I dance out my anger in the name of the priestess,
draw in her power to extinguish my unrest.
I worship my body in a state of undress,
let my rage break free in radical protest.
I surrender myself to this sacred process,
stomping my feet like an unbridled tempest.

Into the deep, God’s calling me nearer.
Eyes set on Jesus, I feel less afraid
to plumb His holy mysteries, to trade
the shoreline’s shallow surf for currents dearer.
Immersed within God’s Word, He meets me there
with treasures buried underneath the ink,
invites me of His grace-filled seas to drink,
pledging His own inheritance to share.
The love of God! How could thoughts e’er capture
Christ’s boundless waters of sublime delight?
(unmarred, untainted, free from guile or blight)
Yielded, though, heart bathes in, tastes Love’s rapture.
In worship soul can reach to highest bliss
when Jesus is the King that soul doth ‘kiss.’

The world's a farce and false, and You
Alone, good God, are Truth and true.

Somewhere, my love, I heard the rustling leaves,
The songs of birds,
My mind their music perceived.
Oh somewhere still! the silent call of God
Midst all the noise,
"Come, follow me!" called my Lord.
Follow the Lord! He guides you to the best,
Follow him on
Till you reach the place of Rest.

Somewhere, I heard the laughter of the flowers,
Gentle their words,
Lingered they on, many hours.
Oh somewhere still! the silent call of God
Midst all the noise,
"Come, follow me!" called my Lord.
Follow the Lord! He guides you to the best,
Follow Him on
Till you reach the Place of Rest

You are the Love that I Remember,
You melt me through Aeons of Winter.
You make me the blazing Djinn,
You make me the Christ without Sin.

You are the Cure for The Cold
and my love is like Footsteps in Snow.
Where I follow with Feather and Rose.
To give you my Heart and my Soul.

You are the Love that I Remember.
You are the Love that I Recall,
You are the Spirit of my Crossing,
You tie me in Beautiful Woes.

You are the Essence of Color.
Also the midnight cruiser.
You are the spring fawn,
and its your laughter that makes me grow.

You are the will of the bright.
You are the source of my spiritual writing.
You make me the king in blessings.
Blessings of virtue and light.

You are the love that I remember,
the truth and the love that is tender.
You are the ocean of responsibility,
that I pick up when reason is withering.

You are the quintessential virtue.
That all there is to know is full.
The fullness you supply, I imbibe
these virtues; with intimacy, grace and time.

Thanks be unto God,
For every good and perfect gift
Comes down from the Father of lights
Who causes us in Christ
The world to overcome
And to joyfully sing.  

I am a man flawed,
A Christian the Devil will sift
For a season.  But the serpent bites
His own tongue, in time; and I, imparadised,
Will ask him when he's dumb,
Death, where is thy sting?

I don't have a president:
I have a King
Who trumps the Chump
And Donald Trump,
And works seven
Days a week for Heaven,
Not Beijing. ​
The laws I observe are God-sent.

There are so many ways to worship the divine
Though my absolute favourite is in an abandoned parking lot
With fogged up windows to hide our devotion within
A temple of our own construction, and as sacred as the sin between our lips
As your hands roam the curves of my body, the fire within us ignites
Ready to sacrifice any and all logical thoughts
The rituals begin soon after in a rush to take our clothes off and I am nothing more than a humble offering
So you can drink me in like the finest of nectar, suited only for the gods
And finally the festivals commence with a tangle of limbs and a fight to keep ones breathe
Hands still explore as the fire burns hotter and before I know it you take me to the home of the gods
You welcome my acts of piety and respond in ways that make me see stars
My screams echo louder as your pace only quickens
And as the fire consumes us both
You take great pleasure in hearing your name being sung from my lips like a prayer
Satisfied by my worship you have no doubt in knowing which god my devotion belongs to

Blessed is he who shuns the road
Advis'd by wicked men to travel,
And stands not in the sinner's way
     Upon that stony gravel;
Nor sits within the scornful's seat
To look with pride upon the street.

But his delight is in the law
Of God, and night and day, and day
And night, he meditates on this:
     He ponders it alway.
Blessed is he who knows the rod
Is wielded by a loving God.  

Blessed is he, for he shall be
A planted tree by rivers wet
With living waters, bearing fruit
     In season, fruit thickset.
His water'd leaf will wither not,
And he will prosper on the spot.

Not so th'ungodly.  They will parch
Alike a desert dune at noon,
And blow about like so much chaff,
     And o'er the earth be strewn.
Far and away, away and far,
The wicked evil scattered are.

Therefore the wicked shall not stand
In judgment, but, instead, be judg'd.
No sinners join the congregants
     Of God, lest God be smudged.  
God gives his children cherishing
While wickedness goes perishing.