The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon

I could let myself go.
I would be shot.
But it would be over.
Since I had lost my faith in god
I did not know where I would go
But I know I would not be in heaven
Good lord I know.
I cursed his name,
When I cried out in pain.
And even when faced with death
I tell myself that my god was to blame.
I could just stop running.
And a bullet would end my march.
My run. My trek.  
My endless march.
This snowy march.
Frostbitten feet.
I knew they were blue.
But of pain I couldn’t speak.
I did not speak,
Because I could not feel.
I was numb to all that was real.
Or maybe it was just the cold.
A medical reason that i could not feel.
Or had my mind been made so numb,
So that I could continue on this fate I’ve won.
This fate of earned by following faith.
Faith in a god who alone is the very reason I am in this place.
The fact that I could no longer exist,
It fascinated me.
I could just stop running.
I would cease to be.
This thought enveloped me.
Shocked me.
Stuck to me like glue.
The idea of dying, itself, was nothing new.
It’s just never something,
I thought I would wish upon myself so soon.
I could just give up.
And end my pain.
But that would be so very vain.
Because, my father, he could not press on,
If he knew I would soon be gone.
And so for him,
I drag me feet,
Across this snow,
Through wind and sleet.
I’m almost completely numb,
But my father’s heart still beats.
He is the reason I stay alive.

Something terrible has taken god,
I can’t seem to find him anymore.
I lost my joy.
I’ve lost all hope.
And all my love is gone.
Where is his mercy,
Where are his arms,
Why should I sing to a god,
Who can’t keep his chosen people out of harm.
My eyes are cold.
My heart is stone.
This is how I’ve condemned myself to be.
My feet are numb.
My mother’s gone.
And smoke is all I see.
I used to sit up on a hill
And talk to god about the sky.
I’d tell him how my day went,
And thank him for my life.
But now I curse his very name
The sky is scowling with gray clouds of smoke.
How can a god to loves his child,
Do this to whom’s very existence he spoke.
His turned us into vessels,
We are just an empty carcass with a heart,
We have a brain, we our stomaches
But our souls chose to depart.
I looked up at my father,
Whom i’ve looked up to all my life,
I searched for a smile in his sorrow
But all I saw was tears in his eyes.
Surely there must be a god,
Though I see he’s not with me.
How can a got who loves his children,
Be content with what he sees?
And surely he must be content,
For if he disagreed
I know that he could send someone
Who could certainty set us free.
I guess this means he does not love
As much as I once thought.
Or maybe I was simply blind,
To if there is a god or not.

I love the moonlight.
Almost like an invitation to a far away dreamland.

But even the moonlight becomes you.