a fight in faith

a fight
in faith

a little
sanity
in truth

a disaster
waiting
for it's master
in time

a promise
broken
before us all
just a token
in tune

a lie
told
just a whisper
in confidence

a little
insanity
in truth

a fight
in faith.

Crossed

Like the vampire,
I turn away from the the cross--
a revelation of all those wasted moments
romancing pleasures of the flesh,
feasting on intoxicated back alley vermin,
crimson-lipped prostitutes, still
preaching of powers
that tear the seas, tame lions,
fill the empty glass, the plate of crumbs.

Redemption--a cruel tease,
not for my kind,
I lurked too deep into the shadows,
shook the hand of too many midnight dwellers.

My eternity--closed in. Coffined.
With the light of my own pale skin
betraying me. Burning
too bright for sleep.

A Little Lucifer

he falls
he screams
and barrages his fate
with accusations
and recriminations

then he rises
the indignant little child
a little like lucifer
he decides to blame this fall
on god.

New Gods

one while we're away
just one and you'll know
it's time to get out
before the time
it's up and we're back
to where we were
judging and watching
like clock faces
ticking
we're waiting and listening
spouting regrets and requests
just a little pressure
and it's a sure way
to disable
independent thought of motion
mostly an ocean dried up
creativity shot in the back
through the heart
and then gone
just vanished like old gods
prayed to but forgotten
listening but mute
so take one while we're away
just one and you'll know
it's time to get out
before the time
it's up and you're back
on your knees
praying and hoping
like sand
through an hourglass.

the beatitudes

hidden atop a storied mountainside

somewhere left of Matthew and Luke

the scripture offers its blessings

turn too far right and you'll miss them

Adam Awakened

My teeth grip red flesh,
tearing through, raw,
its juices dripping down
the corners of my mouth.

This, the price of eternity.

I would not have it any other way.

The Atheist

There was once a soul
beneath my poisoned flesh.
It's long been purged away
by brewing concoctions
of mad chemists
that turned my moon full,
stuffing me whole
with lycanthropic lust.
My eyes now brew
in a different shade,
scanning the world anew,
enlightened, unfiltered
by heretic notions of a soul.

The Clockmaker's Maker's Maker

The clockmaker measures

the minute intricacies of life,

and with each precise tick

of his winding bell,

knows that God exists:

the invention of this world,

far too complex a mechanism

to bear an empty face,

limbless hands.

He knows

that each clock has its maker.

All the while,

this clockmaker's face, his hands,

keep whirring about,

turning time into a science:

his complexities,

far more than the simple clock's.

Urinal

A priest garbed in pristine white,

whom we sinners turn towards,

first honoring with a slight bow,

then absolving past indulgences,

revealing the most intimate details,

flushing them clean, sanitized,

and leaving, hands rinsed, comforted.

Gallows Hill

Stop
your praying
Samuel Sewall.
New Jerusalem smolders;
the Covenant shattered
with the bones
of Giles Corey,
the Serpent has reclaimed
this Wilderness
and God? no longer dwells here.

Deciphering Nolan

Watch closely.

Mysteries unlock
behind smoke and mirrors
(and in the night),
cowled in dark recesses
of a mind lost
in infinite light.

fire

golden ashes fall
brewing autumn's arrival
spiced with crackling leaves

The Fruit of Knowledge

Somewhere in this nebulus,
trapped under the same rubble
that sips from the Holy Grail,
is the Truth. Gagged. And tied.
Collecting dust with the Gospel
of Judas. Wanting so desperately
to be heard. But the voice
of reason makes sure it stays hidden.
All the while, whispering in its ear,
"No good will come of you."

Adam’s Morning

He came first—
Like the sun emerging
To travel the firmament—

Alone.

His work:
Tend the garden /
Name the animals /
Eat judiciously.

An immeasurable day
Ceased by dreams
And an awakening
To Eve.

Alias

The Virgin Mother named the Son,
Horus. Or was it Adonis, born in that
Shantytown, Bethlehem, where Matthew's
gossip anointed King Herod
Babykiller, channeled by his best
Ramses impersonation. Thank the God(s),
aka Himself, that he spared
Himself, guised under the nickname,
Dionysus, the Miracle Maker,
making miracles for or against
your local barkeep, who banned together,
pinning Him on two sticks, mocking the name
Krishna, self-proclaimed King of Kings,
who, Himself, planned this on Himself
all this time: to live, to die, to live again
as Osiris, or by that other name
that He prefers far far more.

Through the Shadows (Revised)

Blindly, freely, effortlessly
I fall into that old familiar place.
Engulfed in frigid darkness,
The world now upside down.
Across the frozen lake,
Faintly, I can see him.
He too had fallen,
Or perhaps was thrown headfirst.
Old and feeble, he is not as though he seems...

My hands, wintery branches, I light a match.
In the icy waters beneath my feet,
The bodies begin to tremble and convulse...
They lust for, yet fear the light.
I turn to the once beloved hero.
His face, the scars of suffering,
Traces of regret, a semblance of betrayal,
And his eyes, the deep void emptiness...
The sorrow of being forgotten.

My muscles begin to tense
The cold peeling away at my bones...
Through the shadows,
Upon the weak flicker of the flame,
I can see his eyes transfixed.
He smiles...A sudden burst of warmth...
And in the brief second,
Before the flame draws dead, I smile back.
As if to say, "Thank you."

A Mishmash of Hogwash

I.

I dined with an angel today,

who, with his wings expanded,

insisted, "God exists!"

I nodded agreeably,

licking the crumbs

of my Devil's Food Cake,

as he preached on.

II.

An angel appeared on my shoulder,

and asked me, "Why do you sin?"

I retorted, "Because I am made in the image of your god."

He shrugged his shoulders and poofed away.

III.

I swatted an angel buzzing about.

It fell into my lap,

shook its fist at me,

eyes glaring with the fury

of a thousand suns,

"You're going to hell!"

I mashed my thumbprint on its face,

flicked it into the fireplace,

and thought nothing more of it.

IV.

Outside the supermarket,

I saw an old lady struggle with her groceries.

"Can I help you with those?" I asked.

She responded, "Oh, what an angel."

Despite her comment,

I mustered half my own smile,

and heaved her bags.

Remembering Amalek

The infant's lifeless fingers
Still pink and full of hope,
did not have anyone to pray to.
His kind, deemed wicked,
condemned as enemies of God.
And in His Infinite Wisdom,
genocide is reasoned.