop the banister are ravens, the blackest birds

As you softly tiptoe through these dark, sadistic halls

Picture this, an unmarked door confronts you

You know not what’s within

A frightening cry, it pierces through

Compels you to come in

Picture this, scratched on the paint as you step inside

Letters on the wall

Spelling names you recognize

Your friends and family, one and all

Picture this, the afterlife, this dimmed out room; it’s dark reveal

Their fates, when death they sow

Now tell me, if this God is real

Would you really want to know?

Release

All that I ask, God

Please make it all cease

The pain is too much, Lord

I need a release

Sitting at home

Try to battle this scene

Numb myself with these shots

Like a soldier on morphine

I guess I should thank you

If you hadn’t unsealed, see

I’d still just be mindless

Not a clue who’s the real me

It’s cool though, man

I’ve got some new Gods today

Ones that won’t leave me

‘Til I turn to the next page

Oh wait, you don’t get that?

It’s right in front of you, look

These rhymes are all with me

Well, at least them and my book

All hanging here, lonely

But never alone

This release is all I need

‘Cause I’m finally home

Where Are You?

What do I know?

What do I think?

Could all of this end?

Within a short blink?

 

What does it mean?

What purpose is served?

These thoughts all torment me

My mind, it’s unnerved

 

God, let me know

My question is fair

Is all of this worth it,

This worship, this prayer?

 

Please my Lord, hear me

I say unto you, not the booth

No need to keep hiding

Behind your veiled truth

 

Are you truly awaiting?

I so dearly must know

I beg, Lord, you show me

Take my hand; rest my soul

I Want to Play a Game

I’d like to try a thought experiment.

This might be weird; but just bear with me. You’ll need to pay very close attention to the things you’re about to read. More importantly, you’ll need to truly, truly, visualize and imagine what I’m going to say.

I want you to imagine yourself plugging your ears. Sound strange? Well it shouldn’t, because if you did it right you wouldn’t be able to hear it. Your ears are plugged, remember? Step one, imagine all the sound around you is gone. 

Step two. Think of the smells you’re experiencing. Then, imagine them going away. Close your nostrils if it helps. You can no longer smell.

Three. Cut your tongue out. Not literally! But imagine it disappearing into the same realm your other senses have traveled to. You can taste no more.

Four. You no longer feel anything. Your sense of touch is gone. Poof. Out the door. No more feel.

And last. Five. If you did it right, the only thing you have left….is this. You can see. You can read the words you’re reading right this very moment.

Now – close your eyes. Nothing. You should see, hear, smell, taste, feel….nothing. You should be nothing.

Okay, experiment over! If I had to guess, you’re probably thinking I’m a freaking nutcase right now. I, however, would say no; this is a thought process that has plagued me from the first time I considered it. I really, really want to know if there’s life after death. And no, I don’t want a feelgood story to make myself sleep better at night. I want to actually consider what really happens when we die. 

The above exercise is what I think about. Why don’t I remember anything before I was born? Seriously. Doesn’t this seem sort of obvious? When I was created, I gained the ability, through biological synapses and impulses that I won’t ever understand, to perceive reality. I was given hands, eyes, a nose, tongue, and so on to then be able to process the stimuli that is the universe. 

And you know what? When I’m dead, I bet I lose that ability to sense things. I bet I go right back to the blackness that was before I was born.

Now. Please. If there exists an individual who can tell me, in any logical manner why I should think otherwise, I’m begging you to do so. Because I’m going to be one hundred percent, completely real here: that scares the shit out of me. Wanna know why I quit insurance and write now? Well, here’s why folks. It doesn’t get any more real than this. I honestly believe that when I’m dead, that’s it. I don’t get another go around. So each and every second of my life, I want to make meaningful. And the worst part about this, believe me – the part that hurts the most, is thinking about Mom. That she may not be out there anymore. And that’s why I’m so torn, because the easy thing would be to say yeah of course she’s still there and so on. I really, really, can’t stand thinking this way. 

So. In summation. If someone can give me a rational, real explanation other than “faith” or “you just have to believe” or anything, please for the love of the ironic god I’m trying to find, tell me. 

That is all.

An Ode to the Letter “K”

Knobbed in darkness, twisted wood

Knuckled as can be

Kinks and dead spots all around

Knotted is the tree

Kindling yes, our God will need, as its

Key for making day

Kind, He brightens nights with knights by simply adding

K