A Psalm:

It is fitting to praise you with joyful song.
It is fitting to make stringed music to you.
It is fitting to sing new songs to you,
to play skillfully to you and to shout joyfully to you,
our God and Maker.
It is fitting to hope in your unfailing love,
to hope in your help and in your shield
to hope in your fearful, unfailing love,
our God and King.

It is fitting to praise you in the kitchen
with spoon and saucepan
with smart speaker on full volume.
It is fitting for the family to worship you
with loud bellows in the car,
with all the windows down.
It is fitting to praise you in the congregation,
in the Town Hall, in the parks and in the university,
in places of further wisdom your people praise you.

It is fitting
to play skillfully to you
to play with drums and cymbals.
It is fitting
to play with bass and keyboard,
to play with gong and cymbals.
It is fitting
to fill the Weston Halls with praise
to fill the corridors with the prayers of your people.
It is fitting
to stand together with your people
with both arms raised to you,
with our hope in your unfailing love.
It is fitting
for your people to praise you,
our God and Redeemer.

we were but a myth,
you were the deity
that i wanted so badly to believe in.

Of chancellery
Egyptian charm
Rosetta stone
Within his arms
He never thought
He'd do her harm
He kept her safe
His special cairn.

Upon his altar she was set
Phylactery, his amulet
Tears of gratitude he wept
For such a prize
As what he kept

But though she had
The center stage
All the time
She fumed with rage
He was a fool
She was a sage
So he kept her
In a cage.

Then one day
Whilst fool was sleeping
At her feet while
She was weeping
She spied a weapon
He was keeping
He had sowed...
... now he was reaping!

A candlestick
Of leaded weight
She reached out
Of the cage's gate
Though she was
In prisoner's state
She knocked it off
And sealed his fate!

This was not wisdom
To break his bone.
For she was then
Quite well alone
Yes... she'd put him
In his tomb
But, caged, she had then

Sealed her own
.

Let all praise rise to the Almighty!
He who looked upon me
This broken soul
This cacophonous mind
And wanted it...?
In this desperate, evil state
Down from glory, perfection
He stoops low
To reach into my vile spirit
My craving for rebellion
My lust for escape
My destructive habits
His heart is so soft...
He reaches to me
He holds me through the night
And strengthens me to rise with the sun
So, I repeat:
Let all praise rise!
Let it rise to my Savior!
Let it rise to the only reason I’m alive.

i sometimes wonder
what i did wrong
perhaps i was too much to handle,
incapable of loving small.
i tie myself wholly
in an act of pure devotion
ready for worship
maybe that's what made you run
but i can't apologise
for wanting a love
that eats me whole.

My darling thing. My precious lover.
Lake-born, Blood-stained, Wrath-filled.
My babe, She who howls inward.
Whose violence I hold in my hand
and tame with tenderness.
My sun, brightest light I know. My thing of nature, earth-loved;
My angel. My divinity. My god.




-

in the darkness
your ghost finds me
the memories leave me aching.
the moon was the only witness
to our midnight worship
the stars burned with longing.
teeth bared, nails dragging,
your moans becoming
my personal symphony
each beat of my heart,
yearning for your love.
now my skin is still on fire
from a blanket of kisses
bright enough
to make the night sky herself
weep with envy.