(Ballad: exhortation to praise God.)

Extol the Lord Most High,
Let his praises ring.
Throughout all the earth,
Exalt his lovely name.
Embrace His purity,
And testify his fame
From the rising of the sun
To the setting of the same.

The long hands of mem’ry are strangling my mind,
reachin’ out past the face to which my love was assigned.
When I go out in the evening to see what it is I can find
I’m haunted by the things we said.

When morning light lies beside me in my bed
I’ve got to turn myself over and shake out my head
because the whole scene reminds me of the day we wed
and of the life from which we resigned.

Like a sharp shaft of glass, we tore through the years,
only to end drowning in each other’s tears.
But the past’s so much closer than it appears,
and if you look too long you’ll go mad.

To say I never loved you’s to fall in line with a fad.
But to ignore what I feel now is just more weight I can’t add.
So I look down at the ashes, dust off what we had,
and stifle my rising fears.

A myriad of inscription
The bereaved, the monumental stone
The moss, the forgotten
The unforgettable misconduct

"Here lies, the carcass of a man,
Mistreated and misread,
A haunting hollow cadaver,
Put to rest, hereby a pest."

When the bell rings sephia
He was a standing stone man
Treading the black ooze of norms
Walking, swimming
Breathing and drowning

"I am not a *****,
Not a ***** of eyes
Take me as I am,
A belittled man in a straightjacket."

"I promise one thing,
Not an eternal curiosity,
But a happiness
Inside this monochromatic eyes."

They cut the jacket
Releasing a specter, the blue one
Which they had, they should
"The book told us to" they said

Thus, the story ends
Implying the rudimental humanity
"Bound by fate,
Parted by human."
The two last line etched in gloom.

Creative Destruction
When I asked why the poem was deadly
Nobody could pick up my sign,
But they did their best to remain pretty friendly
even if they so clearly hid what's on their mind.
And I looked for a while at the pages
claimed by a man long ago
Who grew darkness like a king grows cages
and I knew right away this was Poe.

He wrote about the guilty heart and secret dreams,
and I know I have both of those in spades.
The first is due to my borrowed time,
and the second happens every time I get paid.
With no qualms about leaving behind the quiet life
like an old blanket that no longer keeps out the cold,
I push ahead knowing I'm headed for much more strife
than I even know how to handle or to hold.

On my mind these creations work in strange ways
and I'm feeling just a little bit drained;
when the sunlight and heat are still hours away
they flame up and demand to be tamed.
But tell that to the people I need to see tomorrow
and they look at me like I'm insane.
All the more reason not to feel any sorrow
When I escape from this fluorescent light domain.

I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be remembered by a lonesome song.
But when the daylight glints off of my eyes
I know I don't feel I've gone so wrong.

On the road beneath my feet my boots are tattered,
and I still have many crossroads to get passed
I hope, for once, all my illusions are shattered
and I find just what I'm looking for at last.
There's no destiny like for those who seek
everything but what's in front of their face.
Poe's haunting words are still at work
when I decided I need to keep up the chase

I cast nothing out when I pick it up,
All my memories make a home inside my brain.
I might not try to see if some are corrupt,
to be honest it all seems much the same.
They're all just tools for the Muses's fool
who tries to serve Her each and every day.
Always struggling with futility
can make even the most jaded one want to pray.

Some times I think I'm on a fool's errand
trying to blaze a trail where no one cares to stray
At the same time I can't see why I shouldn't
make some use of my dwindling days
The road I'm on was well traveled once
and, if it still is, then I just don't know,
but it's hard to see too far ahead
With a cloud of visions constantly in tow.

Yes, I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be forgotten before too long,
But when the daylight glints off of my eyes
I see a place where I might belong.

My pockets have holes, but are still useful.
My shoes have them too but feel great.
It's not like the gravel is all that painful
when you've been living on it for thousands of days.
The Sun is almost down now, and I have to leave
before the Muse calls me to Her.
She's never been one to wait that long,
She keeps a long list of those She might prefer.

The first of Her flames rise behind my eyes
when the dawn and dusk stand perfectly opposed.
The moon shines down through clouds as I write my lines
and my poorly guarded thoughts become exposed.
And when it's clear She's totally used me up,
and left me with nothing to call my own,
a seed appears, subtle and abrupt.
Could be brilliant, but She's just throwing me a bone.

The essence of Her preachers who lived and spoke
to the gathered crowds from days long ago
was spilt upon my growing restless mind
and it never washed off or lost its glow.
I know these words all came from Her
when She was feeling merciful instead of carefree.
Her image-less face always in the air
wherever my eyes try to see.

Yes, I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be hated, loved, or ignored.
But every time the daylight hits my eyes
My ears ring with that same phantom chord.

When those highest priests died before their time
it was clear Her potency wasn't just for show.
When they signed their deals to work for Her
She would never allow them to let it go.
The gifts She gave in their very first days,
just samples of Her endless dreams,
contaminated their all their futures
and made them eager to leave the main stream.

I know I have to die eventually
so why not end up on the side of the road,
having lived my life always for Her,
and for those who need a glimpse of Her code?