We're falling into insanity,
dying with such profanity.
So, we go.

Exploding into oblivion,
where we won't live again.
Do, we know?

Where do we go,
when we die?
Do we sink into the ground,
or do we fly?

Do we roam the earth,
and go where ever?
Or do we lie underground,
and dream forever?

Life may have its limits,
but that doesn't mean you shouldn't live it.
Do, or die.

But what is the meaning of it all,
if in the end we all fall.
Asking why.

Where do we go,
when we die?
Do we sink into the ground,
or do we fly?

Do we roam the earth,
and go where ever?
Or do we lie underground,
and dream forever?

It's either a never ending flight,
or a never ending fight.
Either you go to heaven or hell,
or maybe,
there's nothing.

Where do we go,
when we die?
Do we sink into the ground,
or do we fly?

Do we roam the earth,
and go where ever?
Or do we lie underground,
and dream forever?

Ancient words,
they're fading fast.
Once important,
but they won't last.

Some worship,
many Gods.
Others view that,
as being wrong.

What once held the world together,
is now helping pull it apart.

We're killing religion,
with every breathe we take.
We're killing religion,
with every move we make.

With theories like evolution,
the true making of man,
it's time for religion,
to make a stand.

Science attacks,
things like the Bible.
Religion suffers,
trapped in survival.

Science fails,
to provide hard evidence,
and supplies us with,
things completely irrelevant.

What once held the world together,
is now helping tear it apart.

They're killing religion,
with every breathe they take.
They're killing religion,
with every move they make.

With theories like evolution,
the true making of man,
it's time for religion,
to make a stand.

Technically, theoretically,
these so called religions,
just can't be.

That's what they think,
but if they are wrong,
they will have to answer,
to their maker, God.

They're trying to **** religion,
with every breathe they take.
They're trying to **** religion,
with every move they make.

With theories like evolution,
the true making of man,
isn’t it time religion,
finally makes a stand.

Knowledge is butterflies in flight.
A doubting caterpillar needs
His faith in metamorphosis.
Without it his future: horror.

Mother gone this way before him.
Father gone before his time here.
The only hope: whispered instinct.
A still sound in the face of fear.

"Those who've gone before me", says he
"Loved me and wanted good for me."
"They willed me to believe in life
Beyond: the metamorphosis."

Every day, eat of leaf. Chew. Rest.
Do not wander ye from safety.
Heed ye these rules, follow the way.
Know ye that our decree's from love.

Brother tells tall tales, adventure
Excitement, a world of wonder
To have now! No waiting, no need
To wait, fear, hope. Enjoy it now!

Brother says: "metamorphosis
Is a tale made by those who want
To control and manipulate.
To keep us from pleasures in life."

Brother says: "The dark chrysalis
Is a grave, death, ending, final.
Now is time to discover.
What tastes good is the true good.

Only now do we have the chance
To learn, explore, see and enjoy."
He's eaten leaves outside the path.
Brother says: "they are juicy good!

Come all, leave this way mapped by those
Who want to keep you from juicy
Leaves and the whole wide world to see"
Brother says. "Don't hope, enjoy now."

Sister left the barque, left the safe
Path to the leaves mapped out by some
Unknown cartographer. Unknown!
She's not back. He hopes for her best.

But our caterpillar here, friend,
Has chosen the old dreams and hope.
To follow the path mapped to leaves
That nourish the body and heart.

He has chosen to believe that
The wisdom of age and instinct
Is more trustworthy than the word
Of youthful brother's juicy world.

His doubts he's cocooned in faith's silk.
These bland leaves he eats for promise
Of sweet flower's nectar beyond.
Today's toil for tomorrow's joy.

Doubt frightens. The chrysalis looms.
No control, nature compels it.
Unfair, afraid, the silk spins tight.
In pain, the world grows dark and still.

He faces his end. He must choose
To listen to the still, small sound.
Have faith he's not schizophrenic.
Believe in more passed the cocoon.

His ancestral council and creed
He chooses to embrace and trust
To face his end with dream and hope.
His doubts cocooned by faith in Love.

Butterflies are knowledge in flight.
For at their end, faith is fulfilled.
These butterflies their joy have reached,
Through faith in metamorphosis.

It has proven its point.
The barrier between you and I.
While the ceramic tile presses
against my feet.  In a distance,
there the plastic siding hugs
the brick foundation. As shrubbery
is not yet green nor my pockets.
Inside, the heat sweats the yellow
stained-sheet rock. Into the pit
of my stomach, causing a burning
sensation. This is a four by four.
As my legs walk around in a circle.
I think... Where found,  wood chippings
and bread crumbs that hover over
a Persian rug. The pattern of sunflowers.
Like the ones on out-dated place mats.
And I sat, rubbing away the goo from
underneath each one. While the air
thickened, regal like a stiff neck. I wait
for a sign to say when. Most of the cheap
clothing has been packed. They are ready
to move. They are dancing. Across the floor
of sunflower dreams.

God’s Son identified with men

And God watched from above Him

He healed the sick and broke the law

And men would come to love Him

But law men stressed  He’d have to die

In mankind’s cruelest way

Rome was good with Cross techniques

And death would have its day

The spikes were long to hold Him high

Acute the agony

Not once he begged for mercy

Till God would set us free

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John

Reported the occasion

Since then He’s died a trillion times

In man’s imagination

some people write birthday cards
but there is no mail delivered where you are
so a poem to wish you the best on this special day
no matter if you are near or far

Happy birthday to my big brother
this day of yours is like no other
for this is the day the world was blessed with your grace
though you were taken too soon from this place
another year passes as we miss you more and more
and will write you birthday poems, till you answer heavens door
where we'll meet with balloons and your million dollar smile
and we'll have a birthday party like we haven't had in a while
we'll toast our glasses to our reunited family
while we recant times passed cannily
but till that time comes brother dear
know that I hold your memory ever so near
along with every cleverly placed dime
that I know you've dropped just for me to find
so in closing, all I wanted to say
was I miss you so much, and
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Can you feel the rumble?
Gathering force in the close distance?
Feel the power of uneasiness coursing,
pulsing
rushing through the very bones of the humble.
Minding the madness in the foreboding future,
do you fear the coming rain?
insane
In vain, in vein is where the worry does bumble.
Or do you stare in wonder of the flashing awe?
Where lightning strikes across the face of clouded,
shrouded
clouted minds of awe-struck and stumble.
These are forces of the fearful foes
striking iron with lighting flashes,
clashes
stashes of memories induced by the low grumble.
But I, For I, Because I am brave and I am strong
I do not fear the thunder but long for its embracing,
retracing,
re-placing my woes and all of my troubles
with brave courage and a strong spirit
and imbuing its strength into my Heart
Mind
Soul
And with a flex of my muscle, let the rumble
Roar across the land, across the sands,
Mountains and valleys, oceans and lakes,
Let my fury strike with the speed of light
and let my courage rain into your soul.
For I, I am the coming storm.