Praying for strength

Only to be told I’m doing it wrong

“Pray for mercy”, they say

“Asking for strength is like

Asking for a challenge

He’ll only put you to practice”,

This shit sounds so impractical.

If this dude is so magical

Where’s the fuckin balance

Let him use his fuckin talents

The idea of original sin is so

Unoriginal

We suffer from the sins of our fathers.

Mothers, fathers, all of their fuckups

Reflect on us

But the choice is on us

We can make decisions

Independent of a past

Filled with demons and dirty laundry

So when we rise,

When we fuckin rise,

Why should we have to ask for mercy

When he knows what’s in our hearts?

Unsure of spiritual beliefs, I can’t pretend

Because my prayers, my requests, my questions

Are melodies lost in the wind.

It's funny

How in a room full of people

You can be totally

Alone

It's ironic

How even when you are shouting

Your voice

Goes unheard

It's insane

How you can be in so much pain

Yet still flash a smile

Through out the day

It's actually quite funny

Don't you think

How I'm right in front of you

Yet you can't see me

It is all just

So

Funny

In early sunlight

A well attired man

Seems to cry

Into space

With angry taunts

At street people

He holds

In disdain –

He would love

To toss them

In a burning

Abyss.

I notice his

Banal painted

Snakeskin

Boots

And as I walk

North on cloudy

Kimble Avenue

I approach him

Wishing I crossed

The street

And feel

Resonant anxiety

And he says to me

(Or at me)

“Look at the

Lazy bums…!”

And I want

To tell him

That he is

Sick

With stereotyped

Rage.

He points again

With the bony

Finger

Of Uncle Sam

So the sun

Hangs doubtfully

In fog

And I feel

A need

For a nice

Warm shower

To wash off

Family dust

That identifies

With the man’s

Demonic

Almost black

Eyes,

And I feel

Such sadness –

His soul

Is like

Empty water

Of a

Stagnant pond.

Internally,

I bless this

Statued man

As the wheels

Spin clockwise

And as I

Head back home

The warm

Wind

Relaxes me

In whistling

Waves.

4/10-4/26-2016

I never knew you as well as I could

Sorry to say I never felt like I should

You were the tragedy

The mess

Still, the one who everyone loved

I was a good soldier too

But not on the battlefield above

And there you lie now, at least part of you

It was lost the moment you pulled the trigger

From city to city you washed away

The mud of a guilt far much bigger

I wish I didn't say those things

I wish I didn't think how I thought

Grandpa always taught me 

To cherish the battles that were fought

For me

And 

The whole world too

I'm sorry to say, Captain

the elixir couldn't cure your blues

Maybe you'll realize it now

Hopefully its not too late

Now that you're hearing it from the one

Who never cared about your fate 

We stood at the edge of the dry sand. The water was from everywhere, from places and times unknown to God and Darwin. All the beauty the sea holds hidden, the oldest of things beneath the fear of its depth, the mystery of life tucked safely away in the catacombs of her body, in the hearts and thoughts of whales. The sea floor more naked than the moon or Mars, more untouched by mankind’s infant comprehension than either. The answer to everything waited in the recesses of her trenches, in the paradise of her undiscovered countries, a land beyond the throes of Shakespeare’s capture of death, beyond theory and faith. We stood and watched the ocean while the sun moved down. The frost of a wave rolled up and clawed our feet while a gull bit through the surface and came up empty.