she’s out there on the ice again.
holy night &
positioning the gas-tanks just right.

joseph is her father, and his father,
even if not by blood,
raised flame.

foot to throat, brother remains
in the city working.
he is building a rocketship
in the basement of his apartment
complex.

back to town and dying houses.
foreclosures and fences.
lake of fire.

lights: she lingers in lights.
something so true and alive about the revelatory
of color,
of the world when lit and hit by sun
or our artifice.

her lovers: one dead by heavy
lumber, the other rewinding videotapes
in chasms of the library.
she thinks on his lips.

her dog tracks wet prints
across the carpet and floors.

wish list:
        mittens
        huckleberry jam
        iphone solar charger
        explosives

I stopped writing love poems when I met you,
and started writing psalms instead: I took
your lips as the body and your hips
as the blood of a Holy Spirit you’ve been
hiding in your eyes, your eyes, your eyes
that I’ve been praying to
worship, worship, worship. Some would call
this feeling blasphemy, but since it is winter,
I am willing to take a little trip down to hell
to melt the cold in my bones, especially
if that means I can walk you back
to Heaven. But don’t take this all too seriously
because
I stopped writing love poems when I met you,
and started writing psalms instead: I took
your words as Gospel and raised them to my
tongue and matched it with yours to bathe
myself in your waters to wash away my sins-
and yes, I am a sinner, for I have undertaken
many a Crusade to prove myself worthy
of you. But the blood of my enemies is your
hips. The lips of those I have left for you is
your body. And still in your hell I find Heaven.
But
don’t take this all too seriously because
I stopped writing love poems when I met you.

In a deep and narrow gorge
the wadi winds its tortuous course
in a cliff face pocked with caves
monks ensconced in steep enclaves

Elijah was fed by ravens
praised the Lord, beheld the heavens
Down a steep and winding path
What good is being a polymath?

Wadi Qelt a holy place
I feel God's serene embrace
past are now my life's transgressions
I embrace my sins as lessons.

Drink of the water from the rock struck once. Eat from the manna that falls from heaven and is a gift from God. Clamour not for the ravens that also fall and make you sick and put not your tongue to the vat of strong wine, old and festering with poison. Many men seek the wisdom of experience; probability and culmination and death. In the vast sea of the world, there flows a secret river that flows from the throne of God and pours into the secret chambers of the hearts of meek and humble men. There, wisdom is found and the tree of life springs forth its seed. There is a famine of the mind and of the soul and of the flesh. Its sores, the fruit of tribulation and its **** the wrath of God. Would you not cut or burn it out? My people live in a glorious city set on a hill and want not. They dwell with me and I with them. Harken unto me the words of the book written in your inward parts and I will inscribe a new sound on your lips, a song that never ends, a sun that never sets, a flesh that never corrupts, a love that never fails, a truth that never kills, a life that never sees death. Give Glory to God the Alpha and Give Honour to His Son the Omega and Rest in His Holy Spirit who Reigns: Beginning to End, Age to Age, Universe to Multiverse, Forever and Ever to Everlasting Everlasting. Man.

                                                                                                     - Joshua Morrow

white light, never grey,
you've come to rest
upon my hand
do not fly away!
i am held in awe of you
i'm held in your sway
this is what i wish
this is what i pray
i will not be selfish
i'll be kind today
you'll find a home
within my heart
then maybe
you'll stay...

i'll be truly faithful
i'll be truly meek
i'll be truly patient
i will uphold the weak
i'll lead by example
those who truly seek...

i've been meditating
upon the skies above
what i've searched for
all my life
is your perfect love

true wealth's in the humble
retribution to forgive
the walk will make you stumble
in death we truly live

so i will be long-suffering
and i will release
the joy that is inside me

i will be at PEACE.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/16/2016

There is a thought
Inside a man
Who swears the idea can
Change the world.
On his forehead the sweat draws
Itself to the contours of his
Face in confirmation,
The essence of intentions with
Only good in mind.

And when the thought is brought
Out into the open
The idea breathes itself into existence
And takes the form of a polished
Feature of morality.

In the idea the light shines in the darkness
Of the world and it becomes
An ideal that leads men into
Action based on the purest intent
At the very center of the idea.

The idea becomes cannon
Like a holy scripture found
In the darkest deepest cave lost
To the oblivion and found by
A flame that feeds itself
With fires of ideas and burns
The whole of himself for the sake
Of the thought.

In these men intent and action
Can be seen,
Born of an idea with light at its
Core and purest intention
Of the heart,
And one can see the idea burns
The whole of a part of the world.

there is no sanctity
in the way you caress my face
although i always convince myself there is.
it's kind of like religion in that way:
all of the words
and thoughts
and actions
that created us
and linked us
are probably
fabricated lies.
and yet, i still look to you
as if you are a font of holy water
inside of a church,
as if your contents
were blessed
by some higher being.
i'm constantly getting drunk
hoping that maybe this wine
will turn into the blood of christ
or the blood of you
but it doesn't,
and i just get more drunk
and less whole.
it's a pity, really,
that i continue
to be so pious
and so faithful
to you, to god
when the only thing
the two of you really have in common
is you both love to let me down.