No Sympathy for the Devil

You couldn't see the wood from the tree. Your eyes are unkind so don't look at me. You are all that I want but nothing that I need. Time and time again I called you a friend. How many times will it take till I see, the slave from the free?

Will this be the end of you and me?
Will this be the end of you and me?

Millions of rocks is really just sinking sand. Yet another blow I suffer from your hand. Show me again what you have to offer. Show me again what you've planned for me. Today I will stand as you pass me by, and you will ask why. Shaking your head with a smile. Knowing we will meet again in a short while.

"He will see, that he needs me"
"He will see, that he needs me"

Still falling, I suffer you, sadly. Searching for a break through badly. Slipping faster and faster like a landslide. Flirting between disaster and a good time. I see my old friend just as bright as day. Sitting in the dark corner smiling away. Willingly I open the door and invite him in. He takes my hand and showers me with sin.

"We meet again my old friend"
"We meet again"

Giving in, Giving in

I have a question. Who are you?.....Who are you?

Is it what you claim or what you say?
Or is it what you do and how you play?

Even if it's pain that I feel, at least I'll know that I'm real. Finally finding a break through. There sparks a desire to kill you. In the morning I will prepare. When I wake I will not allow you to scare, the fight out of the man. I take my sword in hand.

"Well done good and faithful"
"Well done..."

Cabernet of a Lonely Soul

You only know what I want you to. I wish you knew me. I can't love you , you can't love me. Your eyes can't see what I fear they may. What I dream they will. Dance with me under the stars, sit with me under the moonlight. Know that my touch means more then ones before. Forever am I in this prison? Just sing with me and help me forget the cage that surrounds me. Oh dance with me, baby forgetful me. Please hold me.
If I came to you lonely , would you let me lie in your lap, or would I fool you like the rest? Hold me near as you draw near, a countless pain across my face. Forever know, that love will grow if my heart you will embrace. Drink with me now, something to remember the beautiful. Keeping close, the things you "forgot". I'll keep you still, I will rock you to sleep. Sleep with me now.

"Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.....Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril." Oscar Wilde




"It is the consumer, not the author, whom interprets the meaning of words written. For each it may be different, for few it may be the same" Caleb Parker Suciu

Scared I'm not Scared

She started chipping away with her eyes. It was no surprise, I started crumbling
It could be something deep inside, similar to the time it died, I knew she was something
Prediction from the past, I'd be in trouble from the last, but this one doesn't feel the same
This times sorrows gunna loose, she's got a pocket full of choose, and she knows my name

I'm scared, I'm not scared
Kiss me on the lips say nothin at all
I'm scared, I'm not scared
Push me off the edge I'm ready to fall

The road is long, but she is strong, I probably will never comprehend
Her beauty inside, reflects the one outside, only one matters in the end
Growing old, are stories told, But she is young now
A peek in her past, is as long as it lasts, for few she will allow

I'm scared, I'm not scared
Hold my hand and walk with me
I'm scared, I'm not scared
Listen to my eyes, see what they see

Scared, I'm not scared

Cain and Able

It was far away. Yet now what was on the fringe has reached the surface. I ponder choices and schools of thought. My eyes have been closed when I have claimed sight. The signs point to foolishness. How beautiful it is to not know. The beauty of love, that has not betrayed. It has set me free

Forgive me now I do not know
The chance I have to make it grow
Through the light I see it's chance
I grab it, and choke the life with my hands
Lay it down slow as it begins to die
Not a tear I shed I will not cry

I wanted to know what it was like to destroy. Mcbeath! Mcbeath! Please bring me water. I can not be blamed. It was not my fault. You have driven me to this. You placed the knife in my hand. Please forgive me the life I have taken. I do not know the depth I have caused.

It felt me then and I feel it now
The quiet sin. I have kept unbenounced
My weakness is something I hold near
The one and only thing that I fear
There are so many things I have left unsaid
As a coward I walk, and hang my head

Weight

It falls hard, through the incessant reminder of where I am. Like many before me I am in a familiar place. It is a gift to be able to see beauty in the grayest of circumstances. A gift I often wish someone would give me. The lights of the city are heavy. I try to run from them but escape is futile. I learn to bear the weight. I position myself in a way of optimal "comfort". As I sweat bearing the weight of the incandescent rays of the city I realize I am not alone. Somewhere out there, there must be another fighting against the urge to buckle. His knees shaky, sweat dripping down her face, a tear of both sadness and pain passes his cheek. We are a multitude of armies of one.

Snapshots of those discharged flash past my eyes. I am torn between want of one or the other. I fear that it is probably like a lot of other things. When in one location all you can think of is what it is like in an opposing one. God must cry when He see's that. He must long to scream and just point out the obvious that He see's. However He is wise, therefore He says nothing. For a child does not learn to walk by having their father move their legs. No, he lets go of the seat of the bike, and never has a pocket vacant of band-aids.

