Crippled child, crippled man,
crippled lame man,
who could ask more of me than God,
who broke me, before I even came.
and so, gnarled little stump of a boy,
who only felt shame,
he who could have known love,
felt only shame.
How could this happen
It wasn't supposed to be that way,
brave little boy though,
held his head high,
and walked forward,
but who could know the fear he felt,
terrified, he took the next step,
and at every turn, the looks,
laughter and jeers sounded beyond the senses,
How it felt, horrible,
but still the head held high,
such strength and valour,
oh, beautiful child
I am here now,
I am the light in the darkness,
and I can see,
you have returned to me,
and what can a father say,
except forgive me
even a God will cry, at times....

This soul you gave
Has lost its way.
It doesn't know who made
It anymore.

This soul, supposed
To feel brought to life,
Feels numb, confused,
A little old.

This soul may be typical,
Or maybe outlandishly wise for its age,
Or maybe it's a rebel,
For all its rightful rage.

This soul in me's got
A little identity crisis,
With mind and matter tuging left
And faith in nature yanking right.

This soul you gave
May be ungrateful--
For all the life and love it has,
It still feels, oh, so hateful!

This soul needs help,
It's lost its way.
It doesn't know what made
It anymore.

i walked into the night,
and felt the cool air's breeze.
stepping away every once in awhile
usually gives me enough to release.
in an attempt to sober up from binge thinking,
i noticed i was alone, moreso than usual.
not a single car on the street,
no single individual.

this is common after midnight
but i thought there had to be someone who is also deprived of sunlight.
it was then that i was blinded by unusual headlights
on a vehicle known as hindsight.  
abandoned the instincts of fight or flight,
because i was curious.  
it turned into my driveway.
it felt as though there were some undiscovered forces at play,
as i lay in wait.

the door opened up, and a man with a bright white aura stepped into view.
i gazed upon his face and then was at a complete loss as to what to do..
he looked at me, smiled, and said, " yes, that particular thought is correct,
i am you.

you needed someone, and so here we are.  
see this distance between you and your true self aren't so far apart.
it gets hard, when dealing with passions of the heart,
but every day, every minute...moment, can be a new start."

Everything happens as it's meant to, though, right?

" destinies are in the hands of everyone who believes it,
but most don't see to seize it."

are you, God? an Angel?  a jester in disguise?

"you naturally won't want to accept this statement initially,
but i will tell you no lies.  i am from a faction of lightbearers,
to help illuminate the path.  the variables you add and subtract though, changes the outcome like math, heh heh."

where am i to go?

" you are not to know, yet, what's the fun in that?"

true, but then what about this,' shedding light on the path'?

"all that is within you, is everything.  unlimited potential and power to benefit the universe.
before i disperse back into the cosmos, i am here to ensure that your own light grows.  the love you emit causes radiated blooming within the chakras of others, but your aura has diminished, do you know why this is?"

fear?

"love."

but wait..

" embrace all that you are, Ryan.  i needed to remind you that you are loved deeply.  take care of yourself, so to not be the cause of your own reaping.  your efforts are never exhausted, i see and appreciate all you do, with a smile.  now go the extra mile, cross the line and let your divine shine through.  you are never alone, remember things from the past you wrote.  every word still holds true.
i must be leaving, but listen to what's inside when you're unsure of what to do.  Namaste, Ryan."

but wait! who really are you??

as I stood in bewilderment, he ascended into the sky with a smile, and his vehicle disappeared.  
would this interaction have happened had i displayed my primal urges of fear?
when he was no more than a sparkle in the eye that is the ever-expanding sky
i didn't feel so dry and lifeless, but rather moist with creative juices from all that sunk in.
and the warmth, it was a love you could touch without touching.
this is what i was missing.
and so when reminiscing, i show gratitude and blissful appreciation,
because too much can be lost in the translation of contemplation.

Fay sat with Benedict
on the grass outside
Banks House. He wore
his faded blue jeans,

white tee shirt; she
wore a lemon dress
(one he liked) with
small white flowers.

