poetry

Adam Is Sick

Adam is sick.

It seemed a fair trade,
knowledge for death –
or is it knowledge of death?
A life split into living and     not?

Terror is a sickness.
Mortality is humanity, though
many would trade this for time.
And thus, terror –
and thus, salvation.

We are sick.

Remaining in terror and
salvation, we, not living, must choose
to live, and to live,
die – the mortal humans we
have always been.

 

 

3/24/2017

Blood On The Street

blood on the street
blood on the seat in the
car, guns pointed at
blood in our hearts-
Black and White and red
all over the news,
fear precipitating
hysteria
commercials, articles propagating
fear- entrenching
minds in culture divides
we all want the killing to stop
but who is willing to
die? what are you willing
to not buy? there’s
blood on our hands because there’s
blood in our wallets, dripping
ignorance- hear the voice
calling from beyond the
dark, the moral arc
bends toward us- the
‘Us’ that transcends these
divisive days; we defy
death
by the blood of a true
King, murdered by the state
of a nation like ours, scheming
principalities that hover
over our cities
late at night while we
sleep, there’s blood in our dreams-
Wake up.
He’s alive and so are we
for now-
for this-
Wake up.

Become The Night

The time has come-
You must leave the normalcy of your home.
Open the door and step into the night.
Feel the winter air dissolve your
skin as you surrender to the dark.
Let the sound of the breeze through the dead
leaves above draw you in.
Leave the frailty of your frame
and become the night.
Meld with the moon and see the tops of
clouds illuminated by your shining eyes.
Pass beyond the tops of distant mountains
and feel the Earth lie still underneath your hands.
Be the still silence that is forever,
the Silence that formed you in itself.

12.19.2014