They whispered to me
As a child in dreams
Or over simplistic meals
They repeated in screams
The things I cannot unlearn

And it burned my ears
What I learned by rote
I don’t scream. I don’t sing,
But I learned every note:
All things are being shattered

At once or in slow-motion
It’s hard to build on bits of glass
To look at the things you can’t take back
And build anyway- it’s crass
But I tried.

I haven’t cried in years
Because grief gives way
To acceptance, I guess
What is left to say?
To unbreak a broken thing
Takes more than an ability

To cry, or scream, or sing.

Shh…

It isn’t safe to talk here
The walls have ears
But not a heart
They’ll hear you and turn
And tear you apart

Shh…

Put them in vases
Hide their faces
Underneath and in between
Dress them in layers
Safest yet is still unseen.

Shh…

The constant dripping shocks
A solid system, eroding rock
In volatile, violent increments
Of dull constancy
Surgery under fluid instruments

Shh…

Rearrange my little stones
Until the rain finds me alone
Carrying me downstream
With mad intentions
I do not flinch. I cannot scream.

Shh…

Lullabies echo from the belly of the beast,
It beckons the cradle come to the feast
I have stared it down before
Hallways like extended arms
Fingers flexing like flapping doors

Shh…

Who will pay the man what’s due?
Who can afford the bills accrued
Under all the stories told
Under these riddles hiding
In corners dark and cold

And seething

Shh…
They’ll hear you.

The Pilgrims ate the natives
They invited in to feast
In snarling chomp and salivation
After they eat
They refuse to clean up the mess.

There is no protection
No way this side of the bar
To keep the Pilgrims starved
Or the sharpened teeth held far
From the little ones they carve.

How uncaring blinded eyes can be,
And ears that cannot hear,
Napkins to protect their visage
As they chew through salted tears
And swallow down the least of these.

Morning wakes
From before it sleeps
Perfect Power, Love, and Purity
Hovers over shapeless deeps
With a glistening dream,
A secret to keep,

In His eternality, it is complete
Before it begins.

Morning wakes
Man stretches into the ultimate gift:
His Maker’s image
He hurtles toward the rift
Of rebellion and graffiti
And The Maker sifts

Through the timeline complete
To scour away the sins.

Morning wakes
Unspeakable Light coos
In baby gurgles and gasps
Perfect Power pursues
In powerless flesh
Those who choose

To leave their altars incomplete
Laying themselves before Him.

Morning wakes
From the garden kneeling tender
In blood-soaked perspiration
To the host of jagged timber
Cutting into the fabric of time
All creation to ever remember

The sacrifice required is completed
Restoring the intent of the beginning.

Morning wakes
As a baby grown ascends
Above death, above what remains,
He prepares for our end
Sharing His Dear Spirit
Who teaches us to mend

Until the hour is complete
And we again dwell with Him.

Morning wakes,
Every breath pulls us nearer
To the Hovering God
Whose plans were dearer
Than our sabotages
And I can hear Him

Whose song in the shapeless night
Echoes through every waking morning.