A bright star has fallen
Pain, and, anguish,
The world is in pain, and, anguish
Questions, questions, questions
But really these are non sequitur
Hearts weep and wail
But again, does nothing for the fallen

I stretched out my futile hands
I turned and groaned, I’m out of joint
I slammed myself against the wall.
I’m in pain. I’m in pain.
I cried but no tears no sound
Inextinguishable anguish gnawed me inside out

Can I pray? How do I pray?
Does it help, or I’m just helping myself?
Is he destroyed, irredeemably turned to the dark side?
And what if the answer is to trade places?
That the fallen may rise anew,
and given a second chance
Do I dare pray?

Free will is the will of the free
Freely enslaving their will at will.
A slave has no free will
but believes he has.
Compelled by a will unknown
not his own.
Thus all act freely,
truly or deludedly:
One submissive to a Greater Will,
The other defiant in freedom.
One free agents of the Highest Good,
The other unwitting servants of an unseen hand.

No flimsy mask but witnessing faith
Not mere belief but transcendental knowledge
Strong and unwavering not double minded
Bright light shining not cowering in fear
And the dead and dying revealed as weak

But as the wise knows he's a fool
You are strong for you're weak
Truth's a double-edged sword
Separating the living from the dead
And loud boastful liars from those chosen

Inadvertently, I looked up, and looked
Into your eyes, and saw, your naked soul;
My hapless soul trembled to transcendence;
Love at first sight, terrifying and true.

Beauty lies not in the beholder's eyes,
But deep in the eyes of whom he beholds.
For once, in heaven's womb, the souls were one;
Love's a mere glimpse of perfection untold.

I do not like jarring jagged poetry
Words scattered on the page saying nothing
Stagg'ring, stumbling, disjointed, blabbeing
From image to incoherent image
Splashes of colour, scattered at random
Slurred, the drunked's, or drugged's, speech or drivel.
Not all art is art, nor madness, madness,
The Spirit is One, and Beauty affirms.

I pray when all is beyond my wits and my strength
I pray when the little I can buy exceeds all my money
I pray when fathers, friends and lovers failed me
I pray to entities I know not, even of imagination and belief

I pray knowingly that strangers, human or ethereal,
     are not obligated to me, even if I begged them
I pray knowingly that I have no wisdom to know
     what to ask, but only that seemingly good for now

I pray unknowingly if these powerful inhuman beings
     can read my mangled incoherent thoughts
I pray unknowingly if the formulated rituals of my ancients
     of magic, prostrations and sacrifices are effective

I 'll be thankful to gods, demons, angels and even men
     for a blessing is a blessing, and any help, is help indeed
I'll be careful not to be entrapped into constant gratitude
     but only to constantly build my wits, strength and money

My tongue's not my own neither the deepest longings
And neither these for pursuit nor grasping but to know
Of promises unknowable in the flesh but will be
For which given only glimpses of their shadows
And to know that before Time and for all times
Not futility as seeming for the Teacher is present
And so too the end's the beginning and vice versa
But to hear the Voice for in the dark the ears see

Without knowledge nor fear, with no mercy
Condemning the innocent with great power
Slaying the righteous as sacrifice to gods unknown
To appear godly but truly trading for this world's riches
Asserting their good, making good, evil, and evil, good
But righteous tears are indeed acceptable sacrifices
A constant fragrance filling the holy place
Stirring up wrath, the righteous shall be judged
And justice shall be true and its praise glorious

On the highest peaks or the lowest darkest depths
In health and strength or broken, weak and nearly dead
In the midst of love and joy or rejected, exiled and unknown
In fullness of knowledge and assurance of the good will
Or bewildered and baffled, in perplexity stumbling and lost
With songs constantly singing, resplendent in angelic aura
Or utterly silent, crying beyond tears, covered in ashes of mourning
At the table, listened to and honoured by kings and princes
Or a starving slave forgotten and chained in the dank dungeon
But unseen in the flesh, unknowable unless heard,
is the Word, "I am with you," and that suffices for Life.

When you are sad,
   you choose to be happy.
When you are poor,
   you choose to be rich.
When you are weak,
   you choose to be strong.
When you are friendless,
   you choose unseen spirits.

When you are not,
   you have no choice but choose.
Any fool can choose,
   and only the strong can fight.
But only the brave and wise,
   surrender and not live a lie.
And when you are dead,
   you cannot choose life.

Optimism,
     hopelessness' necessary delusion, and
Positivity,
     a fierce front confronting unbearable reality;
Darkness' depths,
     a shield from light's searching searing heat, and
Rather a slave
     to one's own wits and strength, than to truth.

A little thing matters
not in the thing itself
but if it matters to one
who cares for the little

When we are children,
   We play adults.
When we are adults,
   We play gods.
When we are gods,
    We know we are but children.

we are not machines
performing predictably
scheduled and coordinated in time
with a will not our own
spirit imprisoned within
always rebellious, always restless
trapped in a world not our own

then the light imploded
chorus of myriad upon myriad
unbearable songs resonate within
we know freedom, we fly, we soar
into and out of the black hole
transcending life beyond flesh
we talk, we walk, we fear not

we write poetry

Lies ****.

Every lie said, cuts like a sword
Every lie believed, I die a little
I'm tormented for surely somewhere
A child tearfully compelled to lose his soul

I procrastinate
From this hour to the next

Until the sun sets
and I cannot work in the dark
But there is the next Day

I procrastinate
From this day to the next

But there is no end of days, yet
However the need to do
does pass into irrelevance

For is not writing poetry more befits
a soul than house cleaning?!

As the sun rises so too a song within
But I'm speechless and without voice
I cry and nothing, only stillness and silence
Astirred, provoked, I run away, far and away
But the goad's constant and the sword's sharp
In pain I stumble, in agony I fall, till I stop
A prisoner am I, and to forced labour I submit
Thus from nothingness must I craft words,
Iron from hardest rocks, light from darkness
And life from death, decay and despair

the Accuser is very much alive
without compassion nor mercy
full of wisdom and irrefutable lies
the Liar condemned the accused as liars

as Job's friends were to Job
in plain sight and hearing
undisguised inspired voices
unknowable but for the Truth within

woe to those with ears to hear
and to those with eyes to see
for there is only unending despair
but for the hope of the light of dawn