Truman

Night sworn as
Embellishing reality:
Touch to feel
Rejects every expectation.
This fascination,
Denies the might
Of logic.
Scene spans uncertain end,
Complex layers rendering
A set more elaborate
Than any fantasy
Has dreamt up yet.
Swimming in the musky milk,
Of charcoal air, deathly still,
Claiming its fill of Earth-bound space,
Clinging tight to this place,
Like there is no tomorrow,
And to the stars perfectly cut, spit-polished,
Just in time for dusk.
Card-board cut-out pencil trees,
Plaster themselves rigidly,
Upon lumpy clay hills,
Defying every perspective bend,
Yet easily suspending this fallen trickery
Victory over human perception of reality:
All there is, and will ever be?
Yet a back-drop that we cannot see,
Not within, or beyond, but through.
Now paper thin.
Denial torn too easily to shreds --
The sky from Heaven to Earth is severed,
When our transient wordly deception weds
The indisputable Truth of forever.

Lost

So I must be the loneliest,
Most lost human alive,
And yet I strive,
To foster further introversion
An aversion for pain.
My name is Not Available,
Closed For Renovation.
Permanently
Condemned.
I shadow my soul,
From light,
These windows shuttered tight,
Yet the damp still grows,
And even though I wipe it away
The stain still remains.
I wander with my blistered feet on this Earth
But I wonder with my untried mind not with in this world,
Detached, I am merely a body
Going through the motions,
Smiling aimlessly at worthless promotions,
Like a Cheshire cat, high on transient attention,
I am stroked on the outside, when I seek
But there is no-one to stroke me within, when I don't seek it,
So I find myself being lost to my own skin,
As being found, I am accountable to reality,
And I'm too aloof for that.

Venture

Passion expires, believing transpires.
Why is my life perpetually mundane?
Why do I refrain from exploration?
I shelter my soul from the trepidation
Of weathering the storms of adventure,
A destined uncertain venture divinely appointed,
A challenge to the heart of the untried human mind
And why of this, when I may find
Even through failure of human agenda
That the spiritual journey doesn't disappoint.

Blood

What blood type have you?
AA, BB, AB, OO?
The brothers and sisters
Have Jesus' and
There is plenty to share and
It never runs out;
Even though we continue to thirst,
We are never left dry.
It is always universal,
Available to any,
At all times, for all time.
The many brothers and sisters,
Volunteer regularly at the blood-bank,
As others are of desperate need for this blood type,
Often when they expect it the least,
Or when they least believe this to be true.
Our Lord's blood is ripe, overflowing, and plentiful,
Free for all, desiring only, in turn,
The joys of multiplication.

Go

Fists clenched because
If I open my hands
To feel the world as it is
This ring may just slip off
So very easily.

Morsel

Forever circling
Waiting…
Waiting for something to fall
From the Heavens.
Something…
Even just the smallest morsel,
Just a mere aromatic hint,
Of no ordinary feed,
But a delicious feast,
That belongs to another.
So I circle
Until weary,
(Me —
Not the prey —
That is).

Tin Roof

You whisper often to my soul,
Rattling my composure,
Without the slightest cost of comprehension.
Mine patters on back, unceasingly,
Unrelenting in its pangs of admiration,
Clanging the recognition of the crush —
Now borne loudly into the silence
Of this lonely world -—
Like a hungry rain
Drumming eagerly away
On an old, corrugated tin roof,
Familiar with the disturbance,
But yet again resisting the temptation
Of giving itself away,
Infallible in its integrity.
I don't think this crush will ever dry up -
My desire for you is destined to dance on,
Throughout many a long night;
This internal clanging is so intense that
I can't even sleep.
Meanwhile you sleep
Ever so soundly.

Pan-cake

When you giggle,
My soul flips like a pan-cake.
Timed so perfectly,
Wondrously accomplished,
You catch me every time.