"We can't afford to be wrong on this issue."  
~ Francis Chan

With holy anguish hearts are crying
through feeble language urgently trying
to summon the sleeping now to wake
for souls' eternities are at stake

Do you pity or envy a world
That has cut off its calluses
Do you love or fear a world
So gentle against the wind
That a ***** would bleed
That a pinch would twinge

I pity and fear it,

Thus:

Here I am, hiding
In a boat of poetry
In the strait of obscurity
Between two oceans of fear

Between
The old world of joyous suffering
And
The new world of unbearable peace

Trying to marry the water of lively green
And the deadly blue

As I tie the old waves to the new
I set aflight an echo through the wind-
In the shape of a dove, a clarion call:

"Don't renounce your past
But accept it with pride,
Lest you be judged for what you have done,
And never
What you could, would, and will do!"

When at the peak voltage
streetlights **** the stars
and behind closed doors
rumbling slumbers
down the cries of the nocturne
awakes a world of opened windows.

Home from the last show
eyes colored with screen idols
shadows huddling over supper
talk of the length and worth
the plot intrigues and intricacies
the creator's whims and fantasies
while unbeknownst the night lengthens
tiring the shadows
that excavate the trash bin's bottom
for living through the morrow.

The filaments feel lonelier
as those last windows shut down
starlight wasted
on an enveloped town.

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."