The stars I’ve come to cherish are shrouded in the gray,
And all the doors I will not open beckon me to stay.
And so, one night, I find myself where shadows press like stone,
Lost among the echoes of a heart I thought my own.
The storm came swift, unbidden, the sky a shattered grey,
I ran through streets familiar, yet found no open way.
Then past a gate left open, past stone both old and worn,
A refuge from the driving rain, I go inside, my jacket torn.
The storm came swift, unbidden, the sky a shattered grey,
I ran through streets familiar, yet found no open way.
Then past a gate left open, past stone both old and worn,
I stepped inside for refuge, from winds both sharp and torn.
The friars in procession, their robes a river’s flow,
Their chants a solemn cadence, the ancient words I know.
I stood, unbowed, yet still, I felt a pull inside,
A harmony I’d never heard, a love that cannot hide.
The hymns rose like a current, a song without a name,
Yet in their cadence, something silenced found its name.
The incense curled around me, like whispers in the air,
Its fragrance bore a memory—a longing, now laid bare.
The prayers, once empty echoes, now rang in words of light,
No longer chains of duty, but truth that burned so bright.
I felt the strength of freedom, unburdened by the law,
Not chained by rites or reason, but lifted by the awe.
For reason was no tyrant, nor faith an empty lie,
But pillars intertwined, beneath a boundless sky.
No throne of gold before me, no scepter’s cruel demand,
But mercy in a Father’s eyes, a scarred and outstretched hand.
No conquest in my bending, no ******* in my fall,
But love that knew my name before the first light touched the dawn.
My heart is His to shape. My life is His to guide.
My soul is His to cleanse. My mind is open wide.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:11 AM UTC
I feel the weight of something, but I cannot name it yet.
A stirring in the marrow, a thirst I can’t forget.
It calls me not in orders, nor wrapped in sacred rhyme,
But in moments of quiet beauty, beyond the march of time.
I do not bend to dogma, nor crown the righteous king,
Yet still, a seed within me stirs, a quiet, nameless spring.
A light that flickers softly, where shadows once held sway,
A warmth that rises in my chest, though I push it all away.
I see the world in fragments, yet something seems to fit,
A pattern, faint but fleeting, as though a door is lit.
Not by rules or ritual, not by prayer or praise,
But by love and light and wonder, beyond the shifting haze.
I walk beneath the branches, where sunlight softly falls,
The rustle of the leaves like whispers in forgotten halls
Of dreams I’ve yet to fathom, of truths I dare not see,
Yet here in nature’s chorus, a song calls back to me.
The breeze, a gentle hand that pulls my mind from pride,
And the doors I've locked before, are now flung open wide.
I see the colors in the sky, where clouds and light entwine,
In every tree and stone I see what once seemed undefined.
In dreams, I saw a calling, in nature it appears,
A love that spans the heavens, a peace that calms my fears.
I will not kneel before the altar, nor follow empty creed,
But in this world of beauty, I find the faith I need.
I will not bend, I will not break, but maybe I will listen.
Not to order, not to law, but to beauty, as it glistens.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:08 AM UTC
My heart is mine to rule. My life is mine to spend.
My soul is mine to stain. My mind is mine to end.
I shall grant no quarter, to fancies without order.
Fairy tales, I name them—fools, the ones who claim them.
Though reason may be theirs, though logic may be sound,
Fools I still will call them—their whispers, I will drown.
I will not heed their reasons, for reason I reject.
I will not grant them audience; their pleas, I shall forget.
Wicked, cruel, deceivers—all who claim faith’s name,
I blind my eyes against their love, for sight would bear me shame.
Yet still this hound pursues me in comment and in creed,
Soft-speaking of a Love unknown, my tears begin to bleed.
In painted dreams He haunts me, with visions rich and bright,
Where life and purpose bloom, in hues I dare not write.
His voice like water calls me, it soothes, it lulls, it sings.
Yet I will not be conquered—I will not bow to kings!
I steel my heart against Him, I bar the door with pride,
For though the song is lovely, I must not step inside.
He's writ his sonnets on my soul, yet I shall tear them free,
For though my heart may hunger, I will not let it be.
Let me be a dust speck—a fleeting breath of clay.
Let me rot in comfort until I meet decay.
No joy, no peace, no meaning beyond this fleeting spark—
No future shall I fathom; I will not fear the dark.
Too harsh, too cruel, too simple, this writ upon my soul.
My pride will suffer nothing more than death to be my whole.
I stand upon this nothing, unshaken and alone,
A throne of silent echoes, a heart as hard as stone.
Yet echoes of that singing still haunt the air I breathe,
And whispers trace a hollow space, where certainty should be.
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 12:32 PM UTC
Feet firm on earth,
still chasing dreams
in a world now his own.
Sweat spills from strong pores,
forging currents of futures
he now shapes.
Tight embraces,
arms steady and sure,
a father’s pride made strong.
Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his resolve.
Grass stains on knees,
still bending the world
to his will,
moved by purpose.
Anthems of hope
rise in his voice,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.
The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
once hidden by modesty,
are now lived out loud.
He follows his path
through shifting fields,
where once slick frogs slipped
through eager hands—
A world he builds,
a world he claims,
a world his father
now trusts to his hands.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
Soft hands once held tight,
small fingers grasping
strings of laughter—
bubbles of wonder.
Now, steady hands weave
threads of her own,
spinning life’s fabric
with quiet resolve.
Footsteps that still dance
through sunlit sand
also press firm paths
of wisdom and grace.
Her voice, still a song
belting with fervor,
speaks with echoes
of strength and love.
Mischievous smiles remain,
tempered by time,
yet still lighting the room
with their knowing glow.
