In form alone
in shape it thrives
it shifts and shouts
it lies in terror.
I wonder where
I know it from
and who it is
and where's the gun...
But the body it held
the secrets it whispers
I cannot know
for my tongue's like a bell.
The final knell
that soul did hear
was grave and sharp
that much is clear.

Solutions are like dishes.
They have ingredients
and once one is found
you can make it again.
Yet, my lonesome irksome
won't pass with time
and since there's no reason
I guess I'll just rhyme.

I've been to the ocean
its embrace like the grave.
When you're caught in its arms
you're too lost to save.

In somber dreams blue
I do think of you
and drift on a draft
of winds that I knew
Without you I'm there
in oceans not fair
my weeping's a flare
an SOS' glare...

Isolated I am
a man in a maze
No matter where I turn
I am forlorn
solutions are infinite
but momentary
and worn.

Even as we danced,
there was no echo
of lovers lost...

The lake
was as a sheet of
glass that I thought would
crack
if we lost
a step.

The music
was the rhythm
of our hearts,
slow, but fierce
calm, but alive.

I taste the tearsdrops of
the heavens
bathe me in serenity.

I've known beauty,
but never perfection
not before this moment
melted my heart
and spread it like butter
over her love.

Yet, in the quiet
rapture,
there was a darkness.
Heartache troubled the
solace of the dance.
I drew back the blackened veil
and to my surprise
I found myself...
my identity...
buried for too long
in the misery of
flames of ire.

It was then
I knew
she
I would cherish
with abandon.

I stared
into her gentle eyes
I held
her trembling hand
I kissed
her doughy lips
and I loved
like sorrow
eclipsed.

The day begins when
moonlit sky
smothers the land in darkness
while sun
is shy.

I light
the hundred candles
slowly
gazing into each one
one at a time
time, the measure of
each flame.

Time is that length of stride
It is the path upon which
all life ambles
fighting the mysterious current
but unable
to avoid
the departure we call inevitable.

Each candle's light is power
it cannot be measured with the mind
we ask time of the flame's life
but
does the flame truly ever die?
I see a hundred flames and
from where did they come?
I imagine them as humans.

Does a man, born into darkness,
imagine the convenience
of sight?
Does a man, born alone,
imagine the blessing
of another?
Men dream of an afterlife
of a god
of an in-born purpose to one's life
so,
what is so impossible about that?

We measure the machine's intelligence
by its ability to think for itself,
but
surely the irony
is in what gave us such ability?
Or in whether thinking for ourselves
"is" life?
It is too much for a man
to give in
to imagining
the true power of creating,
when to create,
a man can only put carved wooden head
on carved wooden body
and **** the strings
in so doing, create life.

The atheist
will latch onto the popular reason
against a father
and will tell us that
we must not believe in anything ruling over us
believe instead that this made us
this
anarchy
luck
randomness
something
I don't know
lets theorize
let's not answer the question yet
let's not fool ourselves
let's not trust that book
let's make our own
let's make ourselves
let's change man to woman
let's ignore the conscience
we're not alone in that
laws are meant to be broken
when we can't make anything new
let's...
let's...
let's...
destroy the world,
because that's also an unbroken rule
and humanity
is already
broken.

I scratch my head.
What do I know anyway.
After all, I'm no one important.

The herd moves:
he who leads the herd, is no less the herd,
than he who worships the herd.

The first candle goes out.
My eye cannot measure its lacking.
Candle... after candle... and the next candle
snuffed in its own time.
It is only when the tenth candle goes that I notice the difference.
The room grows darker, like a misguided world.
When the last candle fades,
I feel the shame of destruction weigh heavy upon my soul,
but,
then I see it,
reaching beneath the door.
I ****** open the windows
and a wondrous dawn's light floods the room.

Yes, I forgot.
Where does the flame come from?
I will never know,
but I know, whenever it seems darkest,
something will catch fire
and the world will be illuminated
once more...

Spat out from the maw of carnage
slick with the battle's bile:
a coat of blood, black and foul
for war is hell and
hell the churning
chastening
chilling
gut
of a beast beyond reproach.

Yes, I was there...
I fought
for you
for your freedom
I fought so you could sin another
day
I fought so you could curse my
name
I fought so you could scorn your
savior
and wonder why it is I love,
you.
Tell me:
who is it that suffers greater?

The toil, is heavy
I lumber forward,
scars, like woodgrain, nest my body
I am born of battle
in my chest
my heart does rattle
empty
for there is no room for weakness.

I form pillars of truth and justice
I forge the righteous from
weakness, purpose
and all the
while
they grow
stronger conviction
in the unyielding dreams
that bolster all men from breaking.

Yet you lob laughter at my prophets
and greed is your only profit.
**** my champions
**** my children: men and women,
with your lust and lustre,
no matter,
for in recompense
for all your thoughtless vengeance,
I pay in kind...
Soon, you will envy,
the blind.