Christ said our tongues were to be our swords,
but I honestly preferred a scalpel.
I mean, he said it was cool.

and make hands...
because the physician is at work.

for i speak to his name
for his name
of his name.

and all the wounds of
Silence will scream
until the hurt perish;
like sizzling flesh.

and what of wound's death ?
shall it be made undone ?
therefore health ?
a scar to remember,
and a scar to bare:
the marker of how many
times we have become
healed ?

time will truely tell all and heal all.

she was really cute.
i always left with my lips
feeling like cotton.

I'll sprint through the grasses
and dare each acrobatic-
like soccer in summer
or a wild animal in wilderness.

the sun's phoenix
scorched across the morning sky.
the watchers were at play,
and there were the background fading ,the boundary
of the red burning blue sky.
asteroids like hell fire
rained easing stones
to cease Earth's mighty
pains.

We must renew; this resurrection.
An apocolyptic sufferage
we have in envision
praying to God we are
the false prophets whence we led astray from eternity.

For there she lay in deathly slumber,
wondering what could have been
and what she ought to do !
The survivors were like her savior,
and eased every of mark.
And once the moon's cool light
drove the flames away she thought
she'd blossom again.