Bright eyes, still seeking,
but also seeing—
a future shaped
by hands once guided.
Trusting, complete love—
a father watches,
holding tight to pride,
as she floats beyond—
on threads of time.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 2:20 PM UTC
Small hands clutching tight,
strings of laughter tethered
to floating dreams—
bubbles of wonder.
Sand-filled toes in shoes,
quick feet dancing
through my greatest dreams
of who she will be.
Soft kisses from lips
formed from my own heart,
melting into a
stream to her future.
Sweet songs of her love,
belted with fervor
from within the small,
light-flowered sundress.
Mischievous smiles,
doll-filled hands spinning
games that fill the day
with her glow of joy.
Bright eyes signaling
a future, brilliant
as the twinkle
of stolen stars.
Trusting, complete love,
holding tight to life
as it drifts beyond,
on bubbles of wonder
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 2:09 PM UTC
Feet shod in mud,
chasing frogs and dreams
in a world all his own.
Sweat spills from young pores,
racing currents of futures
not yet known.
Tight embraces,
soon-to-be strong arms,
swelling pride in a father's heart.
Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his aspirations.
Grass stains on knees,
bending the world to his will,
moved by dreams.
Anthems of hope
rise in his heart,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.
The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
hidden by modesty,
are known to all.
He follows his dreams
through mud-soaked fields,
where slick frogs slip
through eager hands—
A world he shapes,
a world he claims,
a world his father
once called his own.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 1:17 PM UTC
Two screws in a week have turned loose.
Upholstery? It's needin' a boost.
So off to the carpenter's place,
A quick calming break
From our daily rat-race.
The faithful go daily,
you know,
For it keeps their spirit
aglow.
Though weekly's required
to stay ruddy and clear,
Pray for those that come
just once a year.
Just as the chair
starts ever to fade,
Our soul needs its care
to keep it well-made.
A heart, left untouched,
becomes cloudy, unclear,
But the carpenter's polish
wipes cloudy tears.
For the carpenter can fix in a jiff
A heart that has hardened too stiff;
And when soul's window pane
Has grown cloudy again,
he'll wash it and call it a gift!
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC
Knowledge is butterflies in flight.
A doubting caterpillar needs
Faith in metamorphosis—
Without it, his future: horror.
Mother’s gone this way before.
Father left before his time.
The only hope: whispered instinct,
A still sound in the face of fear.
"Those who’ve gone before me," says he,
"Loved me and wanted good for me.
They willed me to believe in life
Beyond the metamorphosis."
The Path
Every day, eat of leaf. Chew. Rest.
Do not wander far from safety.
Heed these rules, follow the way,
Know that they were made from love.
Brother speaks of tall adventures,
Wonders waiting, joys untold.
"Why wait? Why fear? Why hope at all?
Come—enjoy the world right now!"
The Temptation
"Metamorphosis is a lie,"
He says. "A tale they tell to keep
Us from pleasure, from delight,
From tasting all the world can give."
"The dark cocoon is but a grave—
A trap, a tomb, an ending final.
Now is time to discover!
What tastes good is the true good."
Brother leaves the path behind,
Feasts on leaves forbidden, rich.
"Come!" he calls, "the map is false!
The world is wider than they claim."
Sister listens, follows after,
Seeking flavors never known.
She is gone—he hopes she thrives.
But she has not returned.
The Choice
Yet here, our friend, the doubting one,
Has chosen dreams and chosen hope.
He eats the leaves of toil and faith,
Nourishing body, heart, and soul.
He trusts the wisdom passed through time,
Holds firm to instinct’s ancient pull.
A gentle voice inside still whispers:
"This road leads to something more."
The Chrysalis
Doubt still lingers, fear still fights.
The chrysalis looms, dark and tight.
No control—nature compels.
He spins his silk in trembling trust.
Unfair, afraid, the world grows still.
The walls press close—no breath, no light.
He faces his end. He must choose:
To listen to the still, small voice.
"I am not mad. I am not lost.
There is more beyond this dark."
Silence. Darkness. Stillness.
The Fulfillment
And then—wings.
Butterflies are knowledge in flight.
At their end, faith is fulfilled.
They rise, they soar, they drink the nectar
Promised beyond the cocoon.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
I saw the bright steel. It leapt from your lips.
Madness come tempted, black, angry, eclipse.
Once we long courses, abounding hardships,
Challenged together; no thought to call quits.
Then came war, sparing
No knife, not caring.
Weapons used knowing
Hate they were growing.
Now The Blade launched.
Locked target, unstaunched.
Why would my death cause
You cheer, your applause?
Fierce hatred burning, your
soul: scorched dune land.
Splaying, filleting at prayer's demand,
The Blade, a weapon convention won't use,
Hot steel released to new heights of abuse.
Mean dark cold ore pulled from lowest of rungs,
Loosed screaming weapon, with all of your lungs.
I sob and I puke, my chest you incise,
Ribbed wall tore open, my heart you excise.
Betrayed and agape,
a lie, said as true,
Avulsion of flesh
you cannot undue.
You dare speak of truth,
while feasting on gore,
Gorging on heart's flesh
still lusting for more?
Gnawing and biting,
perfumed in blood, hot,
Savoring my fear,
your reeking soul's rot.
Biting and chewing,
the taste, the sweet gift
Love ended proving.
This pain, you call shrift?
Colors of freedom,
Speak my vein's plight,
Face red, soon turns white,
'Till blue spells goodnight.
Eternal the rest,
That's destiny best.
I sleep not so blessed,
Your teeth in my chest.
You claim it's okay,
it was not from hate,
Tears shed for me
just carnage's
playmate.
Ruby sobs
marking
the cheeks
they striate
Fearful
in knowing,
in death I
await.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC