I don’t want someone that just turns my head, I want someone who can turn my heart. George MacDonald said “God’s fingers can touch nothing but to mold it into loveliness.” I hope he forms me in the same way, since I desire it in someone else.
A feeling.
A burst of light.
A desperation.
A cry for help.
A hint of joy.
A ray of hope.
A sadness...

Haggard men in tattered clothing
On the concrete sandbars
Of the great black stone
Rivers.
Thirsty.  Starving.
"Thank you and God bless!"

Can you help me?
Do you care?

Pastor sits in his wooden box.
On your knees in your
Private prison.
Pass the collection plate.
Glory,  hallelujah!

Can you help me?
Do you care?

High school kids shoot heroin.
One long row of
Slack bodies.
Deep nods.
Where am I? What am I doing here?

Can you help me?
Do you care?

A new government,  built on
Bad decisions.
For the money,  of the moneyed.
Blinding white hair,  trading blood
For precious oil...
"We, the people of the United States..."

Can you help me?
Do you care?

A sadness.
A desperation.
A cry for help.
A burst of light.  
A hint of joy.
A ray of hope.
A feeling...
I don't remember exactly when i wrote this one.  Sometime last year.
G 1d
God. Who’s he?

A figment of your imagination, a phantom of my reality?


Who read in a book written a millions years from now, that for only a “small fee” rebirth can be found?

Wanna get to heaven? Sounds great! Make sure to slide a 20 on top of the collection plate.

telling lies like a poor man can get to heaven, oh honey, only the rich can afford wine and anointed caskets. Take your rags to the back, throw some pennies on the plate, we’ll give you the “salvation” you clearly lack for love and understanding.

Our pastor needs another Ferrari, meanwhile
You don’t have a car. Just show up every Sunday, and we promise you’ll rest with the stars.

For $19.99 confess all your sins. Tell it all to a stranger, same some prayers, then do it over again.

This is religion, the largest capital regime. So remember next Sunday, its not what it seems.
i am
unholy unholy unholy
in this god forbidden church.
no one takes interest in me
and i don't care for them
as we are not the same.
for lucifer were god’s friend before he too
fell fell fell
burning rage and scorched wings.
a cold betray when he realized
that a disobedient angel
is a blasphemous one.
and you can't tell me that i’m
a saint a saint a saint
when i do nothing but listen.
for hearing your sins do not
clear me for my own sacrilege
in the eyes of the blue skies.
i am nothing but
a sinner a sinner a sinner
only hurt by your touch.
and i wonder if this was the way
the fallen angel felt when he was
condemned to become human.

the mind knows
all humans are unholy
(and from heart, god is no better)
joseph had a lover before he knew of jesus,
she went by the name of lilith.

she was by lengths and widths the fields of fungus and weeds,
with stiff ribs and taut stomach, more than what he could afford.

yet still he'd stand on her doorstep,
waiting for her to take the rose from his bleeding hands.

she took it
and left the thorns behind in his soft palms.

she harkened a role in the loss of his innocence as a teen,
he indulged himself in fertile soil and dampened moss.

ten days later, she grew wings and flew away, looking for the pit of a peach,
or something sweeter to call home.

...

he had a lover of the names adam and eve,
he found them in the garden of eden.

they were a pair of lungs,
seemingly carved from the same tree.

they were less than two people, but more than one consciousness
divided by layers of gold skin, muscle, and bone.

both more than willing to step into the flesh of one another,
as they had tasted the forbidden fruit together.

cheeks pressed between molten thighs, licking the ichor of what he imagined to be god between blond curls.
his or hers, he did not know.

he saw the serpent seething, and the next morning,
they had left him while he was asleep, a kiss and several coins pressed into the scars of his palm.

...

he had a lover before when god was just an idea
and there was no life after death.

joseph had then met mary.

who had the luck to cheat on him with god?

mary had a little lamb, shrouded in fleece and hay,
born in a manger and caroled by holy men.

mary wept tears of joy as the lamb of god / second adam / messiah
was birthed from her womb, warmed in blood.

joseph wept, as healing himself as if he were a blind, mute or demon-possessed man would not help someone like himself, someone who craved sin so desperately.

a woman whom he loved, he did not any longer.

...

joseph was approached by angels
holographic lenses flicked angrily, the bright lights blinding-

betrayal is not an option.

then they stopped short and dropped silently,
crucifixion to those warning against god.

for who needs anything but a heavenly father?
T R S 4d
Miming only action is like mining fiction faces
A fraction found in fire can be the sum of holy stasis
T R S 4d
What does it mean to make a resolution to be better for the sake of others rather than yourself?


Well I guess that would mean trying very hard. And loving a lot. There's not much that other people have that you don't, but it's more a matter of instinctual self preservation than actual generosity on most days.


So how often is it okay to groom yourself?


It just so happens that there are several fallacies in the instincts of men. There's larges pocket of open air that fester and begin to ring about change in the oldest fashion, through death.


In the end of days, it's said, that shredding dead weight can lift you.

It's a rapture, for sure. There's nothings like lapping in salvation when you know your rap sheet is shit compared to the men next to you.
the pointless prophets they point out to us will eventually become the demons we run from in our sleep.
all it is, is how you see.
Drench in a rain
On the very lonely day
Trust to open eyes
Can't escape a formidable hole
Society filled with energy vampires
Welcome to the horizon of belief
Obsessed over a details
A drop of rain, change its form
Natures’ laws that never change
Supernal glory
Voice of the omnipotent
Walking side by side
With a God’s soul
Transcendental height
Avenue of belief
Real quest for the self
Science or religion?
Life is undefined
Death is, both, science and religion
Death is, the loss of presence
Absolute being
In absence of shades of grey
Stand facing mirror, If see nothing.
It’s the absolute self
Faithfulness towards faith

Piece of advice
Science with religion
Let’s stop here in wonder mute
Genre: Spiritual
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Double hinged doors can only swing so wide.
Jester all of us, beckon us to place a token of our time.
Light the halls, embroidered walls make them stand tall.
For without our greed, it would crumble with ease.
All of us bring our broken will.
No place for that heavenly grace.
Disgrace to our race.
White wand in hand.
They unleash the “lord’s commands”
“Follow with a blind eye”, oh what a surprise.
Written word followed by the glorious herd makes them heard.
Abracadabra! Everyone claps. We are all cleansed of our deeds.
A messenger of the purist form laid down to die, for us.
His messages, “Stone is rigid, nothing is forgiven. “
“You lead! Place the crown upon your cranium.”
“Show me how much you can explain to him.”
His last words, “With arms open wide, I accept this punishment.”
Priest lying down his book, boils to ashes.
We knew this would last.
Our lord has gone.
Doors open wide.
Black.
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