Sometimes, the pressure is so bad..
       on the spiritual-shift,
that it feels as though I am right on the edge,  
       about to crumble--

as if all  of Hell
is going to pull my soul and spirit  
       down  in to  it

an "un-willing" descension;  
dragged down, in full ****** form
                    .   .   .

There is a death down there,
        a life-swallowing horror--

My destruction, waits for me there
  There are poor, broken-ones there
unfairly  

     held against their will,  there.

I shudder as I think of the doom--
the retribution that awaits me
for anything..   for everything  
I have done  
that has dinged
his all holiness,  
the one on the throne here--

the deceptive-one,  
the hidden agenda,   acquiesced..

     the  f oo ler  of us all..  
                                (the ******.)



but, then  I smile to myself;

.. and then,    I can't stop smiling.

--the angry inch, always speaks the truth.

They take into themselves,  living water
from the vine strip that love brought to them  from
the canopy's Gathering--
from the passing storm of the lair, in Stratus

And behold, they are unafraid,  
     these thirsty-ones--

these cohesively-vibrating, pre-feathered cygnets
these illustrious,  winged smolts-- 

                              stream-drawn,     
              ­              ocean spawned.

Their wings: give flight?    No, not quite;
(though for an eternity  they have flown.)

And ever since love,   its been known
ever evolving,   they are..
         yet never  fully grown--

The Living water
keeps them stretching,   reaching..
yearning,  for  a  wind

that will give their hearts a home,
seed-sown.

When your worst horrors have come to pass
     and you did not die
and sleep  is actually a comfort,  
instead of a curse
Because dream-themes are no longer hauntings
but  instead,  flow in and out of consciousness
as random acts of grace
And the death that should be coming

becomes, instead
a replenishment of living cells--
a surprisingly-unexpected regeneration,  
this bracing for a Fall that never comes.

Winter is coming,

and this death, has a warmth
that will carry me through
And though the ground will be frozen soon,
there will be no death this year
above the frost line

But below,  in what is still warm
there will be a death,  that brings life--
encased in fear, yet floating within the midst
of a subterranean stream..  an ocean, of peace

Winter's chill is coming;  
there is a strange feeling in me
that tells me, I am ready.

On the streets of gold,  forgiven
by the skin of his teeth, maybe.

On here; on Earth--
stuffed in a corner
Bloodied.. trundled, fondled
wearing his sin--

(his unholy,
carcinogenic/pathogen).

And I,  I want to go to heaven..?
I would **** you, everyday
You self-serving *******,   now forgiven

I will take hell, you ****

She is still down here
and so, here.. on earth (and below) 
will become my heaven.

And I will become like you
and I will wear your pelts of perpetration
     and I will be hated for it
but there will be healing in the land
    because I am not  of you
nor am I of those who continue to do  

what it is that you have done

May the heaven you have entered into,
fully forgiven..   fully 'healed'
    become your hell

  through all things revealed

You felt nothing then
and you feel nothing now
But soon, you ****.. you will feel
I promise you  that  you will feel..

There is a darkness, even in heaven