Sushi rolls, honeydew, and bike rides
A lifeline of lovely views and bright eyes.
A strawberry scent. And a dog staring says;
A tide lies, but we knew this always in hindsight.

Guess what?
Ive met my purpose,
My head's up and I've blessed the curses.
Last thing I wanna do is start blasphemin
Truth on the surface
Cause you're my Lord, Jesus, now I'm believing you.
And I'm worthless ...

I watched you carry your cross and blessed behold ya
A child was born in Bethlehem and now it's finished, on the road in Golgotha.
A scourge taken, striped with blood and denied your Haven.
They spit on you... And you felt God forsaken.
But You asked and your father forgave them

Your mother watched as they tortured you.
Your breathing stopped just short of your fortitude
left you atop The cross, with a sordid view
Stripped of your clothing they were doubled and quartered too.
Gambled upon like the souls of subtle who murdered you.

It's your servitude.

In the last year we've talked twice.
We locked eyes once, but walked by.
Thought, "can't hear your song, cry"
But "your wrong," right? Go on lie.
What happened here, Did bonds die?
Did we try to right the wrongs of a long life with false hype.
Maybe that's it, a crazy tactic of a Cold War.
A preemptive head trip, so that's it? "No more?"
No more.

Usually I explode words on the page with unflinching hope and accuracy.
A treasure trove or curse, are the days. uplifting souls from blasphemy.
But a tragedy speaks, of everlasting grief, Pictured on a stellar tapestry.
It portrays an unknown that leaves my pen inactive... Great...

They say "actions speak louder then words" that we are defined by what we do.
I say we are defined by the fact we keep in mind each one of you.
Please stay in tune.

A shrill whine echoed through the room.
Sitting alone he let go, Obscured by bluish hues.

His perceptions been altered. How can he live in this tomb as regrets and sins of the father begin to bloom?

"Who are you?","Why are you here?"
His Reflections argue and fight in the mirror.

The echo in the room fades but begins a fast pace and starts to hiss.
And as he laid down he prayed to see the fan blades and watch them spin.

He watched them spin...

I fell from a high place. Rebelled and defiled Grace.
Her face so ripe in the light of faith leaving this plight so trite,
It's mine to taste.

I do not feel, weakness is for the blessed.
I am not real, breathless, fading and wretched. So...
As this tiny flash appears, it takes all attacks of fear.
And like the light of a kings ears, it breaks the fight for a new year.