How tremulous are the times,
These smooth faced crimes
We cultivate as pets
Feeding crumbled regrets
Until our hands are stained bare
Our ignorance declares
Our bloodthirsty guilt.
We are born to wilt,
Screaming wild from the womb
Against our descent to the tomb
Fascinated with all that lies beneath,
Sheep with carnivorous teeth
Tearing at the soft flesh
The crave and the thirst enmesh
And each entanglement, syrup sweet
And each digestion, a mortal defeat.
On our mounds of filth, we stand
Making worship, inherently hand in hand,
An abstraction we practice alone
Bowing at our own thrones
Bowing, but never to sit
Playing the king, but unfit
Holy and blameless
Even against our mess,
This howling failure to confess
And repent, and consent to life.
Taking the enemy for wife
Restoring order to the disjointed
Renewing Your anointed
Who were the worst of the lot.
So stuck on me
And all I am
Is the static between stations,
White noise vibrations
The matrix between cells,
The void that fell
Between occupied spaces,
Lost and lacking graces,
But for Your face turned to see me.
I make nothing
I offer nothing, I am nothing
But what I’ve always been,
A tiny bundle of blood and sin,
Crying out in the field I’m thrown,
No suckling, no home
Until You cradled me near
You – all I love, and crave, and fear
And betray, and hold dear.
I’m tossed under the night sky
And every burning star
Is a light left on for me,
To guide me home, to see
You still care
Not that I’m impaired,
But that I’m still Yours
You – setting my course
And sustaining the force of my momentum.
Am I fundamentally the same I have been?
If this is the wind-down into the end,
What has remained, and what has been changed,
And what should be changed again?
Have I done all that I could do,
All that only I could do?
Or do I pass the flame, less my name,
Along to someone new?
Am I a pitcher pulled from mound,
Or did I make the final inning?
There are a thousand ways to stop a race,
But only one of them is winning.
I miss the night-summer air
Electric against my skin,
Breathing in, and then exhaled
With no pain in the taking
And mischief in the excess
Making a tapestry of mess
We weathered with our youth
Our bad decisions
Uncouth in our derision
Wild in our eager anticipation
Of whatever lay open
In our next breath.
I miss the world unroofed
While I was still unchanged
By creature comforts.
Three years, she said, three years
And now I wait
For some intangible moment to pass
As though the hourglass of fate
Encased the same number of grains
For us all.
Three years of neither here, nor there
But always in between,
Time is a lucid dream, and I choose
To wander the halls of it,
To refuse to wake until I’m called
Into its heart.
Three by three, I’ve come
These eleven strides
And my pride is too strong
To stand aside, to let me dream
A brand new dream;
To let the old dream die.
Break, oh endless winter
Flaunting your precipitous splendor
Freezing the skeletal soul of man
Excessively boasting beyond your span
Bringing your brutal fist to ground
So ice and snow and sleet abound
You have tarried too long in this land,
And we are bowed low under your heavy hand
Watching our fleeing breath dissolve
As our prayers, the sticking point of our resolve,
Waiting still, for the thaw to save
While you turn our meadows into graves.