do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me

Isn't it time?  Isn't it time to stop pretending everything is OK?  That the agenda of the rich is more important than the suffering of the poor.  That the starving die from hungry while the fat cat of greed binges and pukes more than he needs and then goes back for seconds and thirds.  That we willingly let ourselves waste away with ****** knuckles and bruised knees and broken backs just to keep corruption in the blood of those we've let strip us of our voices and our power.  That we are nothing more than puppets and slaves of big business hiding behind the mask of goverment.  That might makes right.  That war is OK.  That as long as you're in the right uniform mass ****** is legal and just.  That our children are killing their children and their children are killing our children and thats just the way it goes.  Isn't it time?  Isn't it time to stop the charade?  To stop pretending?  To final stand up and use our voice, our words and our power... and scream **** NO!  IT IS NOT OK!  Starvation is not OK!  Bombs and bullets and the never ending cycle of war and hate is NOT OK!  Stop sacrificing our children to the march of war and the the business of men profiting from their tombstones.  Stop pretending we don't see the problem.  Stop pretending we cannot find a better solution.  That we cannot raise our children better, teach them better, LOVE them better.  Treat their lives better.  Put the old dog of war to sleep and spare their lives.  Let the gears of hate rust and crumble and teach them empathy and kindness and generosity and compassion and love.  

I dream that I have died... and in those dreams I cry, I cry my heart and soul out.  Not because I am dead but because I have promised my son that I would always be there for him.  And in these dreams I sob and sob... repeating... "I promised, I promised him I would always be there..."  Sobing and repeating,  feeling that I let him down and that I lied to him.  I cry long and hard in these dreams until I wake up crying and sobing a deep snot filled cry.  Deep painful sobs and cold tears cutting through my face and burning down into my soul.  Repeating in the dark,  "...but i promised... i promised him..."

And I know it wasn't a straight out lie and I know that death will make liars of us all... we all make impossible promises to keep...  If I live long enough to see him stand up on his own in this ****** up ugly world I will have kept my promise to the best I could...

That is, unless I fail to teach and raise him better... to show him empathy and kindness and generosity and compassion and love are the only real solutions to making things OK.  That bombs and bullets and uniforms of mass ****** are not OK solutions... EVER.  If I fail to do this, I may as well have died in my bed the night I dreamed I was dead.

;do you ever wonder
about the difference between looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at  your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i've been choking on the splinters
for 14 years
it's been 14 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
14 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
14 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me

The routine way of struggling,
The murmuring way of surviving,
The gnashing of teeth within a teeth,
The echoing of the springs drop on my ears,
The yarning of the sun, the bleeding of the marmoset to cure the wound of the humans,
The sobing of the innocence ones that wakes the dry bones, the palpitations of the evils eye....I'm living life to the Truth, Christ is the living Truth.

Time dissolves and there is acquittance with tomorrow. The gurgling drums echo the stars, the forest bow's and between the trees, the dark Star appeared to seal the sun;

Stars are twinkling in the skies and the Moon cry its tears out......
The fruits of the earth are living in the darkest night;
Neither do they have moms nor home;

The tea trees in the north-central, putting forth buds with tears and sweats, Christ is the living Truth.

''The sudden spirit lingers on the roads, supporting the tortured remnants of the flesh, that spirit which ask no favour of the world..... The great dragon.''
The qualling of the calf cannot longer be fathom, our homeland without mercy, ''we are calling on you for help...oh dear Messiah''.

'''Apocalypse'''
Awakening my soul has been one of the toughest tasks i tried lately.
I slumber in anger and awake to the same -the puzzle so hard to complete, for those with the pieces sit back in comfort of public denial.
I trust her but she aint to blame, for the young boy that became man kept his lies over her dream
Slowly eating her portions of growth, plundering all she saved for her children
The child i am has watched from toddler till of age
His promise is the vain in which my mother shades
He is the producer that hasnt consumed his lies
A good start as a dad and now a step father, with much worry of becoming a home monster
The cowards were tamed by mothers fortune forgetting we all heirs of her throne

Child, if you are there awake me once again
I aint asleep but sobing in tears
Soon licking the wounds of my mothers caretaker
There is no peace as lips face challenge of fear for guntalk
Mother mourns day in and out, siblings are falling victim of his tempting apples
Her beauty has been stripped to bypassers and my own elder brothers do so, the in borns turned to *******.

I tear to you fellow child for your hand in help
Come wash the pain and worry of mother
So tomorrow we can smile again, play alongside mother with joy of the abundance she gives
We are all called, we all chosen
#mymotherland
#herdsmanofprogress