late night thoughts

Dreamers dream beautiful things
I started out as a dream born in the mind of God
Before time was named, before there was a mankind to save
Without dreams we lay down to death
Crippled by a fractured soul, where hope no longer bleeds ink in the talk story of our minds eye
Keep dreaming, loving and living, laugh deeply and truly
Let the caress of substance fade away as your heart births a truth more textured than silicone make-believes.
Because we were made to believe…believe in hope even when hope is telling us not to, to believe in the what not’s and what if’s as if…they were absolutes, we create in dreams by dreams and through dreams we are a dream, whether it is for the future hand with ring or the broken soul who needs a word of healing…


Sometimes I close my eyes just so I can remember what it’s like to be blind, I left that world behind for a better portion, distortion sometimes invades my eyes while I dream staring at the sky, making clouds take shapes, then sometimes…I just wait, wait for the thousand silk needles that strike my skin to remind me that im in a case of flesh pressed against space and time trying to keep my heart in line, dreams keep me alive and when I have spent my few seconds of reason dwelling on my past treason, I let the windows fling wide and as light illuminates beauty as the prize, tall grass waving, swollen mists begin raining I believe in the audacity of this living painting. I jump into musical ambition splashing fat bass colors with high hat covers, deep beats that create feats of outlandish redemption, yeah he sings to me in my dreams daring me to believe that he can calm the jealous ocean, he reminds me that the strike of white ivory, harmonized with ebony cries holds power to draw water from hearts of stone, and in moments alone there is a beauty in silence that silences the song of the sirens

I spread my arms wide beneath nighttime skies and let the stars hold me close, close like two hearts beating into one loud pulse of belief, streets carry me deeper into the den of lions homeless vagrants devoured by their jaws, lions of hate, loss, pain and the oh so brutal fate, but I refuse to be subject to the whims of nature, I will take her and make sure that I step side by side with the master. The smell of sour wine born from grapes that were picked to early, earthly and surly rambunctious souls that lose control and wont give nail scarred hands the chance to make them whole, praying with lips pressed tight trying to fight the tide of a losing side. Standing firm in the knowing that he will be showing HIMself like a thousand sunrises, the day the sky gets cracked we all will get back everything that was ever stolen, hope for the bride, hope for all of creation groaning for a revealing, sons of light play lightly with emotions, gravity is pulling us down and sound…is telling us the way to behave, tares in the wheat covering themselves like wolves lusting for blood soaked meat, ill stand still as a lamb and despite the ravaging I smile with delight, knowing death wont be the end

I stood like a wayward orphan on the sands of confusion, deluded into believing that I was nothing more than sand whipped by the winds of chaos, trapped in the invisible arms of another non-sentient pushing, stood like the seated boxer, carved from marble and left in a perpetual state of defeat, but somehow your words came down and like hammers they broke the curse of medusas sight, stone breaking and flying, old world dying, and I was crying out in joy, identity carved into my heart like a seal, my makers mark, a few moments of reprieve to let my lungs crack loose and breeeeaathhe, for the first time in a hundred years, my walls of fear came crashing down like Jericho and that scarlet banner that saved rahabs house reminds me of the scarlet river that saved my soul, stepping out to walk on water, you taught me to run despite never having even walked

hapless

Laying down the found
What I see Hope scattered like a formless fog
But im breathing it in
Swelling my lungs
like bags Filled
With seed for the sowing Exhale
Syllables flowing like streams Wash me
Of broken dreams
Redeem me
from
this
hapless
treason

to the ladies

To the ladies:

Stay classy, not trashy and if you trash he with FOUR LETTER explitives you have lost yourself. Beauty is not given it is won, not like a prize to gloat over or a trophy to show but like the hostage you delivered. Jealousy is bitter, draining the dregs of treason to season the dull taste of love. Love love love LOVE like a fire that keeps the heart alive in the middle of a world frozen by winter. It is NOT the fairy tale, unless you make it a tale to be held in the same regard as fairies...never existing. Stop running and start sitting, the chase is not fitting for the hunchback of soul. Be whole, and giving a thousand broken pieces is not the way to keep them close, shatters will shatter and the shattered leave blood spatters spelling out the letters F-A-I-L-U-R-E. If he chases will you run? And if he runs will you follow? All of you not a just the HOLLOW...shell. What fell from the last cloud 9 love drunk wine soaked adventure. Keep believing in dreams.

here it goes again...for the first time

Here it goes again...for the first time
Like a thousand flying feathers
Pouring out from beneath my chest
Like words pouring from the pen
I saw you, before I saw you
And now these same words
May lead me to see you no more
Delicate…fragile…honesty
Because honestly
I just need to be honest…

The poets words, sank the arrow
Coincidence or purpose, I don’t rightly know
Shaking hand, holding crumpled paper
Lines recited in Latin’s child
I knew then, like I know now
That what I would know
Was not up to me…

Cold hands stealing breaths,
Lips poised to speak but stand crippled
By a sacred silence
Where more is spoken by a look
Than in a word
Be my sacred silence…

Sky scrape

rough draft

Concrete and tar-covered veins poured in from every direction you could imagine; twisting around, under, over, through and beyond, beyond the graves of history’s architects who now lay in wooden coffins and stone memorials where no one remembers; beyond the limits of imagined substance and mathematical dialogue on weight and support; beyond the heaping hills of refuse outside the imagined perimeter of our city; beyond anything anyone could ever imagine or see.

