divine creator, I thirst after you
because I have known the dryness of
trying to fill my thirst with worldly clamors

my thirsty soul cannot be filled with liquid spirits,
but by the life flowing and giving Spirit

help me lord to see clearly
and to love you more deeply,
so my love of you is not only in thought or
empty words.

help me to be honest and see that my
love is lacking when I hate even one
of your many children,
including myself

may your outpouring love
begin in me, so I may
share your life giving water
with those still
thirst
for
*you

Despair,
complete despair,
that dull melancholy;
a constant elderitch sensation
that you're being watched from behind.
You feel those bloodshot eyes on your back
as they dig in,
bore into your spine
and disperse pure,
cold hopelessness
into the entirety of your body
through your central nervous system,
having a numbing effect
on everything you've experienced.

Every happy memory
shining a little less bright,
memories that used to bring
a warm euphoria
you once knew the name of love  
now brings a wicked strike of agony,
a burning anger,
that rapes your inner peace
and everything
needs to restart
all the work
you've put into forgetting
has to be redone
and than the period
of convalescence begins a new
and you plead to  yourself,
"please let this be the last cycle.''

  *The river side can only take so many waves before it erodes into the current.