There's a spiritual war for our minds,
and sometimes we define the line,
the drive that breaks the small divide and let's the demons in our lives,
but we decide to make the choice that makes or breaks it,
this time, this life. So, I fall on my knees and pray that, someday,
I can understand the gifts that You gave
and the lives you had to take; I pray, but am I swayed?
'You ask and you shall receive,'
but I plead and plead, and yet do I receive.
Is this because I'm unworthy,
or could it be,
that I do not see the things that could free me from these burdens and trials,
to help me walk the miles?
We'll see.
There's a spiritual war for your mind and mine and I can say that I'll be fine,
but only if and when I choose the proper side,
this time.

Here lies a man,
sleeping sound in a bed
in his hospital gown
with much gauze on his head.

He lost his eyes, just three hours before.
He lost his eyes, now he can't see the floor.
He lost his eyes, but by golly he won.
He lost his eyes, when he stared at the sun.  

Here lies a man.
He is blind, but he speaks.
He says, "I might not have eyes,
but I've two hands and two feet,
and I might not have eyes,
but I surely can see,
for I've lifted my pride
and I've bested the beast."  

"But what good," said his nurse,
"is a man with no eyes,
with no sight and no vision,
just two sockets of white?"

So, he bested again,
when he riddled her mind
and said "What good is that mouth,
if you can't open your eyes?"

Lamps that light with lingering flames
quench dreary eyes of midnight pain;
hin'dring such precarious Names,
who've come to find they sinned in vain.

The Baker appeared, and took hold his stake
for the Name who tried to steal the Baker's bread.
Poor stum'bling Name was stopped in cold regret.
Staunch whiskey perspiring upon His head,
He ponders all the threats the Baker'd make;

turned and sprinted against the wall
of wheat and grass and trees and all,
but brazen hands, fire-scathed, wed
His life, ironically, to the art of baking bread.

My senses tense,
tingling with aspiration
of the energies within the air.

Renewed with prolonged
activation of perceptive portrayals
of vicious sunbeams attacking
the hems of my subconscious.

I awaken to the sun.