you and i are just like mirrors of each other,
or like two parallel lines that run together that never intersect.

we are both lights. we are too bright.
that is why we are not made for each other.

we are made for the darkness.
we are chained to pain and heaven has clipped our wings.

now it is your turn to be wrapped in shadows,
and all i can do is hold your hand,
saying all the things you wished to hear,
cautiously calling out your name,
hoping that you can hear me from the depths of your abyss…

Dear Holy Tree,
I invoke the thee.
Don't ever dissapear,
The gods have forsaken me.
Done me so wrong, so wrong,
That the voices never stop.
I thought they were my shelter, my refuge,
But all they did was give me an urge.
All i need is a bullet and a gun,
It's an act that can't be undone.

I started building my house when I was five

Copying the words some pastor told me to say

I already had the foundation laid for me

But that was when it turned to concrete

Or so I thought



Slowly but surely the walls rose,

But they were built of twisted metal

Firm at first

But slowly it crumbles.



The roof is built, supposed to feel safe

But at this point it smothers me

In a house that is not my own

It is full of lies and deceit

It does not feel safe.



Then somewhere along the time,  

The hammers building turn to sledgehammers

Ripping down my walls

Revealing the carnage through the haze

I walk out, and walk away.



The freedom feels strange.

New words on my lips,

Ones I shudder to think of now.

I knew it wouldn’t last

But I wasn’t ready to return



But then music.

A single album, two friends.

Help lead me back down the path to the wreckage of my house

I know it is not all bad.

An intact siding here, a piece of tile there.

I collect the pieces I can still use

And I move to another spot.

I start to rebuild.



I still have questions about my faith, I’ll admit.

Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one I can depend on anymore.

But that’s normal.

I’m learning.

And I have people with me,

Visiting me and helping me rebuild.

I won’t lie and say it wasn’t hard.

But I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

In my journey of faith.

The Big Dipper
A sign that something
Or someone made and created
Our fare universe
And the planet with in it
As I look up at the Big Dipper
I see a chance to pray
A chance to worship
But I believe this asterism
Is a piece of simple art,
Perfect and delicate
That even tattoo artists cannot recreate
But do we have to give this entity:
A book, and a place to worship!
No?!  For it is nature

In every leaf upon the tree, In every wave upon the sea, In every star that lights the night, In every dawn’s first gentle light.

A thread unseen, yet ever there, A bond that all of life must share, In every breath, in every heart, An endless whole of which we’re part.

From mountains tall to valleys low, From rivers fast to winds that blow, Each soul, each spirit, every being, In nature’s web,
a vast unseeing.

The whispers of the ancient breeze, The secrets of the deepest seas, The songs that every creature sings, All speak of ties, of boundless rings.

In life’s grand dance, a tapestry, Woven with threads of unity, In joy, in sorrow, loss, or gain, We find we’re one, in sun and rain.

So feel the beat of nature’s drum, And know that you and I are one, In this grand scheme, this endless quest, We find our peace, our common rest.

In the days when we first chipped stone
and carved from earth long lines of chalk,
we set in place rock circles honed
to hear the nature spirits talk.

The hurried sun wheeled all around
these massive stones we made to stand,
casting shadows on this fertile ground
that tell us when to sow this land.

Then came the age of bronze first wrought.
We built our temples where oracles spoke
foretelling how our world was caught
in snares and schemes of gods provoked.

But tin and copper fell to iron;
A new temple grew upon Zion’s hill,
as gods to just one god would turn —
iron presaged dark satanic mills.

Another grain in the hourglass fell:
the sharpened skill of work in steel.
Our churches rose with tales to tell
which called us to in sackcloth kneel.

We wedded iron with coke and steam
to summon power, rip from earth
all we ever craved: a false dream
of boundless bounty, endless worth.

From one old god to a new model,
religious in the cult of me,
prepackaged for our blind apostles,
Mammon’s black seed sowed eagerly.

This seed turned slick with silicon
from which grew fiberoptic veins
injected with an ****** balm:
A new cult idol it became.

Today the circle’s stones are laid
in server nets that span the globe,
with oracle influencers well paid
to infantilize our frontal lobe.

Bright magic mirrors in our hands
with retina screen technology:
Tech prophets lead to this promised land
of unkept promises to fill false needs.

The circle’s silicon steles stand:
new dark satanic mills for today.
A mock Jerusalem holy land,
bare desert where chalk lines once lay.

In this waste I find an old stone axe
of flint and oak and red deer’s thread.
Its polished head still bears the cracks
from when we first on this path were led.

Stars don’t shine just to fade away,
And rivers don’t flow to lose their way.

If hands can hold but hearts must part,
What is the point of a beating heart?

If God denies the love we've got,
Then what is the point of having a God?

The copper dome
of this domus Dei
provides a home
where I may in silence stay.

Beyond its great doors,
a sea of candles like a hearth.
The cool marble floor
reflects the roof mosaic’s warmth.

In this vast space
my silence softly echoes
and in my vault vibrates
a secret libretto.