I am awake this morning

As the stars sleep in the clouds

I work hard

To make a change in the world

And create a future for others

To laugh and smile

So that others may laugh and smile with me

The stars are awake tonight

As I lie here, eyes closed

They shine bright

To create a map in the sky

That guide people home

To fill the sky with sparkle and glow

So that others may enjoy the beauty of the stars

I am awake with the stars

We gaze at each other without making a sound

We understand each other

That we do complete our duties

So that others may live their lives joyfully

And that we act smile and glow

Even when we sometimes we just want to

Burn

Out.

When you called me shallow,

Whom I put upon a crown,

I frowned,

When you mocked the victims,

Though I blessed your every sound,

I frowned,

When you displayed my open heart,

And I thought that I would drown,

I frowned,

But when you blamed me for the scars,

And said you wished to die,

I cried.

A gentle look, a quiet nod,

The artist looks for the face of God,

To the caves in oceans deep,

To the earth encased in sleep,

To the swallow as it chips,

Away at the mountain’s flattened tip,

To the bold savana lion,

To sacred hills in Zion,

To the child lost in dream,

Following an ancient stream,

Made not by sword but by a pen,

As the artist weaves his tales again.

This marks the third sun I bore witness to as it ascended from the deluged of a sunken crimson, and though I writhe equally in both night and day amid carnal vehemence, I still favor the desires of mutable cataclysms alit by vulnerable honesty conjured and engrossed by the harrowing nightfall. For if the sun is the Seraphim of conviction, then the moon, or starless globe, is the adversary; benefactor with silver tongue who is so just as subjugated as I.

Rebellion, however, does not coexist with my melancholy, no, I would no sooner part with ecclesiastical rays than I would forsake the cruelty and honesty promised to me by the jealous malignancy that is the night. Thus being, twould what measure of deceit or treachery could sate me from hedonistic intoxication as well as guard me from confession of such pleasures to the enmity of the day's truth?

Neither fate would accumulate the attention of Fortuna that could liberate me from timeless enigma. So it is with this forbidden knowledge that I haunt this world equally, as its specter and its patron, for if I am to tread the aureate earth and descend into the ameliorate night, then it is my heart and soul that balance either damnation or dominion. Having been dipped from the blood-kissed blade of God and consummated by the earth, I am divine incarnate and will too as our father above, conquer both hemispheres of love and evil and rejoin them as He once did.

i'm a wind- up toy,

doing things 

not because they're worth doing,

but because i'm told to.

there is nothing but the tick- tock droning

of motions being spoon- fed into my wake.

'you do it because you have to'

'to remain human'

'to keep your sanity'

but am i not insane?

am i not a ballerina dancer 

dressed in painted off-colours,

my wooden heart rotting,

spinning again and again

to Swan lake

being tipped off balance, 

off key

by time and weariness and age and a little child's fingers?

spin my clockwork motor,

turn it round,

watch it strain at your fingertips,

then release.

let me entertain you.

let me do what i've practised

for years,

let me do

the only thing 

that you think i can do,

let me appease you in the monotonous, sedative pattern of dance

that you never seem to tire seeing.

i don't enjoy it

the way you do.

so don't ask for it

anymore.

but here 

is the last one.

i will perform for you.