Weapon of Choice

I have taken a hiatus from writing. this was intentional for a few reasons. One simple reason was I didn't have much to say. Well, not anything I had wished to make known to others. The more compelling reason for my recent silence was because of something Thoreau said. "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." I do not want to ever sit to write when it is apropos to stand. I have learned that written word, while extremely powerful, is equally if not more dangerous. Words cut deep and quick. If the speaker takes lightly the placement and timing of his dagger he suffers the innocent and the fragile. As we grow in wisdom our words will become few. The more one uses his words, the less they will mean.

" When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise."

The threat of words is equally real to the author as it is to the received. I believe that words can be pacifism in disguise. They [words] are a complacent creature and therefore should be treated with caution. A man may think that he is taking action when drawing a pen instead of a sword, however he may be scripting his own downfall. I accept the camouflage of my friend, and I hold him with a loose fist. If need be I will drop my pen, never to pick it up again. I thank God I have not been called to that yet. I do still have use for this tool, and will probably use it until I die....however: before you speak, before you write, remember....

"No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous." -Henry Adams-

Pseudo Sapient

The subsequential life has tired me. It seems the periods that linger the longest are in the pits of life. Probably because we expend so much energy to exit them ourselves. However I never fail to fail. Excited by some new auspicious thing. Hopes rise, scenarios are formed, and dreams are indulged. When in reality you have made something out of nothing. When this clarity hits it explodes the scenarios from the core. Scintillating into countless ash that removes more dirt from your pit. I haven't seemed to find a medium. A middle ground from being so naively extravagant and being to chary. I think perhaps you may only have the two options. One or the other. Each poses its own difficulty. To be so cavalier that something amounts to nothing, or to be so eager the carriage gets ahead of the horse.

O think I know the key. The gains of Wisdom. There are only two ways to gain wisdom. The first is by trial and error. The most important aspect being the error. This way is effective but very costly. Scars are left behind and often times, as is with our nature, scars lay on top of scars. The second way to gain wisdom is to listen to someone older and wiser then you. someone who has sat in many pits before you and has gotten out of them. Perhaps dirty, bloody, and broken but nevertheless succeeded. With this epiphany I am going to set my pencil down and go read the words of men who went before me....

The Problem of Pain

Beneath the sands of time I now search. Picking up grains of the life I have lived so far. I don't know how I should feel. Nostalgic perhaps. I feel like I have grown old, just when I got the hang of being young. But as the great Dr. Seuss said "Do not cry because it is over, smile because it happened." Searching through pictures of old, I wish I could do it again. Often times I wish for a mulligan. Others I just wish to relive. It is funny how some of the people you least expect to still be there are still there, and some of the ones that swore allegiance are gone. I can not blame them. Without a doubt I am an absent person who has sworn allegiance in someone else's life. Anger has never been an emotion I carry closely towards another. (To myself is a different story.) This brings to light the problem of pain that is manifested by those come and gone. How do you deal with it? Some more constructively then others. Some pretend it is never there; bury it down deep to never be addressed or resolved. Then they wonder why it hurts so much to breathe. They walk through life unconsciously yet consciously with hurt written on their faces. In their smile, laughter, and tears it is evident. They just hope, they pray, that some day someone special will recognize it. They hope someone will ask the question they have been dying to hear.

I have a thought (as I typically do) on the problem of pain. Embrace it like a brother. When it knocks on your door welcome it gladly. Pain is one of the greatest assurances we have in knowing that we are aliens of this world. "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world" - C.S. Lewis. When I say the word home what does it mean to you? Warmth, beauty, comfortable, familiar? Does it mean dysfunction, abuse, failed expectations, hurt, pain? If you are reading this and never felt pain at home, I encourage you to check your pulse. Pain is nothing more then an alarm that something is wrong. Something has been set out of place. Something is not as it is meant to be. I plea with you to challenge that pain. Do not merely rub it, until it goes away. Do not pass it off as norm. Challenge it with why. Why do I hurt?

Quite simply, you are not yet truly at Home.

" Your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling in the infinite contours of the Divine substance, or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions." - C.S. Lewis

Lost and Found

He dreweth in the Earth and leaves that which he sought
Today will be the start of change he thought
A path of wonder, excitement dreamt
He set out with no letters sent.
"They will miss me, oh what they will say,
When e'er I return to speak my tale some day"

Like the breeze moves fallen leaves he set out on his way
The people not miss him, not a woman kiss him as he fell a stray

Not long after his journey on, miss fortune struck him thin
Far from home he had wandered, still no one thought of him
Fear and doubt plagued his mind, to his knees he fell and screamed
But the ears at home had turned deaf to him it seamed

Under a tree at the top of a hill, he sat with his hands at his side,
All alone far from home, he breathed his last and died.

Much like he are some of yee, weary and lost
Fear and doubt come about like a winter frost

Not like he death alone must be your fate
There is a light that saves a life, a gift you must take

For not like he who died under the tree, He was nailed upon
To save a life, He gave a life. A pauper to a pawn.

-anonymous