Seeing men like trees, walking.
Finally, the vision is clear,
And a battle is raging.
Masses of people
Adding the chaos
Of their own worlds
To global turmoil.
A television blares out
News of impeding war
Yet among so many faces
There appears not a care
Few have seen what is to come
When this created globe
Shall descend into judgement
Many blindly follow
As desperation strikes
While  others groan
With untold sufferings
Now comes the cry
For His kingdom to come
To establish righteousness and peace
Forevermore.

Once the haze of ashen smoke has cleared
And clarity is restored
A heavy cloud descends again
And rests among the leaves.
Eyes once bright with life
Are now so heavily veiled
Bringing on a willful silence
As the darkness of past condemnation
Engulfs every side.
It is a desperate flight
To escape the light
For fear it would shine too bright
And expose every shameful blemish
Not realizing its power
To bring salvation and healing
That no other source could provide.
A plea to cease the endless wondering
And aimless flight from the past
To seek the one true Light
And see His kingdom come to pass.

That which generations have sought after
Yet by no means can be found.
The very foundations of earth echo with hollow laughter.
Chills creep up my spine with every clashing sound
that reverberates high above each rafter.
No one else is worthy
The King of peace to be crowned.

Within the hearts of men
Darkness boils deep inside
As inky wells in a cavernous den
Where countless souls have died.
So finite is their time that ends in hellish glen.
No calm there is, nor will be
Until He can there abide.

The name is that which can no longer be applied
For the subject has changed a thousand times over
Disintegrated backbone that cannot offer anymore support
Than a crumbling pillar
That brings the ceiling crashing down
And destroys the protected world
Leaving bloodless eyes staring upwards at an empty sky
Words on paper, nothing more
These words can be forgotten
Or never understood. So they must be as sharp knives,
piercing through thick gristle, scarring deep beneath the skin
Lest they be counted among trivialities
In the moments of the future.

There is no balance
Everything seems to fall apart,
Resentment rears up,
and pain becomes a desire
hate against the incompetence,
the imperfection that dwells within.

Lost inside a world of hopelessness
Shattered dreams
Broken promises,
Self denigration
Alone

I don't know why I go on
in this decremental way
leading to nowhere

And so the blackness must recede
And let the light come again once more

A strange fire has been ignited
In the midst of the lonely forest.
In burns softly
At the risk of being unrequited.
The wind must not blow
Lest that fire
Burn the forest down.

I only wish I had a better memory...

Everything just became too monotonous, even with the light glittering on the surface of the water, casting thousands of facets across the pool deck like shattered glass.

So I went out for a bike ride.

All was quiet and seemed to sleep in the sweeping hand of the warm breeze that traveled all the way from the beach, and I can smell the faintest smell of the ocean waves, in the midst of all the jumbled pollutions and crashing smoke of smokestacks and exhaust pipes.

Then I saw.

On the side of the road there was a small black rag, that was not a rag, but a tangled mess of feathers twisted into a grotesque shape like the claws of death. Little threads of raw life all dried up seeping through shining fibers that had lost their sheen, turned into dull blackness, like strings of tar forgotten on the roadside.

So it goes.

And I rode on, into a large expanse of concrete, dotted at intervals down the center with trees covered in purple blossoms, standing out boldly against the dark grayness and stark white lines. A silver car was parked lazily in the shade of a purple tree, with sunlight shining off its streamlined hide. The shiny metal surface was being whisked to even greater heights of polished perfection by a rainbow colored duster, its wispy hairs blown sweeping gently across the Civic as the small lady in the purple shirt that matched the trees dusted busily. With her trimly cut black dress pants and pointy shoes, she moved quickly, half of her face hidden in a pair of expansive brown sunglasses that perched on her nose. What she was doing, no one knows.

Will no one remember?

I will time travel.

Now I am gone, and her existence still is, and was, and will be until it is gone. So will the sorry little rag of feathers by the side of life's unknown road, and the policeman parked across the lot, eating a donut.