Yeah I may be a Christian and I may be a poet but that doesn't mean my Life is picture perfect. An addict to the Ice and a slave to the Mary Jane...I have learned to cope with it all. Yes I am a full functioning addict I work I pay my bills and I save my money. However, whenever I have extra I like to treat myself to my addictions. It's self medication and a solid connection to an altered state of mind. Meditating on what has gone wrong in my Life I am seeking help for consolidation perhaps my best friend long gone abandoned me to my own destination. What else to do where to turn...I don't know but it is a direct confrontation with my inner being and the devil and he wants my soul. So here I put it in writing and hope for some explanation. God is there with me but I only feel lamentation. So many paths one can choose but I am seeking spiritual exploration...but my soul is weary and tired of loneliness and isolation. Sometimes I feel am not good enough for God's grace or mercy or even salvation...but here I am writing about my experience alone battling my addictions. When am high I feel like I have secluded myself from my Life's many problems and trials forms of testing my caliber against the world filled with agony and despair. My life is in a point of turmoil and descending to an abyss. However, what am I to do am just a lone human seeking God...what else is there for me?

Inside my head are many fears. Unimaginable, uncontrollable the urge to feel accepted by society to just fit in to motivate myself to feel loved and appreciated by all mankind. Though the Age and time we live in that is just a far away dream...logically knowing it's impossible to please the masses with knowledge that is impeccable admirable and clean. To them am a lunatic a fanatic of dogma and God. What they don't know or understand is that am a sinner awaiting my redemption and also my salvation...to the one and only that provides the breath of Life and it's known creation.

Thinking on **** I am not contempt with the erroneous ways I have dealt with my life in the past. Will it all end one day will I be granted the glory of God? Or is it all im my head and I will end up in hell for being who I am today? Questions only God knows the answer to...questions upon questions...what ifs upon what ifs...doubts upon doubts. I am what I am today due to the decisions I made yesterday. But just let me be me and let God show me a way...so I can find my way back home and be there to stay.
©Franko the Christian Poet

I like pens that bleed
Ink that smears
Girls with scars
Broken parts
***** clothes
Stained sheets
The hint of blood
The taste of lust
The smells of love
Nights through morning
Mornings to night
Suns that sleep
Moons that dream
And all the pretty
You hide underneath
Those pretty
Pretty
Pretty things

Took to poetry when I learned
only pain gives perspective.
Happiness an impossible horizon,
fake as a headline,
a mirage, a migraine;
an ever-setting sun.

Mistakes are off-set paths
neither trod nor spoken of before.

Ghosts of old wounds and insults
slew the grain of progression,
each forecast of the future
births one thousand skeletons;
one thousand potential lovers.

An overdose in Dublin,
French lips; a slanted bow.
Blue feathers at the festival;
a taken woman who changes
the colour of her hair
when everything else stays the same.

Took to poetry when I realised
The Moment does not lie
on the tip of the tongue,
nor the beat of the drum,

that sense only comes
long after The Moment has gone.

The pain that caused my bane,
Resides mainly in my brain,
but in order to remain sane
I must maintain my hearts
burning flame never let it wane,
for it contains the vein that sustains...
my life and some kind of hope.

some of us like to be neat in some ways.



some of us draw big and messy, and

i understand both.



we have made marks a long time, since

the dawn of.



probably.



when he could not write,

he crossed and smiled.



we continue marking

time, with smudges, scrapes

plus tidyness.



the brain interpretes.



so will you listen or go on

your way, regardless.



sbm.

You'll find Him in the house of prayer
and when wondering on the road of sin
in your future, you'll find Him there
He was with thee where you've been
You'll find Him in thy realities
And even in thy thoughts and dreams
He'll see thee through fatalities
for He hears even thy silent screams
He'll be with thee in the battlefield
weeping the innocence getting killed
when thy enemies draw their swords
He'll  be an invisible armour and shield
You'll find Him on the knot of the rope
of hope, convincing thee not to stop
believing there'll be a better tomorrow
when you're drunk drowning in sorrow
He'll be with ye in thy desolation
when incarcerated and in isolation
At thy departure till thy arrival
He'll be thy comfort and survival
for He says He came for ye sinners,
to turn saddened failures into winners
When thy faith is but ashen embers
because ye feel nobody remembers
He'll lift thee higher for He's salvation
An answer to each and every question
Ye just have to ask and thee shall be given
knock and doors open, repent and thee shall be forgiven
Seek and thee shall find, He's one and the most kind*
When thee breathe He'll be the breath in the air
He's with thee right now... He's everywhere

Your childhood dream
Your teenage dream
Your 20s dream
Your 30s dream
Your 40s dream
Your 50s dream

Measure them in decades
Transfixed before a distorted hall of mirrors

A cycling fun-house

While presidents come and go
Parachute pants, bomber jackets, bangs

When you’re drifting off to sleep
What feeling awakens in your heart?

What small feet run across your translucent landscapes
Cubists blocks of what might have been

Twisting , reforming…, parallax

Like Etcher in motion, Inception

Dark cities floating overhead while eclipses burn red

Do your hands tremble with rage or with despair?

Or do you lie perfectly still, resigned

Practicing for your casket

Selfies of your head sinking into starched pillows

You’re responsible now

Clerks and coroners pat you on the back

The least you can be is responsible

Hunting down dreams in dreary forests
With bow knives and bandanas

Is foolish

Better to fill out your W2s

Calculate your interest and help with homework

Don’t be selfish


Let others burning with madness, desire and discontent

Dream for you

Shape the future for you

Preferable to be content

An anti-pioneer   To Nest in paperclips and razors

Satisfied with consolation prizes, Ms. Congeniality

To sink silently down the toilet of trivialities
Floating listlessly like a ****
Flushed out into the polluted ocean of time

But let us not dwell on dreams

Let us drill, let us dance, let us down

Korean BBQ and snap-shot sunsets

Never mind the shadows swirling

Through you, deepening with every tock

Civilization calls  - You must be integrated.

Not like days of yore

On the hunt

But wrenched into a mechanical maelstrom

Input into a coded vision

An alien incubator zooming through metallic tubes


You are an app

Of Aborted dreams

Of pragmatic passiveness
  

Fingered by millions of strangers

To **** time and hope

A laughter is just a flight of a moment
made of straws that wither and burn
On the summer it glows and shows
In the winter it faints and hides
awaiting the cycle of redemption

Happiness is forever, a fulfilment
the contextual locked in filaments
When the sun strokes it matches
In the coldness it dances proud
It is ever present and sustaining

Sorrow is a transient melancholy
A thunder strike that disables all
In the warmth of the day it cries
It unfolds like a starving toddler
A disabling concept that lives and dies

Loneliness is a key to happiness
A journey of self awareness and love
It taunts like a recurrent cancer
It screams until lessons are echoed
with infinite possibilities locked to self