Dead line

Want to hear a tale
of lovers turned to friends again?

An unseen power ripped apart
the waltzing pair – so hard –

it left no shoes behind.
No pictures on the wall.
No smell of coffee in the hall
Or I love you’s
To end phone calls.

Just
Goodnight.
Sleep tight.
Hang up.

Dead line.

Old Faith

I was born asleep
into the land of sheep,
Where God was King and
E V E R Y T H I N G
was in His Holy keep.

I was told of his forgiveness,
yet reminded I was vicious;
Born with sin, and next of kin
to the wrongs of the malicious.

That I had upon my hands,
the blood of Christ – the man
who died for us two thousand years ago or so…

I know.

It makes no freaking sense.
I wasn’t there back then.
Neither part of,
nor among the crowd of angry men.

The guilt we practised
left no room for building gratitude.
I couldn’t love a God
who bore a grudge against the shrewd
For daring to ask questions
in the face of the unknown.

“I am who I am”, he said –
and who is that?

Don’t know.

God is love,
and love is patient,
love is kind –
it does not envy.

Yet “Thou shall have no gods before me, for I’m a jealous God”?

“Trust not in yourself,” they said.
“Leave it to the Lord.”
I lived half my life
with both my eyes turned heavenward.

Looking for signs,
waiting to shine,
desperate for permission
From an entity who never spoke,
but was told I wasn’t listening.

I couldn’t wrap my mind
around the things that I was taught.

And so I left the praying
to the ones who understood.

After Hours

At sixes and sevens,
At eight and at nine…
See you close to midnight.
Quick fixes and heaven,
It’s late, we don’t mind.
We’re lonely, so we go for a ride.

When night starts to creep,
It’s the hour to haunt.
The living’s asleep,
They don’t know of our jaunts.
We meet under streetlights
By roads like a tomb
And practise our secret knocks
For secret rooms.

But I’ve…

Been missing the sun now
Too long in the dark
Am I an owl or a morning lark?
Been dreaming too often,
I want to wake up.

Still thirsty long after I’ve emptied my cup.

All Of It, Fireworks

I don’t need heaven.
This world is enough.
Some say everything here
Was made just for us –
From the kindness of strangers
To the hardest of blows…
All that we steal, get, give,
All that we throw.

Oh, I don’t need hell.
This world is enough.
Some say everything here
Is cold, wild and rough
From the blood that we spill
To the love we let go
All that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

All of it fireworks
Oh what a show
All that we question
And all that we know
All of it fireworks
Oh what a show
All that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

I don’t need dreaming.
This world is enough.
The fact is: art imitates
Life’s smallest stuff…
From the saddest goodbye
To the warmest hello
And all that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

picture by: snapwire