God is not the cotton seedling that grows tall within manmade furrows  , coloring the land as the first snow of Winter .. Jehovah is the quilting thread binding all of creation , suturing the thoughts of men in their moment of frailty and despair , tethering the covenant between Heaven and Earth* ...

It was not about the wise men
or Bethlehem
or gifts of gold or old spice aftershave
or
who if anyone at all could save the most.

jesus was hijacked,
painted white
brought to the West and
'Bob's yer uncle'
the rest is history.
His story being lost along
the way.

In the Kingdom of the Sun,
the day will surely come
when there's to be
a reckoning,
when accounts are put in order.

To lift a thought to a song,
To redress perceived wrongs;
To relive my youth,
To expose the truth;
To express my love,
To see a pigeon as a dove;
To foresee the future,
To capture the elusive;
To give voice to the abused,
To find refuge when refused;
To immortalize loved ones,
To embrace the shunned ones;
To know stars are fireflies,
To scrape away lies;
To explain time is just a moment,
But enternity's in a sonnet.
Simply put,
It's the right thing to do.

You and your love are like bruises on my skin. Not kisses or butterflies. Your intentions seemed so pure at first. Like my soft and delicate flesh. And then you punched me around and left me with dark reminders of your cruelty.

But just as bruises do, you began to fade away. Goodbye to you and your bruises.