Solving by a flame,
I must be so happy
When born into the world.

Burning on from millennia,
Passion breathes all birth
And end
And everything in-between.

Welded by the inferno,
My face molds to a mask:
Chalk-white as paper skin,
Flakey strips for lips—
My expression alarms.

Into light,
I have projected death
Into shallow screens
With verbose screams.

Emerges towers of babel,
False prophets come as i.

From the pit to the crucifix,
My corpus, my words,
Spreads so thin
As a caricature of God.

I am heresy,
I am the gnostic,
I am conviction
For and against truth.

I am stripped conviction
Of inanity and insanity
Behind and between
Intemperate intellectualism.

Held up to heaven,
My head is afoot
and upturned in disorder.

I have seen,
In violent retribution,
The vehement falsehoods of it all.

I fall to turn
To watchers—
Those who churn
My melted body
To the callous grounds.

In perfervid *******,
Burdens strap to backs
And i hold this as novelty.

From its forever conflicts—
Agon of life and fore,
Bodies are torrid
And these ravishments break.

I drown in flaring flagrance,
It bleeds me dry—
These torrid bones of mine.

These final gasps
For air to dust,
I die to an untrue hand.

By a crooked hand,
My voice is seized
From an inflamed throat.

I lie,
Ardent,
Ad a martyr—
My life and death
Has been pretension.

This is a death march, don't be naive
Worthless shepherd to your little sheep
It seems to me we're all truly blind
Let's all believe neglect is divine

A cold and lonely corpse is all you will leave
What else could you possibly believe
None of us will ever find
A way to fight this cruel timeline

Baffled by what you hope to receive
For if God is real he's left us behind
Or at least he's taken what's mine
And I watch my life in the sieve

Don't let yourself be deceived
What you believe
Betrays your selfish greed and endless need

To get oblivion out of your mind
He is clearly unkind
And laughs to himself as we bleed

Cast away as you cast a line
These misled, pathetic, malign
Faiths of humankind
That have never failed to bind
The mask, the blind

And still we can't see
The evil sewn into his design
Shake my fist to the sky
Beg, plead, pray for ease
And weep quietly, "please"

For all of my want
I've still seen not a lot
And your god that turned his back on you,
And your entire faith
Is ignoring me too

I refuse to accept
My loving creator has crept
Into my heart just to make it seize.
So I scream
And I scream
And I still see no reprieve.

This is my challenge
Which will not be met
To prove my point
Let's commit a sin, let's bet.

If there is a God, then that would mean that this is his plan. If that is truly our creator, then I reject him, and judge him as he would judge me.

Sacrilege. Heresy. Smite me, almighty smiter. I have thrown down the gauntlet. You have no sons, no daughters, no apostles, no martyrs.

You have only slaves. And I will not accept the original tyrant as my saviour. I rail at the notion. Perhaps Lucifer had a point.

I have found God on my knees,
read scriptures along your lifelines.
I sang your praises into my hardwood floor,
memorizing every note as they fell from my lips.
Hold me close and make me believe in a deity I can only see by starlight.

Our bible is not written in ink.
It is a roadmap of purples and blues scattered along my collarbones,
parables of passion bruised into my hips.
I will give you this body
if you will show me divinity until the glints of morning touch this church of hollow promises and hot breath.

I will murmur my sins into your skin
until the morning makes us mortal again.
But for tonight
make me your disciple,
let me drink you in like sweet ambrosia
until I am sure that the stars spell your name.
For tonight,
make me absolute.

It was somewhere  between
her third and forth ******
when the wall, came down;
a wall  she didn't even know existed--

                   A wall, that is,
    until love came to town.

And so it is,  within the pleasurable;
   when mixed with pain,  
   in certain moments;   
becomes,  quite obtainably
the death, of death..

within the loving-kindness
         of things known, anally--

        (the tenderness of a back-door man
        is a righteousness, all it's own),
        as  it is the intentions of the heart
        that brings one  closest,
        to that   of kingdom, come.

And yet.. an angelic, front-pew voice
   singing praise
   when heart-- unchecked,

can become a clanging sound, unholy;
drowned out, by the passion-screams
of the one,  once-bound--

        but now,  breaking free.
        (a truly righteous sound in Heaven,  indeed..)

        --and Love,  Love,  Love;
        is rarely what we think it otta be.
        (or maybe, there is a heretical-hell
        waiting- for those  just like me.)

But if what passes itself off as life,
is actually Life, indeed    
                 then I choose hell, (yes. again, indeed).
And if heaven, for most.. is nothing, but a crutch
I'll choose death, over death, every ****** time..

                                           thank-you-very-much.

The pantheon of misplaced fears,
Whose walls were built on oppressed tears,
Has been well-guarded through the years,
Hiding from curious man’s ears.

There is no faith that threatens fears,
Afflicting the weakest with tears,
No faith like that withstands the years,
Silent in curious man’s ears.

Unchallenged faith the true faith fears,
To give compassion through the tears,
Where questions repeat through the years,
Faith needs curious eyes and ears.

The curious confront faith’s fears,
The curious fight through faith’s tears,
The curious give faithful years,
The curious give faith their ears.

"Why, you know's a spoken spell, a prayer for reason",
The magician said,

"I wanna think God's thoughts", and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
"After him". I stood the queue, knowing why, I kept silent.

Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was such a heretic. Ask any Pharisee.

Evaluation and appraisal, worship and praise,
who told you to do that? A shepherd kid?

A lonely boy under the stars in a peaceful valley,
beside still waters. Like Bob Dylan at twelve. Singin' along.

Worthy, so worthy, sang the boy, never knowing the role of
y after worth in setting the appraising price or prize

What's it worth to know death has no sting? A song?
Then sing, soft, don't wake the dead.