he lost his way, he knows not when.
chasing false idols he mistook for men.
he'd lose the child, if he only knew then -
he'd find a way to be a man again.

I've been a slave so many
times.
I've been a slave to
***** and vaginas,
to poverty and the streets.
I've been a slave to opiates
and poetry
brutality and love.

I've been a slave to
the flesh and my addictions,
good intentions galore.
I've been a slave to
beauty and hatred,
passion and desire
the flame
and the
fiery dance with death.
I've been a slave to the
crowd and the pedestal
the morning glory women, and
their spells.
I've been a slave on
the slow ride to hell.

So for the last time,
I'm done with slavery.
Go find a new **** to control.
This rooster is going back to
the barnyard,
chase the horses and hens.
I promise
I will crow at the
freedom-soaked dawn.

She draws attention with spellbinding dance,
No man has ever looked and looked away.
So much mistaken beauty for romance,
Those men who see with just their eyes, her prey.

Her body is the uniform she wears,
Nubile and innocent in father’s eyes.
Enchanting beauty fueled by endless stares,
Of men who see with blindness idolize.

She’s only all the beauty, nothing more,
And nothing else she ever wants to be.
The promise of a Siren on the shore,
Exposed to every ****** on the sea.

She’ll never lack for men she can control…
Just not men who see Beauty with their soul.

I walked into our chapel
shoulders back,
head high,
dignified.

No Catholic shame
forced my eyes
to the mosaic aisle

Trodden Over
by my Sandaled feet,

It was a feast day,
praising God
with our laughter
and shared
beneficence.

We joined
in joyful prayer,
receiving each other's
sacrament
with the reverence
of saints

but just as I sang
the psalms the loudest
there came
an unholy silence,

Believing I was being
tempted,
I fell to my knees,
contemplated
your wonder

waiting for your return
to your
prodigal lover;

squandering our
sacred time,
not counting the blessings of
our moments of grace.

I hung upon
my silent cross,
weeping into my
wine-soaked rag

Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani  

Descending into
Despair,

Waiting for
an Easter
that I swore
had been prophesized,

Even upon your
high holy
return,

you seemed resurrected,
and yet I not saved.

I felt like Moses
on his day of death
beholding
the promised land
covenanted by
souls

and yet
remaining in
this desert
thirsty for
the wellspring
that seemed to be sitting
behind your eyes,
the water that would
quench
my forever thirst.

Despite the ache
in my dried mouth,
I'd find
the will
to stand upon my feet,
tired of relying on
a charitable heart's
sympathies
as my means of
living.

But I found
that I was
praying for
too much
from you

and I fell upon
my knees again,

wondering if
humility is meant
to leave you feeling
this broken.

And so begins the litany
of sacrifices

wondering

if you are my
love made flesh
why it is I who is

scourged,
stripped of dignity,
nailed to a cross
that I had brought here
myself

Mumbling words out
to a silent heart
that I know
hears me.

Thinking that surely
our death
will meet me soon.

But by
the clever grace of
the devil

I continue,
finding life
that should have
diminished
at two o' clock.

Is Hannukah
not
supposed to be
a celebration?

Because while burning
in this modest
Menorah lifestyle,

sacred
and
devout.

I find faith
in you

and have been shepherded
to no redemption,

but only the
salty pillars
of one who trusts
in gods
created by another God.

And upon this realization,
I rush to confession,
knowing my worship
of false idols
is not over.

As I remember
our love
as beautiful
and mighty,

I'm forced
also to remember
that
Lucifer, too,
fell when things were at
perfection.

Try as I might,
I must turn my face away,

with the hope
that something
greater

truly does await
for one
who loved paradise,
body and soul,

with the finality
of resurrection.