What is a sky without a sun?
A cold blank stare from unfathomable void
Twinkling lights that might have died out aeons ago

And how many hours in the dark until lunacy sets in?
With a moon grinning back while the madness begins
    It's fucking cold
                    And hard
                            And reminds me of death
Like crumbled chunks of a candle with no wick left

Give me sunrise
Give me light
Warm my face with radiance and bring me to life

Give me red mornings, full of prayer and appreciation
Blue afternoons stacked with will and inspiration
    Purple nights
                      And joy
                                And I will rest my head
Thankful for the day that passed
                                   Dreaming of the next


As in spirit, so in skin
Two halves becoming whole again
From face to foot and flesh to bone
From mind to soul and heart to verse

Love is the presence that lights the way
It grows inside and overtakes
It fills the void and softens hearts
It grows larger than verses without falling apart

Love is the self that you make whole
That acts from us, not I alone
And through every act we'll cherish this:
Love is being, it breathes and lives

Good Men Know How To Work

There's a certain sort of meditation in a day of work. The morning starts and my mind disassociates from what's outside to focus on what's within. I become a single unit of thought in the conglomerate psyche of some legally defined corporeal form. No, it's not a man, and no amount of faith can make it that way. Its existential purpose is to serve, with the aim of producing profit of one form or another. There's a cold simplicity in its life and limitation in its concerns that make it easy to please. I become the argent vive inside the stone building where will, and formally defined ritual, when followed with pure intent, will bend the world to it's whim.

I am not a robot. Though, for several hours a day I act on behalf of something bigger than myself. It only makes sense that I exercise discretion in the cult I join because, when asked to act against myself I can't go home. Subjugated by capitalistic necessity and bent out of shape by corporate lords is the lot of the unskilled and unfortunate. To hate what you do is to admit that you can't put the burden down, kiss your wife, and devote your life to what matters most.

I've been fortunate enough to have lived a life exposed to both captivity and freedom. In having first hand knowledge of both, I despise the one and appreciate the other in a real and tangible way. To me, a man isn't properly tempered until he's been through both lives and reacted from a place of self love with respect to community. Yes, this does lead to a sense of pride though, pride is not the thing that falls. The precipice of arrogance, coupled to ignorance of what it is to be good, is where bad men fall from.

Six Feet

There's a moment walking
With a peace that washes
When every step knows
Home is wandering in

Home is wandering in
When a smile and a heart
With as much love as yours
Takes your hand and lives

Good Morning

Through the lines of distance drawn
And time traversed from dusk to dawn
My eyes give way to sweetest sleep
When two hearts bound begin to dream

I love you as I love my blood
Keep you in me as if you own
This domain of love upon my soul
Stripped naked here for none but you

Thoughts of You

She woke up on a concrete slab, with weeds and grass growing between the cracks. Sunrise, blood red and soaked in dew, she had a thought that wasn't you.

Bonfire coals that smolder still, a splitting headache to nearly kill. Blackouts from the night before, with hazy memories of his whore. Her eye still healing, black and blue, she had a thought that wasn't you.

Back at home the cupboard's there, though check to check it could go bare. Rent gets paid but overdue, she thanks the charity but what's he doing?

She cries for reasons she won't explain, then he throws tantrums and makes demands. Storming out in a childish fit, he proves she's property and not worth shit. Her tears keep falling, world unglued, she had a thought that wasn't you.

Misnomer 1

They'll take you in their folded wings
Leave you fooled, dizzy dreaming
Lap the blood from open wounds
Then spit your heart once it's consumed

They'll take you in their filthy homes
With febreeze sprayed and teapots on
Steal the shoes right off your feet
Maul you like you're only meat

Upon a table, back laid bare
Then singing into open air
They'll rip the song right from your chest
Then revel in your bloody treasure