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Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
All about the night of my demise
Were visions of your terrifying eyes,
Natural lovers unnaturally bent to hate.
"Which of your loves?" asks God. I say, "Whichever.
Even empty eyes can penetrate.
I can love them all and love forever.
I only ask all promises be true.
The more I love, the more I can accrue."
To death and all of the promises it brings!
So many forevers with so many different loves;
"I raise your seventy-two virgins" the angel sings,
"Praise the holy **** in heaven above!"
I can't wait 'til promises are put to test
And finally, after "judgement", God can rest.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
One morning, while sleeping right next to the phone,
I grabbed the receiver and heard quite a tone;
A beautiful voice was just ringing with glee.
I think it was happy to talk, and with me.

And she said, "I remember the way that you'd look
While you honestly laughed at the way that I took
All your ventricles, atriums-- all of your heart--
And I'd kiss it and innocence with us would part
To the fields where our wrestling wasn't a curse,
And the grass left no stain on our clothes or our mirth."

"I remember the way that your heart would kiss back
As if shyness and manhood and wisdom it lacked.
But your heart in your lips also spoke, not just kissed,
The words gentle yet firm, always smooth, never hissed;
You would speak of the white picket fence we would have
With your white picket teeth glowing bright while you laugh."

"To you the word marriage meant nothing but me
And the God whom you loved, in a song would agree.
With your heart in your lips and my heart in my throat
I would say, "Though your tongues' of an angel I quote
From my verse of the day through which God has revealed
That I shouldn't love you and here's how it was sealed;
"It is good for a man not to marry." so I
Think I'll take that to heart and I'll bid you good bye."
Here you cried and you said through a breathless exhaust,
"Does this mean that the love I have given is lost?""

O, if I could have seen her fair face through the line
And if one hazel Iris that used to be mine
Was just weeping a lonesome and singular tear
I'd have fallen apart, but instead with a sneer
She then gave me the wonderful theme of the call;
That is, "Laugh at your folly in love!" Then she hung up.
Written in 2000, the oldest poem I've written that I still have.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
Dear universal true reality,
My friend has prayed to God, your instrument,
That He would make me miserable with glee.
Now, like Lucifer, I cannot repent.

So I must meet with Him in open battle,
And test my will with his, and see whose is larger.
This battlefield, my life, may quiver and rattle,
But Suffering gives me faith; my heart grows harder.

My will with yours shall tear his soul in twelve
And send it to the scattered tribes, unseen.
I used to fear the lord, and then myself,
But now my fear is lost, my eyes are keen.

His grace is not enough for him to win.
Your grace is stronger coupled with my sin.
I'm not entirely satisfied with the 3rd quatrain. The rhymes aren't very exciting. Biblical allusions may be obscure. Perhaps the innuendo that implies my intention to **** God is too well hidden.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
O, foul computer stopping me
From writing e-mails happily.
You're young and yet you act so old
By freezing when you are not cold
Or turning bluish in the face;
Look for my letter; not a trace,
Your browser then will quickly die
Preventing me from ending my
Written 2000-2001. An early sample of my silliness.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
I don't like Haiku.
It doesn't work in English.
It sounds incomplete.
I had to write a Haiku for class. My teacher gave me an A with a frowny face.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
We walked the beaches holding hands,
Our naked feet massaged upon its
Grainy, cornmeal, golden sand
And water blue as Texas Bonnets.

The sun was gently overcast,
Its golden light dispelled by haze.
And though it's beauty would not last,
Our hearts were with its fleeting rays.

I dared to touch you, eye to eye,
And in your bright gray Iris found
That same dispelled and gentle sky
Forever to my spirit bound.

Our footsteps furrowed in the sea,
As if the ocean bid them come
And dance its waters rhythmically.
They stayed, instead, like raisined plums.

And while we walked in harmony
We sang a hymn to God, our King,
Encouraged by the endless sea
And love so vast, untamed, to sing.

The ocean seemed to sing along
And underscored our three-four time
With lapping like a metronome—
The trio trippingly sublime.

Our anthem, carried on the breeze,
Sauntered through your curly hair.
A lonesome trembling dread then seized
Your forehead—cute while whipping there.

At last, as though a common day,
The sun went down, gave way to moon.
Our song grew still. A silent lay
Voiced then our love. But that was June.

If love's first minute after Noon
Is night, our walking, singing songs
Should have made us fear, since soon
The love we shared would all be wrong.

But true minds married will confess
That Love's no fool of Times. So, Sweet,
Our love continues to regress
While holding hands with wrinkled feet.
Written around 2000. One of my first.
Skeptic Tank Jan 2012
When my ******* lofty
Thoughts inspire
Me to hate the God who
Loves me, cursing,
Spitting, trampling on the
Savior, I
Consider whether god is
Just a product
Made by Suffering—*******
Chinese finger
Trap of suffering—creatures
Hating creation,
Or a dual-natured
Being, but in
Stead of order versus
Chaos, He is
Chaos versus chaos.
A personal favorite. I just got the crazy idea to try something trochaic.
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