Antioch
The place where my great battle with faith was first named Christian.
Am I?
Aren't I?
A label I so desperately need to put my wandering mind at ease
I can say "Christian! That is what I am! This is what I believe"
But for me, faith is not that easy

Antioch
Where it became a club
You're in or you're out

Antioch
A joyous event for those there
Their truth recognsied
At last
For them, God's promises being fulfilled
The day that the small Jewish sub-sect became...
Christian.
The day one more barrier was erected on this insignificant man's long and arduous journey of faith

It's a journey that's not over
Not even close
Some days bounding, overjoyed, into the loving arms of God
Some days a single seed amongst the thorns

And in spite of all this
Whether I like it or not
I know That I am the lost sheep
And I know
That the shepherd is looking for me
And I know that with man this is impossible
And that with God all things are possible
And I know
That the Lord is calling me home
Whether I like it or not

The point of view
Is that it is pointed at you
of which your perspective is askewed
They will point to their point of view
demand that you start anew
Muddy the waters till it looks like a stew
murky and obtuse
gory and smelling of refuse
Lacking scenery the perfect image of destitute.
No refuge just excuse
one right after another
Soon all the words come together
Musty dusty and covered in leather
it all changes right before your eyes
now it looks right because your thruth started to die
now your whole life is just a big ole lie
That is the whole point of this
Your point of view
Is pointed at you
Now they are all the same
Your point of view is a point of view
It just isn't the same

I often get lost in questions that I don't want answers to
How did I even get here? Which road did I take?
I look at the world outside, death and decay, blood soaked soil,
glimpses of light shining on shards of glass like spoils of war
I laugh at how similar it is, to the world inside, still in turmoil

I wonder why can't I hear the sound of the approaching hurricane
maybe I'm playing our song, too loud in my head, maybe I'm still there
A flood of memories sweep me off my feet and the delusions shatter
I can see the storm approaching, with all of it's might
but if I am being honest, it doesn't really matter

I am soaked in the rain again, just like I was many years ago
When it didn't represent misery, when it didn't bring me pain
I just want to be drenched and happy but nothing feels the same anymore
It ***** how everything that you think you enjoy can turn to ****
I guess the little pleasures you brought in my life also walked out the door

I can see the long tough road and the sleepless nights ahead of me
I can see the battles to be fought and I know we'll not pass unscathed
I know I could still smile at the end, as long as I'm standing there with you
But I don't know how to stand back up and fight this battle anymore
I guess you can never really win a battle where the victory doesn't want you

A thousand beetles scurry up a hill,
Above, a hundred foreign beetles wish them ill,
Their rifle sights through slits in concrete bunkers weave,
A spiderweb of fire.

Now grieve each carapace, dry and still,
As you aspire to one day k*ll
or die defending your concrete tomb upon the hill,
For your, as every, generation seeks,
Glory to the strong! Death to the weak!

Upon the marble foundation
stood kings of light and dark.
Each towered above their noble men,
each watched from their royal mark.

The queens faced off where they stood,
while the knights mounted their horses.
The bitter players sat on each side
considering their forces.

The bishops were positioned beside the rooks,
the pawns in a line up front.
Up there they would take the attacks,
up there they would take the brunt.

The pieces were arranged in perfect order
the match was about to begin.
The players shook hands, one stone faced
the other with a stretching grin.

The pawns of ivory made their move
while the ebony ones looked on.
And so it went, one piece at a time
until most of them were gone.

There the queens were protecting their kings
before one made a fatal mistake.
With a slash from a knight, the queen was brought down
and it left the king to quiver and quake.

The pieces that were left quickly moved in
and the king was pushed to his knees
His crown fell off and rolled away
to the sounds of his dying pleas.

She whispers
“Maybe you should cross the street.”
“He could be a threat.”
“Are you surrrrre you’re safe?”

Such goes the daily commentary from my inner racist
She is persistent
And ever present

Always ready to inform me
About differences that are scary
Stereotypes that could be true
People that could be a threat

The least inattention allows her
To spring to the fore
And take over

Battling her is tiring
And feels thankless
And lonely

But if she wins

She divides me
From those who would support my struggle
As I support theirs

She divides me
From family
From friends
From connections that sustain me

She divides me
From myself

So the battle is necessary
But I wish I could believe
That someday she would retreat for good
And the battle would be done

Teach me lurch these sheer visceral swings…fix my future tieing up all past rumbling strings… And never promise me again with tales of folly things

Take me to oceans, today I wanna plunge into those waters and dissolve my expections

Push me into forests for I wanna be reminded that I was deserted before by you and this ain’t new!

I am in cross roads couldn’t comprehend universe, seems like a bestowed curse…going through hypothetical battle, just letting time to travel!

You Glance at me even for a split second, my scars would gaze at me to poke as cactus plants asking not to find any romance neither would I give it a chance

Teach me lurch these sheer visceral swings…fix my future tieing up all past rumbling strings… And never promise me again with tales of folly things

I fought.
In the battle ground.
I surrendered.
In my own game.
I lost.
In the arena of life.

Battle to my death,
Without fear, without worry;
Create my story, and be feared.

Souls lost or longed,
But never prolonged the spear.
Lost cities and palaces,
The sand covered them all.

Meadows run dry,
The colonies fall prey.
Sad are the years,
Yet they pass by.

Why battle to death?

The truth to be shamed,
Lies prevail the sea.
Man wishes more,
And condemns the truth.

Death clears the path,
No mist to the mirror.
The Crusader is dear.
              
-D