To my Love:

Destroy
With all the strength you have,
These antique walls that constitute my body.

Excessive solidness,
Excessive height of limbs,
I hear no sound of prayers from your mouth.
Just tear my walls down.

Let me fall in pieces.
Let me slowly bleed on autumn morning.
Unveil me, disrupt me
Like a storm of raging thunders
Washing centuries away.

Undo me and I’ll be yours.
Dismantle me and I’ll be yours, and yours alone.

And once you’re finished come close to me
To build me up again,
To save me from a liturgy of pain
And make me a constellation yet to be
Shaped into the bulky form of galaxies.

On your Marc, Get Set,  GO!!

3 Marks, in 2 days
A sign...
Obvious in fact.

First there was the Mark of the Cathedral
Perfect in It"s Reverence,
Baptism of Creativity.

Then, there was the Racehorse.
Faster than a speeding Bullet,
able to leap tall buildings with a single ping

And then finally,
the one whose name means Beautiful...
Artist, Creativity, Perfection..
the only one who matters...

Three Marks, one Anointing.
A confirmation of Love
An Ordination of Willingness

God's pen upon the paper.
the true Mark of Humanity
Blessing.

In all circumstances
Blessing.
Peace, Holy Spirit.

And So It Is.

Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,

There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,

Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?

If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?

The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?

But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,

That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,

That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,

Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.

you twist each limb with every click 
of your tongue, canines grinding 
together as i count each tired breath.

this is where we’ll stay. i lift my head
 at the witch’s hour and form a 
cathedral above you, in my head i’ve 
cast myself as god.

stay now, stay beneath my hand.

there is safety here, even under the 
sins etched into each thread of the 
blanket you sleep with.

i will burn for you.

you’ll wake up and find holes
in my hands.

I've walked
The flat lands
Of Alberta
And ascended the foothills.

Near the doors of France
I've approached the caves.

Crossed the Channel
And homaged
The chalk altar
Of Dover.

Looked skyward to
The Dome,
Thought of creation
Across the blue
Michael knew,
And raised
A finger.

Nativity scene number fifty three
signs shout "Silence and Prayer" overhead
Publicly kneeling despite words we read
Innocent giggles sound profane instead

Selectively ignoring just to fit in
ourselves to the mold of our past
secretly telling the priest of our sin
but bowed in the chapel of glass

glass windows
crystal panes
quite mesmerized am I
colored parts
crimson shards
I wish to have you for my eyes
womanly arch above my head
your shapes are all that I have bled
my story starts like your creation

there was a time when all you were
was magnificent idea
in the mind of a man
a quiet plan unwelcome in the land
a time when you were a naked chaos
trampled by cattle
the dust watched your birth
you rose screaming from earth
men cursed while they worked
a torture
an eyesore
with potential at best

Barren poles for arms
Slabs of marble legs
when your beauty arrived
all were surprised
and verified the validity
of your maker's pride
his blood, your paint
his teeth become your enameled wall
the iris of his eyes, your windows
his mind the crowning dome
his life the mascara of your shadows

the bones are at rest now
no one pounds out their song
on the old wintry walls
and the days are long
the wounds shown are old
long out of style
you will soon  recover from man's victory
and slip back into old ways
for from dust you were taken