He Lays in the Ocean

He lays in the ocean,

cruciform, eyes lacerated by salt

awaiting divine tides to guide Him

one way or another.

Beneath the waters, clear and glittering,

He discerns the Sun's shimmering corona

glinting back in the sands.

He rules to retrieve it, and diving under,

parts the water with His hands,

hinged with heavy chest.

Grasping that miraged halo

provided His rough hands

with nothing but coarse sand

and no safety of shore nor surface.

Dark and Damp

Horrors lie uncertain

under Heaven's soft snow,

forsaken by sunlight

in a place forbidden go

but we ventured down

for the will of our kind;

us vessel of spirits

to see what we'd find -

it was dark and damp.

#Casual

There's no worse sentence

than one what starts with the words

"I'm not racist, but..."

Iceage

Oh how you've been clinging to those icy grips

like languishing leaves lost among litter.

The weather, it tries its best to warn you

you'd be left directionless and bitter.

That's not to say it's cold all of the time

but rather a sudden forecasted front

and what meteorologists once said;

they'd now rather not be taking that punt.

The forecast's grim; but at least not for him

who's walking around in shorts and a vest.

His happiness shows, for he really knows

he's on the cold Earth only as a guest.

And when the ice melts, he'll swim in the flood

and when he's drowning he'll say "it is good".

Escaping my Sepulchre

Removing the boulder of your body,

I escaped my sepulchre sequestered,

solivagant against the subterfuge

and the sins and ill will that had festered.

Renascent against the apostasy

in animus that made me ascetic,

I cursed not the boulder that had held me

but rather found forgiveness analgetic.

And such reflections found me less reticent;

regret receded with ruminations

'til I found the ataraxic axiom;

I was thankful for your testing creations

This realisation rendered me removed

from a sorry world that had never improved.

Renovation (Lucifer's Ascent)

Demons emerge from the ground

wrought from ruthless steel and concrete.

A decaying world under their shadows drowned,

their conquest nearly complete.

Grotesque forms grasp for the skies,

Heaven's territory is threatened.

The old from consumption dies;

its ancient breath deadened.

Soulless galleries of glass now stand

where once stood old forma proud.

Gone are days of beauty grande

replaced by a more maligned modern brand.

The Estranged Daughter

Less of a bridge over troubled water

but rotten crumbling boards and fraying ropes 

Mother Earth is estranged from her daughter

and the Father had abandoned all hopes.

So the child is left in the hands of thieves

blind to ill intentions of company kept,

for those with duty of care takes and leaves

the Father saw this and from afar wept

But he did not step in to intervene 

instead letting his child make her mistakes;

such was his effort to remain unseen

that he even missed visitation dates.

Daddy please return, and mend the bridge

I want to believe that you do still care

Daddy; a girl's on her knees making a wish

I need to believe that you could be there.

Wide Open

I wondered what heaven looked like

but I don’t wonder anymore.

Heaven is a name, enveloped in blankets;

eyes closed and arms wide open.

Dead Bird

The buzzard bled,

led on its back

with his head twisted to the ground.

His mouth would gape

and then close

as if something inside his beak

was attempting

escape.

His feet clutched together tightly

with his eyes

wide open;

almost breathing, it seemed;

his wings pulled

cruciform,

and like Christ he was surely

lost and

gone.

Heaven's Brick

God is busy in cyberspace

defeating his darkest demons.

He designed the interface

but is outdated as Siemens.

So the only hope for global faith

is next decade's nostalgic yearn

when we found greater lasting grit

in the old ways from which we turned.

Open Door

I wrestled against the whirlwinds
which strained against my every stride.
They sent dark thoughts flying wildly
to convolute and then collide.

The vacant precipitous road
that I must ascend to get back
ran with a drowning deluge
that only amplified my mind's attack.

Yet just as I was about to break
and fight against the storm no more,
my eyes averted to a yard
in which there was an open door.

The door ajar filled me with hope,
it was no entrance to be ignored,
such was its power to entrance—
the threshold for the house of the Lord.

I had walked by that church countless times
but had always noted the door to be closed,
yet I found shelter when I needed it most
and my darkest flaws had been exposed.

Perhaps that door was a sign from God,
or just a fateful union of mind and time in tune,
but if that door was left open for a reason,
the Lord know's I'm thankful—I'll be home soon.

The Second Storm

There was a storm in heaven.

The clouds were rearranged.

The sinners blew through open gates,

whilst the angels were scattered and estranged.

