The silhouette of a fallen man lay on the vertical horizon
                         ¬–watch the Moon light the way
Vultures howl at the hint of Death
                         –Dead men are deaf, on the vertical horizon

Some light will always shine through a closed curtain
                         –open up and let it all in
Dilation ensures that the waters are steady
                          but on the vertical horizon, nothing is certain

A silhouette of descending doves falls onto the ground
                         –watch the Moon shed his tears
Poachers of Peace ascend the vertical horizon,
                           now presuming the ultimate power of God

Only Time will tell
if they were right or wrong
But patience is virtuous
and this won’t take very long

The silhouette of a fallen man lay on the vertical horizon
                     –imagine that his soul is free
His figure parts into a million grieving doves,
                       ascending beyond the brim of the vertical horizon



Only Time will tell
if he was right or wrong
But patience is a virtue
and this won’t take very long

People are
                  lonely
       and the world is
sad.
It makes others
                          crazy.
        My inner self
glad.

Why is it so
                    hard
          to find one
being
to whom I can
                         console?
            A heart where I
belong.

A call for
               light.
         Nothing in the
dark.
          Reaching and leaving no
mark.

A lonely
              soul
         yet a heart of
gold.

Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

“O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn—
O when shall I return again?”

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

“Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star.”

5 million angels of God with a shortage of love
10 million small feet without a heaven to call their own
orphans of a lost war, children of hunger and distress
the loving nest in their parents arms got blown to shreds.

So they suffer, innocent souls that have no were to hide
in tears of pain, in between heaven and hell Muhammed walks
in a drone strike a child’s future in the last thing on anyone’s minds
Every day war mongers cultivate the future enemies of this land.

Suffer the little children, the infants, the school kids, the toddlers
In the hot desert sand burn and riddled with bullets lie their rotting corpses
their small eyes staring blank into infinity and no one dares to close them
sleeping on ravaged streets barely out of their strollers.

Wish I could send my useless hands to heal their wounds
the American invasion of Iraq became their tombs.

Suffer the little children in sulfur
victims of greed, lust for power and oil
pray to Allah every night to care for them
children without a future, victims of a war they didn’t deserve.

And so they suffer.

The clouds had been threatening thunder for days.  They rolled in the sky with their malice building every moment that they held in the rain longer.  Stretched below them, an endless sea going as deep as forever could go long.  It was as clear as glass with only the slightest ripple signaling its deceptive appearance.  Below the surface, energy wound through every molecule in a tumultuous and festive rhythm.  If you could touch the surface, you could feel the pulse of life through your fingertips.

But I could not touch it.

Between the water and the clouds, moments were still and sat heavy like the oppressive heat that fills a humid, hazy afternoon in late summer.  Thoughts moved… slower.  Sounds wrapped around you, taking long enough for you to realize it was happening before it was through.  

And there, that is where I stretched each limb for opposite corners and existed.  Suspended between a heaven in turmoil and an abyss of color and chaos.  I was timeless, frozen out of the balance – in separation.  Sluggish thoughts fought to free me but they grasped to whispers of activity with broken fingers.  And in one moment, they took hold.

I felt the vibration in my bones before I heard it.

The thunder exploded around me.
The tension broke.

I fell in.

The Minute passes me by
quite disgusted by my wailing.
Leaving as quickly as it came,
I hardly think it stays the full sixty seconds.

The Hour sinks its teeth deep into my skull
pushing shards of bone-like-regret into my ego's soft, gray matter.
There's no surgical thought to remove such an irritation.  

The Days...
Oh those god-damned Days.
They see me confused and so seize their chance;
they pull out my feet
right from under my frame,
and helpless, hurt,
I collapse to the earth.
Now begins their fun!

The Months form gangs called 'The Years'
and The Years take their turn
breaking my joints, my fingers, my knees,
all my snappable, crackable points.
Curved, crippled, creaking,  
I want to give up.
But,
it gets worse.

A dark shadow hovers over me.
I look up  as far as I can lift my heavy head
and I see coming down on me,
like a fat man resting his rump on an ant's back,
The Decades with their massive, soul crushing weight
squatting their hindquarters;
oppressively,
upon my twig-like spine.

This is a merciless beating!
This is the beat of time.

And throughout the abuse,
I crawl, cringe, cower
as safe as can be in a low state close to the ground,
(which is still six feet too high for all that time cares!)
I hear from somewhere afar
an unfaltering decree
from my maker to me
"Stand up straight! For Heaven's sake!"