I’m cosmic, I’m floating
far beyond the stratosphere,
in zero gravity territory.
You called for me to come back down,
said I was flying too high now,
that the bright stars can burn right through me;
said I should really come back down to earth
that all the bright stars burned right through me
yet all the spaceships can’t drag me back—
—for Heliocentrism is boiled down in my blood
and I come from the longest line of it,
so now I’m cosmic
now I‘m burning brighter than the sun

I miss the fireflies
amidst the mild summer height
hidden under a kaleidoscopic sky
and towering elms.

The fleeting feeling of running rampant
and scabbed knees
I miss the brick by the front door,
yet with every passing year I forget it some more.

It’s been years since fireflies,
now only suffering under suffocating heat,
a life entertained under the mouse trapped pink skies
and false palm trees.

And with every thrill that arrives every year,
reeling down highways with music a blast,
I miss the brick by the front door,
yet with every passing year I forget it some more.

How beautiful—today the birds are chirping,
sun agleam against a cobalt backdrop
no clouds in sight and buds blooming through grass.

How uplifting—today the world is singing,
a staccato symphony of voices crying out,
singing from terraces, yards and windows, for all to hear.

How ironic—today is the death of the world
as appears, yet it’s backdrop, it’s soundtrack
unlike what’s been imagined, at least not exteriorly.

How instead—no fire and brimstone
with tears in the eyes as loved ones embraced
instead of through Hell raining down, it was a silent, melancholy spring.

I've drank the finest of wine
Down to the bottom of the bottle
Only to witness an ocean alone
Barely surviving my own hands

A fire burned through my viens
That was blew out by the wind
Breezing through the leaves
A calmness that sits with me
Before calmness dismisses me

I walked across the tallest blue sky
Where wide winged birds soar high
Til promises of white clouds turn grey
And so there I fell with the rain
Dripping through the lowest gutter

Many times I was buried, lying in dirt
Like a grave, needing no help
Finding the dark inside of myself
But I always rise with the blades
Of the greenest fresh spring grass

No matter what feeling I catch
None of them seem to everlast

Brand me a cynic with theash on my forehead,
For I’ve renounced my faith;
Scream out in shock it’s sacrilegious
But I’ve sympathized with the Devil’s kind

I’ve fallen to my knees at altar feet,
Two clasped hands bound and salvation cries,
Clad in white, chugging confessional wine
Yet sacraments restore no foundation.

So, you can claim blasphemous thoughts
Must be exorcised from my brain,
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
Then please, excommunicate my weary soul, amen.

And to your capricious testaments,
For I’ve witnessed no miracles, evangelists
And now I am jaded by deity agape, bruised
So, apostasy is easier to preach.

You were dropping hints like dynamite,
trying to rumble me off my feet,
but you’re too predictable
and I was made of stone,
unwavering through it all.

You threw pebbles at my window
in the middle of the dark
fruitless attempts, as you pined for my heart
but I have a window and a heart made of stone,
unbroken, untouched, unwavering through it