The lord could not recall

which souls he intended to keep.
So he handed the nearest man a brush
and in trust told him to sweep.

It was Satan who took the tool

and he did exactly as God had asked.

He swept away all signs of sin,

took his thanks and then unmasked.

The lord was irascible in his wrath

that he had let the devil deceive,

but Satan said "It is you who lied-

I repent and you reward no reprieve!".

And so it was, heaven dared no more clouds

to bring a storm again.

But the fallen angel has righteous reason

to return with flames of rain.

Beyond the Beacon

Azure hammocks of cotton strings

suspend premature rains,

celestial lenses of passionate gas

hug tendrils connected to torrential reins.

Precipitous pride in the catbird seat,

humbles and crumbles to chalices below.

Necessity calls upon deliverance,

for life's elixir, has no life of its own to know.

Flight from the Fly

The devil is at my window.

Six legs latched onto glass.

His hexagonal eyes disinterested.

I freeze and wait for him to pass.

His crooked smile twists my way.

I look fearfully to the floor.

He stretches a bony finger and beckons.

A signal that I can't ignore.

It's become clear that I'm found.

I have no faith to hide.

How could I possibly use the shadows
when the darkness is his guide?

So I take a shaky step full of shame
and climb onto his sebaceous back,
feel his wings flutter against my heart aflutter,
almost praying for an attack.

But when I open my screwed-up eyes

I see that I'm falling through the air.

I'm paralised completely,

death has answered my prayer.

Rot

When I'm smothered by the soil

dress me in withering white.

Say a prayer for my soul

and watch me as it takes flight.

When I'm buried in the ground

drop a single pen.

Read to me a eulogy

for me to write again.

When I'm food for the worms

keep the Devil's jaw away.

Do not wish for me to go

but do not wish for me to stay.

When I'm only rotting flesh

let the rain tear me apart.

Cherish the splendor of life

and forget my dried-up heart.

The Grey Chess Piece

Darkness ultimately devours all,

and rather than shy from it

I wish to fuel it with the Devil's narcotics

and become the light;

a nemesis to the demon Night.

Bring me close to the end

so that I may breathe down the neck of Death,

observe it

understand it,

and defeat it.

He will learn to fear me.

Rainfall Come Up

I kneeled and said to God,

"It is you, Lord,

with your head in the clouds,

without your feet on the ground.

How could I believe?".

He replied to me so kindly,

"It is you, Son,

taking things only as they seem

without daring to dream.

Have I reason to deceive?".

I considered his words,

with guilt in my heart

for I knew that all of my sins

could not even begin

to cancel true love that he holds.

And he considered such thoughts,

with enlightened omniscience

and as the clouds parted

a heavy rainfall started

seeming like a punishment to most.

But yet I felt his warmth within each drop

and my eyes were opened wide.

I took the Lord's hand

just as he planned

and he led me into the light.

And so I became the night.

Lost Guide

You've always been the greatest monument

that could guide me back to my door

when the stubborn, sullen, stormy skies

wish not to take me by the hand anymore.

But your sweet signs never seem to shine as bright

now that my lost soul is most in need of support,

and I haven't the faith to take shelter

in an institute where its guidance needs to be bought.

Won't you offer me your loving charity

with no thought for your own welfare?

Won't you take my hand and softly skip along the street,

proudly displaying your understated care?

Take it as Gospel

Jesus was the saviour of my soul

before I understood what religion meant.

I read his message on a church billboard

and got lost in thought about the time I'd spent.

It didn't convince me to go to church

or to use the Bible as my guide,

but it reminded me of the love I have

and to extend this warmth I hold inside.

It assured me that despite my wrongs

I have done no more sin than any other man would.

Through every wrong turn I have done another,

I have provided many others with so much good.

Now I'm determined to focus on positivity

and ensuring that my rights outweigh my wrongs.

I won't be reciting every hymn off by heart

but I will resemble my actions to their songs.

Behind the Twinkle

Oh how brightly the stars shine tonight-

or at least, as bright as they would at any other stage;

if anything, they grow ever-dim with their age

but we notice their twinkle most in the darkest light.

Yet I can't help but be enthralled by their glow,

finding beauty in their delicate distance,

a colossal call to capture coexistence

and to cling onto the radiance we already know.

Because in reality they are just balls of gas

burning in some place unbeknownst to us

and we ourselves are just life that overdoes

introspection on our atmosphere's astonishing impasse.

So let us see things for how they truly are

and not place pedestals for a pleasantry so plain,

when you view beauty as a reality mundane

you will start seeing a star as just a star.