Saturday, September 29, 2007

Grave Robber

High noon burns the sweat soaked eyes
Dusty brows litter the anxious street
Words are hushed where sleeping dogs lie
All silent when the drunk judge takes his seat
The convict comes down the aisle lookers in tow
Lays down his six shooters the loaded twelve
Peacemakers unsheather that the people didn't know
The Sons of God do not live on shelves

Lawyer started yelling as the preacher was preachin'
Mouthed closed as he took on the hell fire blaze
Bordellos and bars and other places he be teachin'
With a tongue like Bowie's knife the words never a haze
The jury was rigged he had each one hung
Human nature was the gamble for years been set up
The hearts of men wanting holy necks wrung
Plotting his fate with backwash in a bitter cup

Preacher smirks donning hangman's mask
Noose in hand points to the old oak tree
The oak never had any questions to ask
"Cursedbe the man who hangs from me!"
He steps forward to the executioner's laugh
Putting it on like a jewelled necklace
Smeeling in the distance the burning of chaff
Passion burned in the stone set face

Blackness surrounds the roaring fist
Recompense of the piper's receipt
Eternity hosts this flagrant mist
Death shrieked with the given release
Burning eyes with the heavy axe
Hand to handle waylaying the crushing blow
Violence fills the remorseless attack
The Hangin' tree falls with no seed to sow

Grave Robber
Hear the jingle jangle of his keys
Grave Robber
Shatterin' the proud man's kness
Grave Robber
Best do what he said
Grave Robber
Comin' to judge the quick and th' dead

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Her touch was softer than usual tonight. Her cheek pressed against mine as her smile met my face. It had been a while since I had seen her but those green eyes are never easy to forget. She came out of nowhere for what seemed no apparent reason except o share this moment right now. A rendezvous with the mundane abruptly came to an end as the scent of her perfume floated my way, cinnamon and roses. Time and time again had we met, each time more appropriate than the one prior. Everything around us seemed to fade for just a moment. All that was left were the gray clouds above and the incoming mist. Hearts held in unison as her voice began to caress my ears. Each syllable dripped with honey and her breath smelled like sweet incense. Here we stood at the street corner exchanging sweet nothings into each other with our embrace locked within this suspension of time. I could feel her lips move against my cheek and my heart began to move faster and faster palpitating an opus with the speed of a freight train. Minutes passed like hours as we stood on that corner, it seemed the entire world passed by in that brief moment, nothing worth concerning ourselves with. We had each other. As soon as it began the moment ended. Words were never uttered as our eyes remained locked in repose. With a wink she vanished into the crowd knowing that our next reunion will be even more intimate. A tear of bittersweet joy ran down my cheek as my heart began to grown. She needed to go as did I but the parting had never been easy. I go my way and she goes her own as she continues to cry out in the street.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

What You Talkin' About Willis?

To err in ones own mind draws too many fleeting glances from his own heart. The towers of men and empires of humanity are nothing more than flimsy cardboard providing shelter for the wealthy who perpetually feel homeless. The same log that burns in their fireplace is from the tree that holds years of memiores inscribed in noble thought. The fantasy of a broken creature remains fractured like its creator. Links are always missing like the Emperor's new clothes and he who sees is hanged from the noose of Lady Goodiva. He who is begets and that which has come is indeed begotten, yet only one came from the Father. Mistakes of the ages plot out a roas map for the astute to follow. Blind lead the blind but there is one who searches the deep things of the heart, which is deceitful above all things. Good intentions have led to an ocean floor covered with millstones and their partners. He who searches man searches the deep things of God and continues to flow in creativity even after the sixth day. Mountains of ambiguity get laid bare from the nostrils of He who declares the beginning from the end and all that remains is the mountain of perfection. It is He who loved us to the end which beckons all to meet it's looming presence. Rain falls on the righteous and the wicked all the while roads are being carved up the mountain scented like clusters of myrhh. Tunnels are broken open by the heart of John Henry while the peak towers above the plain of delusion. The darkness ever darker and the light becoming rare, flickers of sapphire warm those who have pursued the truth. The end is coming and the days are drawing shorter, these days are evil. Oh what glory waits for the few is but a flicker as a hush directs us to the myriad singing Handel's Messiah.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Exhibit Hall

Flourescent lighting has become what I see when I close my eyes. The dull hum illuminating what seems to be empty halls. Once looking like a pristine museum has succumbed to the monotony of the custodian who resided there. Pictures have faded and sculptures were left cracked. Yet day in and day out the floors are swept and the brass fixtures are polished to reflective brilliance. At night the routine is once again done and then come morning is left ready for a whole new chorus of messes and smudges. Yet day in and day out with little recognition he does his job. Always with a smile with eyes concealing an aura of euphoric glow. If you still your self for long enough you can even hear him whistling. Few wander into his closet and are merely content with his nightly doings. Inside the thick mahoghany door lie a world beyond recognition; one of murals, sketches, and sculptures reflecting vivid color and life. With each stroke and curve beauty is immortalized. Few have seen and few have asked, and he longs to let the beauty be held.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

The Raggamuffin Silhouette

Broken streaks once again flood the face of the vessel trying once again to serve a purpose. Inclination of the former years dwindle in hindsight yet a vacant light at the end of the tunnel seem to spur life to bloom once again. The broken shards litter the ground like a poorly made mosaic coloring the black asphalt with chipped shades of copper. Angels hum above breaking the silence, Handel’s Messiah in brief synopsis energizing the air hat blows in and out of the cracks that seemed to have marked our subject in the onslaught of fluid thought encircling the dreams that the jar once held. Awakening once again to a new dawn spliced by rain clouds and rainbows the permeation of the translucent colors embody the warmth that heaven sees. The skies open and heaven’s tears begin to pour. Each one collected in the vase that stands as a silhouette in the vacant landscape. The ground is saturated with new life and flowers spring out from under the pavement. A trickle is contained within the vessel as a voice from heaven says, “Well done!”