Things are strange.
Call life vain, wild and confusing.
We are born with choice, grow up to decide and sway with the impact of emotion.
You develop an idea, share it, make it real, then become so consumed with it that it replaces what we hold close to our heart.
I overthink things at night, I fight with thoughts and cry, waking up to a body battered and bruised by my mind.
They are looking at me, they see me all the time but I hope they know what I'm not trying to hide.
Think about your raw state, think of the choices you make,
do they all really mean anything?
Are they impacting and important, are they for your benefit and only yours, are they dependent on a Higher Source or are they as unknown as a conversation about the crease in my eyelid?

The cold wind blows, the tree tops sigh
Crows upon a bough, loose their cry
And he can't hear nothing --
Nothin' at all.

Prayers of the pastor are the only sound
A cradle of blood, falls to the ground
They don't see nothing --
Nothing at all.

A single black crow flies overhead
Eyes stare out of branches
He nods a sleepy head
We cry and you cry, repent too late . . .

But the screams they start in the hollow of our lungs
And something wicked this way comes
And you can't see a thing for all the faces
And blackness fills the skies.

He tries to run away but they make a screeching sound
Louder than a train wreck leaving blood upon the ground
Thousands of crows swarm --
Slowly, pecking out his eyes.

//

But the screams they start in the hollow of our lungs
And something wicked this way comes
And you can't see a thing for all the faces
And blackness fills the skies.

You try to run away but we make a screeching sound
Louder than a train wreck leaving blood upon the ground
Thousands of crows swarm --
Slowly, we peck out your eyes.

A single black crow flies overhead
Eyes stare out of branches
You nod a sleepy head
We cry and you cry, repent too late . . .

Both light and shadow
are the dance of Love.

Love has no cause;
it is the astrolabe of God’s secrets.

Lover and Loving are inseparable
and timeless.



Although I may try to describe Love
when I experience it I am speechless.

Although I may try to write about Love
I am rendered helpless;
my pen breaks and the paper slips away
at the ineffable place
where Lover, Loving and Loved are one.



Every moment is made glorious
by the light of Love.

The moon has become a dancer
at this festival of love.
This dance of light,

This sacred blessing,
This divine love,
beckons us
to a world beyond
only lovers can see
with their eyes of fiery passion.

They are the chosen ones
who have surrendered.
Once they were particles of light
now they are the radiant sun.

They have left behind
the world of deceitful games.
They are the privileged lovers
who create a new world
with their eyes of fiery passion.

love knows things i do not.
love knows your hand on my cheek,
it knows what your lips taste like,
what your sheets smell like in the morning,
your legs tangled with mine.
it knows the light falling in your room,
the dust over your bookcase,
which books you haven't touched in years.
love knows what you say when you're upset,
the insults that you don't mean,
how you cry when you're angry,
how you sit at the end of the bed
with your hands in your lap
and stare at the linen while mumbling an apology you wrote on a napkin before coming home.
love knows that you will come home.
but,
i know things love does not.
i know what it feels like to search for answers
that aren't written for me.
i know the distance between us.
i know every mile.