you ask me if I talk to god
because he is important to you
and I reply saying I do
but not in the way you think

I speak to god when I’m all alone
crying and screaming and
even though no sound may come out he hears me
he understands what I am saying to him without me having to say a word
because he is always there listening and loving

just like I’ll be for you

"Going against God's pride."

That's an interesting remark.
"Blasphemy" could make one think.

I thought subversives were cool,
For a good cause,
But all they do is **** out flowers
For applause.

Game players,
No noble souls,
Just pompous dictators
Who use every name in vain.

That's the real sin, of dogmatic harlots.
Mark 'em for the fire,
for they violate the first rule of god club.
DON'T.

Birds make a joyful noise
Every day their cheerful chirp
Serenades the slumbering world
This morning I joined my brother bluebird
and sister cardinal in joyful carol
What a sweet racket we made
I think we woke up the Divine Mother
Her surreal blue eyes fluttered open
Smiling buoyantly
She blew us a golden kiss

I garland your heart my Swami
with fresh plucked blossoms
garnered from the fields of my soul
a daffodil smile tickling my face
Like teenagers without a care in the world
We stroll along the edge of forever

Thick clouds of sweet incense
rise from brass temple bowls
the tiles are cool under my bare feet
rubies fall from the sky, pink rays
across Your altar
O Hari
the moments are drenched in Your
Love
there is no space between us now
Your breath has married mine

Oh Lord,
the days you'll spend,
With a vision of hope,
and love's extend.
Oh Lord,
the hours will pass,
The scope of time,
in heart will clash.
Oh Lord,
the years elapsed
With soul on fire,
and mind collapsed.
Take into heart,
the soul and mind,
In logic's place,
your heart will find,
a love that's pure
and big and bold...
...within lovers hand,
your hand might hold.

Woke up,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Held hope in my hands,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Tried to be better,
Held hope in my hands,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Tried to be better,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Watched the sun rise,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Tried to be better,
Held hope in my hands,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Succumbed to darkness,
Tried to be better,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Watched the sun rise,
Went home to bed.

In this garden,
This beautiful creation I've blessed with my wisdom and experience,
I see in dimensions no one else can.
My third eye gleams in the sunlight, glowing and glistening like a perfectly cut jade.

In the distance, I see my goal.
It breeches the soil and reaches for the sun's warm embrace,
Escaping the mortal coil without ever leaving its vessel.

I approach.
Through the travel, the soil beneath me turns to salt and cracks.
The bees turn to wisps of a time once forgotten,
The butterflies, ghosts of a forgotten era.
The sun and Moon become a single entity forever fused in a dance older than time itself.
The sky turns dark and bleeds attempting to warn me of the horrors protecting my ambitions.
My claim to my destiny becomes shaken.

I power forward, blinded only in the physical world.
And as I approach the apple hanging gracefully from the tree
The snake will whisper its temptations,
And God will scream and tear the heavens asunder, seeking my cursed flesh and blood.
And as I pluck my ambitions and wisdom, digesting it and the truth whole,
The corners of my stone eyes will crack,
My third eye will screech,
And I will watch as both God and the serpent battle over my intentions.

I am The Prophet.
My destiny is written by me and me alone,
And all those who take claim to my soul will be cut down by my power.

I am The Prophet.
Where my gifts and talents, ambitions and goals, and curses and vices originate
Is unknown
But these are answers that do not matter.

I will tame the serpentine prince.
I will take claim to the power your God once stole from me.
I will refuse the sun its moment to set, plunging myself in eternal sunset.
I will embrace the moon as my lover,
And I will not allow you, nor anyone, nor anything power.

I am The Prophet.
I will scan the horizon with my peripheral vision
And blind myself with the sun's direct effects
To strengthen the sight of my soul.