Wouldst fear or fathom unimpedes’t mine thus putting forth
a question I doth know’est not be worthless or of worth,
Verily yea I wouldst then pose it unto my reigning God
and if the glory Hallelujah recieves’t with a nod.
Upon the hallowed floor of heaven placeth shall my brow
supine shall and humble be my back’st then as now.
With the sound of ashes left in embers dying in most vain
shall these words in halls of heaven echo sans redounding gain.
“Why dost thou let all my walls,
fall and crumble every day,
when knowest thou in all thy wisdom,
how hard I do strive to raise.
Why not do the children of heaven
grieve each moment as my people,
and how may comest their rejoice
every time there are no wounds.
How is it in just report when
all I needst is a hand
that when my words may come to thee
shall only thou hear then a rebel.
Lord my savior, Lord my shephard,
why should I pray to thee succor,
when bleeding hands with tourniquets
have painted dark the purest wounds.
Why must those who holdest faith
hurt the most to keepest thus,
but those who mourn no further loss,
they mightest grieve upon its gain.
Lord I hath no more to ask
of thee nor of thy wisdom but,
If irked thou art that much by doubt,
then how can silence be thy word.”
Wouldst fear or fathom unimpedes’t mine thus putting forth
In a thousand shades of graceful glance,
in a thousand veils of restless grace,
O God I have witnessed this woman once,
but feel I have known before this face.
The nape that has no dawn nor sets
with one but two soft suns at rest,
and that into not all which lets,
O God this beauty rules that breast.
Her touch that feels like velvet lace,
the scent she has is warm perfume,
and as I taste her parted embrace
a shade of ecstasy her visage assumes.
Gladly I would caress her blushing
and reddened bends on which she lends,
her knees on sheets play always pushing
those ankles on which she ever attends.
O God, her gaze has left me yearning,
O God, that kiss has made me think
how can this fire live on burning
when she of hell nor heaven drinks.
She is a woman of touch and sense,
more than that? may the watchful wonder.
How her back can curve so tense,
and that between I taste while under.
From her goblet of the sourest
and all that, that must be veiled,
O God may I then drink most sweetest,
wine for which I pray lips sealed.
My God I must ask one last thing,
that fore upon our dance of souls
might fall the curtains of this fringe
may rest our bodies twixt our folds.
Watchful gardens, vigilant grow,
tread thy touch men high and low.
Falling chaos, thunderous sound,
a stark truth which doth redound.
Bathed in blood, flushed with green,
light and darkness thou hath seen.
Many a’season hath thou stood,
yearning sentience, innate though good.
O! poor welcome of the living,
ponder I upon thy misgiving.
The walk of all men thy abode,
paths and endings, serve thy ode.
Live to watch, breathe to bury,
envy the fallen, thou wilt with hurry.
With every passing sunset, and every fleeting moment
we grow older and wiser, but worn and weak.
The only will we have left in us, is our will to repent,
repent from what we failed at, from what we seek,
repent from what we feel was wrong, but we did it nonetheless,
and the opening we came from, so spacious in our innocence,
O! how vast it was, grows small, terrifying I confess.
Or perhaps we have outgrown it, perhaps it makes sense,
what we came to conquer, what we came to liberate,
is now our prison, and our watchful punisher.
The light we could see so clearly yesterday, must now abate,
we can die escaping, or we can die fighting a lost war,
The only thing that keeps us going, keeps us alive
is not some absolution, some forgiving sigh or heave,
we live, because it is a hopeless place to arrive,
a hopeless place to see, and a hopeless place to leave.
In the cold winter evening my burning home is my comfort,
the sick trees with their cold shivering branches look on.
It was not always this way, I was not always this hurt,
I still remember our first sleepless conversation until dawn.
The first time you asked me to buy you a better bed,
and I half smiled and you understood me plain and clear,
you smiled back and said, “you needn’t turn so red”,
now in the flames, our nest must be burning my dear.
I still remember the first time you saw that house up yonder,
and said so sweetly, “who needs a house that big and bold”,
I thought to my myself, “what did I do to deserve you I wonder”.
Why did you have to go, why did you leave me standing in the cold?
I remember the first time you held my hand, and lead me upstairs,
you were so excited about something, and I followed like a fool,
I closed my eyes, because you asked me to, indeed fools come in pairs,
I felt the roof beneath my feet, and the night air so cool,
you were over joyed about something, but how could I notice,
you were with me then and there, and that was my entire world,
I finally opened my eyes, because you told me to with a kiss,
and I still remember the northern lights on the sky unfurled.
