I swim through tremendous oceans,
through waters of worry and crisis shoals
paranoia forms a tidal wave,
that threatens to swallow me whole.
The currents are strong against me
to swim, I try my best
and soon I am tired and lost,
and ****** into the depths.
I see anger's buoy beckon,
but I know that is no better.
I can cling to it for long,
but I cannot cling forever
My arms would soon tire
and away, I'd soon be swept
Once more gasping and fighting
Against the gravity of the depths
Lost at sea, is the sailor
who did not follow the sun.
And if he looks down in shame,
He will not see the stars point on.
When rescue ships are far and few
and supplies are back on beach
I sigh and think of shorelines,
that I know are out of reach.
I want to float on my back,
and let the waves take me home,
The search party stopped looking,
For too long I've been gone.
But it takes a strong swimmer
to make it back to shore,
when one is this far out,
and I cannot swim anymore.
As the waves roll beneath,
and try to pull me under
while the gale whips salt
to tear me asunder
The pull grows stronger
and the water surrounds me
and what I long for most,
is that I did not fear drowning.

In my darkest moments
Of loneliness and loss
A vision did intervene
On my journey to the cross
And this beacon gave me cause
to for once stop and turn
I averted my eyes from my path
Unsure of what I'd learn
Light shone through a prism
and filled me like wanting reservoir
each color took my breath away
A light glaring from afar
With trepidation I did move
my feet from intended course
and my desire for the light
overcame my fear of remorse
I begged for the rays to bathe me
in their holy hue
More and more I felt it's warmth,
More and more it grew.
I yearn for it arms outstretched
to revolve in it's cosmic pull
I surrendered my ego to the footpath
and then I surrendered my soul.
I kneel in wistful worship
as solemn as a stone
I've waited for this all my life,
a light to guide me home.

The ***** addict has change it's face,
but not it's disease.
It is me.
It is your mother.
It is you.
"It is not."
It is.
And it is infinite.
For so long as people
are burdened by the illusion,
so they seek to disperse the fog.
What they seek is not distortion,
but clarity.
What they seek is not fantasy,
but reality.
A new reality
that works for them.
Where they don't work for it.
Where they don't participate
as a rusted cog
spinning in perpetual circles
to power a machine
that lights a projection
of what ought to be,
and what ought not to be
for all the the world to watch
on hamster wheels.
But  the ***** addict knows risk.
That each time could be
the last time.
But this world has only
two types of people.
Participants.
And non-cooperatives.
There is not room for both.
The ***** addict is offered
a consolation package
of pharmaceutical bonbons
but given the same soap opera
each time.
So they fade into the black
I know it is no cure,
because they are not sick.
It is not addiction,
that they seek to fulfill.
It is peace.
And the current reality
does not allow for peace.
And I just wonder to myself,
if maybe
they are not wrong.

Propaganda pills
dutifully swallowed
to preserve the integrity
of a world proven hollow
To sieve the spirit
through regulation holes
To protect the body
and to dissolve the soul
To maintain the order
To profit off the rotten
The white man seeks the answer
The native has not forgotten.

How can man create
by sight or thought or sound
the gentle Buddha's smile
but wear Christ's thorny crown?

For embrace or crucifixion
Do my arms spread wide
Do I live for peace,
or for peace, will I die?

Buddha smiles in agony
Christ suffers euphoric
And man himself then decides
What to **** and what to worship.

The words hang heavy
choking, a thick smog,
caught in our throats
while we stumble in fog.
the static is visual,
the answers are not.  
Uncertainty is clarity
when the soul starts to rot
The babble of birds
become songs of gods.
The creek still croaks
that man became fraud

the day the keyboards came with no question marks
and grammar books grew one chapter shorter
and the 'w's dripped off language
and it all puddled to tar
to seal the cracks
of purpose
and of
man