Steel screaming as it is lifted on wings of woven wire; it climbs into the clouds to be set among its kin, Pressed together by gaseous plasma and flame, while blood pours in molten drops to stain the ground with the marks of birth. Form taking on form, abstract becoming reality, paper souls outlined in blue ink; they rise from the ground, anchored on concrete soles, bones of rebar holding together the separation between earth and sky. They are rather ugly in the beginning, dusty, crying, misshapen and crude in design; then coated with skins of glass, they shine like a thousand fire all reflecting the sky, reflecting heaven and the sun, its guardian.

Car horns blast as the screech of brakes bring charging mechanical chariots to a halt beneath the glow of burning electric suspension, filtered through crimson reality. People sprawl out on the walks and paths like a million moving hairs on the back of a new life that we have created.

Cities are alive, sentient creatures.

Cities are the reflection of man and the reflection of heaven, all brought together on the façade of mirrored glass; delicate enough to bow before fire and flood: strong enough to stand before wind and famine. Music pours through organs of mosaic and expression, rhythms so varied that ears can scarcely full hear all that is being made.

There is sweetness in the belly of the scraping giants; bread, wine, beauty and love: there is bitterness too; lust, envy, deceit and murder. Man lashing out against man, against the image of God; slaying what should be loved, destroying what we can never create; Cain enslaved to slaying Cain.

Listen to them now, the cities have gained a mouth to speak.
They groan as earth shakes beneath them, contesting the bloodshed, contesting the evil that is committed in their shadows, contesting the destruction of beauty, contesting the hand of masters that gain pleasure in chaos; so now they destroy, steel shaking and falling on the heads of the broken whom by brokenness break others.

It’s time to heal the world…

Thought

There is this thought I have that the world is finite. It is ludicrous, so very, very much so, the definitions of reality fade between global industrialization, conflict, war and the sunny warm afternoons of summer. It is like a lava lamp; ever circling in a mind warping elastic blob; I HATE LAVA LAMPS.

There is this thought I have that one person can change the world; shift the sway of time and break out from under that cycle of decays and success. Yes, history has proven it again and again, but each generation is born into a new history; grossly effected by the previous history. When that time comes though, we have a chance to stand up in the face of deceit and break away from the monotony. Men and women are born each day and each is given a chance to bring change.

There is this thought I have that the Church is amazing, and grossly stagnate in the west. I’m not going to bash the Church as a whole; just those ones that sell-out to a prescribed, dried out and flaky version of reality. You can see them every Sunday on TV. The same messages recycled over and over and over like a lava lamp.

I have this thought that when Jesus was born he was the spoken word incarnate into the flesh; that he changed the definition of reality to a subjective little nothing. It was reiterated later in the gospels and preceded by the words of the Patriarchs. Prophets and seers, men and women, PEOPLE like you and me. A lot in the world has changed but there is nothing new. We can break the reality, this fake version that people cling to.

I have this thought that there are people like Elijah walking the earth today; that miracles are a viable demonstration of power and that we need to stop making excuses for why we don’t have them. I want to have dinner with prostitutes and the weird men in black suits that work for the IRS. I want to tell people that Jesus is not just a “was” but rather a definite “is.” I want people to see that he is alive in people’s hearts today; not just in words but in deed.

I have this thought that a butterfly is just as beautiful as a flower and that people are more beautiful than anything else in nature because we are the image of God.

I have this thought that dreams have substance and we all need to be dreamers; that I life without risk is not one worth having. There is a satisfaction and honor in taking a risk to achieve something.

The whole world is waiting for you to take a risk and show them how to live.

Giant killers

Destiny doesn’t wait for the soft kiss of a promise; it is in the hands of those breaking beneath the weight of pursuit. They fight for dreams, fight so violently, with bloody knuckles and bruised muscles. I FIGHT FOR DREAMS. Despite this disharmony of some duped cadence trying to swing my heart beat to a foreign key; keep moving you warriors, remember who you are. We are the light on the horizon; bursting through nights cold grasp. We expose the evil and the wicked. We break down palaces that no one has ever seen.

Speak to the wind and tell it to carry your voice far, farther than your feet can go, farther than you can imagine.

I am a message in a bottle, cast into the ocean of the earth. I will stand proudly and proclaim THERE IS A WAY OUT. And I will stay shouting with the threat of arrows whistling overhead. I dare to dream, to tread, to take my destiny and force it make a way for me. I will take my heart and let it beat out a path where that way may not be wide enough for the girth of vision. Come fancy-dance with me, like fireflies mimicking stars. Faith is in my lungs, stretching, pushing heavily against everything on the inside. I have to grow to make room for it. We are children of Abraham, children of promise.

Let’s heal the world.

Creation is waiting for you, longing for you to be revealed. Not to the watchers set in the sky, but to yourself. You are more than you can imagine. You are a message in a bottle of flesh cast into the ocean of humanity. When you land on that shore, no matter what part of the world it is, burst open and shout loudly what is on the inside.

Don’t be defined by the cacophony of deluded wise men, thinking they are religious, but never knowing God. Rise up and defeat Goliath, step up and cry out. Let the whole world see, there is a man who can still fight. Let your bruised fist grasp that worn sling, swing it hard and let the one who wrote that message on your heart guide the stone.

There are giants that kill dreams, but there are dreams that kill giants.