There is our home my darling, here I am, where are you?
In the flames burn our pictures, the big one with our newborn,
I told you we would have another one, you knew it was true,
you always blamed me for his death, yet I was equally torn.
I still remember our first anniversary after our child’s death,
I made you dinner, I lit the candles and waited for you hopefully,
those two hours were eternal, but I waited holding my breath,
I called the doctor, and he told me you had behaved wonderfully,
that was why they let you go home, a whole two hours early!
My throat went dry, knees went numb, and look how the telephone breaks,
grabbed the house keys with fingertips, look at the snowflakes so pearly,
Why didn’t you come home that night, it was a perfect dinner for Gods sake!
I cut the rope of the branch, and I loosened the noose,
I still remember you were wearing my favorite perfume,
I kissed your frozen lips and broken neck and refused
to let you go, but then dead flowers never bloom.
I tried living on without you, but really its never the same,
I never knew what to do or when, I only ever knew how to love you,
the northern lights called, and the frozen skies came,
it never made sense to me, you were the only reason it did make few.
I still remember the first time you said you felt cold in our home,
you always complained the fire was never big enough for us,
that it was really I who warmed you and made this house a home,
today for the first time I felt cold, without you, without us.
So I decided to pour all the gasoline we bought the first winter,
the lighter I bought from the gas station that one time,
it never really lit a cigarette, just candles for me and her,
this time I used it to commit the most heinous of crimes,
but before I decided to say goodbye to everything we built,
I stood at the front door, for a moment to recall,
and everything came rushing in, everything without any guilt,
our child, our home, our memories, our fall,
but that one moment, the one I wanted most to remember,
it ended there, that first time you made snow angels in December.
I dropped that flame on the wet floor, the wet floor,
the footprints you made while rushing from the shower,
everything burned, for the last time I passed the door,
I’m sorry my love, your loss was too mighty a tower.
I hope you’ll never say that you’re feeling cold my dear,
look! I burned an entire house just for you, don’t cry,
no, no, no, I mean a home, yes a home, now its clear,
the thick smoke rising under the wide northern sky.
No longer is my refuge there,
nor longing is my homeward dove,
there are no regrets wailing here
for each must hate again to love.
A thousand miles away I am,
a thousand leagues under the sea,
a path that lays me on the lam
and drowning in what is to be.
My soul left standing afterall,
and stronger is my will today,
so many steps beyond the wall
hope does leave again to stay.
May I see my wretched past,
May I know the coming dawn,
Eternal may this vigil last,
and may these words forever anon.
Abject night casts an embracing allure, especially upon those in slumber,
exhausted spirits, broken ego’s from yesterday’s sun drowning under.
Thickened blood, creaking spines, burdened minds of defeated men,
to let them sleep, or to wake them hurried is the dilemma there and then.
The truth is that every yawning sun is betrothed unto a borrowed moon,
and every dawn must surely break, for liberation is the only boon.
For now I watch the towers burn, I see my people in darkened homes,
while fearless and hungering, the hounds of war, rabid and tirelessly roam.
The monuments standing from centuries ago, stand witness to a dying breed,
and the heroes few and fallen now, patriots less than those in need.
The pantheon meant for vocal wars, a colosseum now for spilling blood,
and where once spoke outspoken men, rests the eternal uprising flood.
I say to skies that gaze in horror, do not weep lest you add to sorrows,
let my people dream and wallow, let them rest in darkness hollow,
they need not wake to the sound of war, for helpless they would stop and stare,
let them rest, perhaps they dream, of a brighter sun, without a care.
Old and wretched, both ruined and weak,
I have waited for you with an open door,
although now the porch light is burning bleak,
every passerby reminds me more and more,
how I expelled you from my very soul
how I imprecated you for making me dream,
how I embraced you to make me full and whole
like the rain drops add to an endless stream.
But when miserable doubt came bearing its fruits,
and miserable failure came to rest on my hearth,
I asked you to leave for then it was moot
whether you were a fidel companion since birth.
Hope you were, as I called you once,
but then and there you were dead to me
for my will to fade was in abundance
and my will to live was not to be.
Now each night when the moon is lonely
and when the world is fast asleep
I hope for hope to return if only
it saw the vigil in the ruin so deep.
Come home friend, and dwell evermore
in the heart that needs you more and more,
there is no lock, you may enter please
for a hopeless man, has a broken door.