It was warm, a summery
sun was in the sky,
trains moved over
the railway bridge

just over the way.
She talked of a nun
at her school, who
was strict and carried

a ruler around to hit
the hands of girls who
spoke out of turn.
Benedict sat cleaning up

his six-shooter toy gun,
wiping his handkerchief
over the silvery barrel.
Girls live in fear of her,

Fay said, she creeps behind
them and pokes her
finger into their flesh.
Have a teacher at my school

who pokes with a pencil,
Benedict said, digs it right in,
especially when he’s making
a point about something.

Fay’s eyes caught the sun’s light;
he thought he could see angel’s
playing there. She caught me
over my knuckles last week, Fay said.

Did you tell your parents? he asked.
God no, she said. Daddy would
have beaten me for sure; upsetting
nuns and such. O, he said, he loved

the way her fair hair shone in sunlight,
the way she moved her lips to form words.
He put his gun back in the holster
(the one his old man had given him)

around his shoulder. She spoke of
the mass and the priest who came.
Benedict didn’t know what the heck
the mass was, but he just listened to

her talk, watched her lips make words
like some potter makes bowls.
He studied her hands as she spoke,
how they gestured along with the words;

small hands, thin fingers. He couldn’t
understand how anyone could want
to slam a ruler over such thin knuckles.
She spoke of the Host and that it was Jesus

in the form of bread. He was stumped,
but listened on, taking in her every word,
the sound of the word, the way she
shaped it, the way her tongue seemed

to hold then throw out the word.
Then she stopped and pulled off her
yellow cardigan because of the heat.
He saw on her upper arm, a fading

green bruise, like damaged fruit gone off.
She put the cardigan on the grass,
and talked on about confessions,
about the confessional, how dark it was,

how the priest was hardly
visible through the metal mesh.
Benedict half listened; too concerned
about her bruised fruit flesh.

If memory serves this was a special branch of the
Militaty U.K.
Those boys came to town to play.

Weekend rabble loose on leave.
Ready set by the truckloads.
Bully mother fuckers in jungle boots.

Ready to blow a few months pay
And whip anyone's ass for looking the wrong way.

Rowdy and loud.


Imperialist pricks.
Long on swagger short on dick.

Eh mate got any sisters about?
Asked one blatherin putz as he stimbled about.

Every now and then one strayed from the pack
Drunk and disorderly. Four sheets to the wind.


Well... he kept close after that.

I was about 8 when I became aware that
The big loud men in kilts and fatigues were men
On a mission an ill wind.
but victims of power same as we.

God save our gracious king


God save our glorious king. God save the king

Send him victorious.
Happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us.
God save the king.

My mind's bleeding out, and no one else knows. My thoughts plague me with doubt; and my world's full of holes.
I better pick up a pail, and start saving myself, cause this water is rising, creating a hell.

So on frail wings, I am learning to fly, making up things, to put on my mind,
Now I'm so far from land even these angels have died, I look in the mirror but I have gone blind.
Left now to wonder why oh god why.

64 squares and 32 pieces
white and black or black and white
pending your thesis
whether your black or white
they all have the same features

8 pawns, simple creatures
8 x 2 is 16
infantry disguised as peasants
trying to get above the 7th
to the 8th and replace
their meager form for something more severe

2 rooks, sitting on the edge
2 crooks robbing everything perpendicular
to the perimeter provided the king
doesn't falter in his pledge


When the night rolls through,
the knights roll through.
Puffing green goo, these squares or cubes
will move an L make a 7 and snuff you.

The bishop will say a blessing
as he stumbles across the board.
Moving forward diagonally,
these drunken priests drink towards
a leader hung with dressings

The queen? That greedy broad
thinks everyone is a pawn.
constantly placing her place
in the face of those trying to take her place.

The king orchestrates the beat
carefully placing his feet before god.
His feat is living, no great givings,
giving up the wrong square will make his crown your treat