I feel
an angel’s touch, so soft, so near,
a mountain crumbles,
its roar I hear.

I see
the shadows carved by lightning’s glow,
the light of a seed
in the earth below.

I hear
the silence stretched across the years,
curses rising from the graves
through tears.

I believe
in the stain of a demon’s dark embrace,
in the power of words
to claim their space.

I know
who will bear the weight my cross demands,
why the world bleeds
through trembling hands.

I feel
the steps that lead me closer to my breath’s last bend,
the touch of an angel
before the end.

*

I Feel
(Alternative translation I)

I feel
an angel's touch upon my skin
I feel once more
a mountain crashing, tumbling in

I see
the shadows lightning leaves behind
I see anew
the light within a seed confined

I hear
the silences an age has kept
I hear again
the curses rising from the crypt

I trust
the foulness that a demon breeds
I trust still more
the power that resides in deeds

I know
who'll bear the cross that's meant for me
I know as well
why bleeds the heart of all we see

I feel
how many steps till death I tread
I feel once more
an angel's touch upon my head

The stain marked blots of swirled ink
Like a rabid rorschach dalmatian
Whose spots ripple radiuses that splice
And blend jagged lines into a roving equation of pi
Designed to describe the inner most 'I"
That is lost to a world paved in concrete palaces
Where stasis has become the new normal
Amongst the maelstrom of competing voices
Voicing their interpretation as unrequited
Expressions that stresses the individual syllables
Of FREE-DOM against the forces that otherwise
Leave the slate blank so that all that remains
Are empty spaces of what could have been
If ink never stained the page

It's not necessary for God to be like they say,
And if God is indeed so limited, then it's not God.

Just think of it, come on now, just think of it,
If God is omnipotent, omnipresent & omniscient,
Then why so limited?

Why assign a gender,
Why call, 'formless,'
Why say, 'sinless?'

If God has a gender,
Why not a female?
If God is formless,
How can It judge?

You believe in men born in the desert,
Dehydrated and hallucinating men.
All your À-Bràhmìk reLIEgions,
They are follower-hungry,
Strains of narcissism.

Accept that your God is weak,
So weak that it can't even take a form,
Or even endure criticism.