As I go walking out of the shadow
               The sun will shine
Watching you, watching me
You look so fine
As I go walking in the sun
Don’t need too run
Sun will shine

A passage of unseen looks,
A stolen question, sequestered
By worries—
Can I see you
For a moment?
Words laid at a doorstep,
Fingers quietly wound together,
A hand holding a head--
Don’t speak,
You don’t have to.
God knows your heart better
Than I ever could.
Bring it to Him,
Fall apart,
Feel the Spirit catch you—
It is not my arms,
But the love of Christ
Supporting you through me,
Gracefully broken.

I found myself on the verge
Of tossing out this poem
But the green in me said wait and see
It might just be recyclable

Perhaps someone else could use it
Bits and pieces, if not all
They could have a line or two that rhymes with a few
Of the stanzas I used to make up this poem

So, I set it out on the curbside
With a sign reading free to a poet in need
Which didn't take long till one came along
And snatched up the poem from the weeds in my lawn

Feeling proud of myself for the effort
In this poetic environment
Showing the world that I care and am well aware
Being willing to share with what little I have
in the recycling of this poetic trash

And to think I almost tossed it
Which should be a lesson to us all
If you think what you have is nothing but trash
The trash that you have could be recyclable

Amok
A mock
Mocking our time
Principles of life
Shattered from the spine
Broken, battered
Gone from the divine
Tattered, scattered
Like a burnt vine

gary oldman looks chinese  i know off one "rongpa" he looks like gary oldman man no kidding

The conscious sea arrests hold of me,
Collective knowledge streams to my head,
With new eyes of three, I now can see,
I’m swimming in secrets of the dead.

A tideless sea, of consistency,
Not up nor down, behind or ahead,
All Life dissolved in pure unity,
All life woven from a single thread.

One drop is whole– The Entirety,
Reality fits on a pin’s head,
Uprooting all I thought there to be,
Replacing it with nothing instead.

Thoughts absent beyond duality,
And time crawls while elusive and sped,
All is formless unfettered and free,
And no words say what needs to be said.

If you get the chance, Check out the book,
Sleep Always Calls, by Thomas W. Case.
It's available on Amazon.com.

Sleep Always Calls is a bruised-knuckle prayer whispered into the void. In this raw, unflinching collection, Thomas W. Case peels back the scabs of everyday life to reveal the poetry bleeding underneath. With echoes of Bukowski's grit and Cohen's haunted grace, these new poems prowl through midnight streets, broken dreams, and the quiet ache of survival. Sleep Always Calls doesn't ask for permission—it kicks down the door and tells the truth anyway.

When we
battle
with the Lords authority
we fight
from a place
of Victory
Not from a place
for victory

Satan , whose name means adversary or opponoment ,
stands against us in every spiritual battle .

The only thing worse than having Satan as an adversary . . .
is to have him as a friend .

Dear E----,

The bus crawls eastward like an insect:
silvery carapace and compound eyes,

broad-spotted blue-red with ads
as we scuttle along the curb-crumbs,

outpacing a decaying Tuesday sun.
In my thoracic seat I think of love,

its strangest colors and contours,
gentle treacheries and bridges burnt,

a wavering lawn of doubled sleep.
Tonight we dine on margaritas

in our cheap pub on the hill,
hope the questions all get answered,

touch feet under the table in secret.
I'm sure I wear at your patience

with this haircut I slashed myself,
my many stumbles of attention,

all my errors of cipher and code,
& the old hot luggage of my battles...

but you persevere. Look up -
the stars are champagne perlage

in a dark coupe, and all around
the living are dying; the dying are living.