NYE: Apocalypse

Started off self deceieved on top, ruling with an iron fist.  But then that top spun and in the frozen moments betwixt slow motion I observed the centrifugal chaos.  Way off. Paid off. Whilst I was sleep, Truth ditched my suffocating grip and I awoke to lies in my bed. What lies in my bed are the lies I have spread of being a deliverer of Christ’s holy bread- I was doing nothing. Living death.

I awoke with a start, stumbled to the mirror to see my inner man, and for once- I got a good look at him. The estranged, bedraggled form of one of the Lord’s mighty men.  The Mayans I didn’t mind them because I’d prophesied my own end- prophelyin to profit off of my misery… I was lacking courage you see.

The year was a bucket of hell flamed charcoals wrapped in shadows.  Seeing was not seeing. Hurting was not hurting. The only constant elements upon me were lack and worry… lack and worry… lack and worry.  Satan’s DJ got in my head and spun his favorite hits into the fabric of my soul- lack. And worry.

Against all odds- an immaculate robin cast a glare on the sun as she flew to Heaven. The dear hearted transcended into the dearly departed and took shards of my heart with them. No amount of working out in the gym will bring their priceless presence back here.  … Nesha I love you so much and I miss you every single day.  Sometimes I wonder if you truly knew the wonder you brought to my face whether I saw you or not. When my life would start to rot I would think of you quitting… and of course I could not.  You were, and will forever be, my angel. I won’t let the world forget about you.

This year threw it’s best at me.  Took me into the depths of a universal supply of worthlessness, rubbed my face in it, and forced me to repeat that THAT was my identity…

But I’m still here.  Still here and my eyes see clear- armed with a heart of courage to steer me through all my fears.  Far from perfection, but nearly perfectly not concerned with it. The afflictions never lessened, but the lessons became the talking battle scars crying out that I EARNED my winnin. 

I’ve been stuck in fire, and I just stepped out…

I’ve been a dead mute, but I’m shedding these grave clothes and opening my mouth…

2012 ripped away pieces of me that I was certain I needed…

And now I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

Snapshot

At the job, too depressed to work…
At home, too depressed to write…
This is my life…
This- is my life…

I’m not the smartest, the fastest, the strongest, the wealthiest, the most talented, the most courageous- not the most anything except most likely to question what it is exactly that I am.

And this has caused me to give pause to what my life has been meaning when it lives and says that it has meaning. What am I here for?  The winding road marking the perpetual pursuit of women is unfullingly filling- any time you stop for a breath you find at once that you are unfulfilled. 

At the job, too depressed to work…
At home, too depressed to write…
This is my life…
This- is my life…

So what then? Am I a God man fashioned by God’s hand?  More like a forgotten seashell who only manages to catch the echoes of His voice once the ocean has receded and carried my momentary afflictions back out to sea…

This can’t be living.

Words lose flavor. Hues lose color. Gasping on the thin wisp of passed on confidence left to me by my father… longing with the 5 year old in me for the soothing touch and hug of my mother…

At the job, too depressed to work…
At home, too depressed to write…
This is my life…
This- is my life…

They should’ve never told me I was born a crown champion-

Because now all I expect are wins.

Dying People

I look around and all I see are people dying…

The gross stench of rotting life assaults my nostrils, my instincts become hostile- but then I take a moment to give one away.  Free of charge.  While the demons of humanity roam around freely at large, I freely free their humanity to BE large… a dance floor for their soul to moonwalk upon.

I’m smiling as I’m working and performing poetry… appalled that some days my most grandiose concerns are people genuinely knowing me, when really I should be gently sowing seeds of clarity to shaded eyes.  I’m smiling, but I’m sick inside.  That woman who just passed me by has domestic abuse in her eyes and troubles with her children ice skating the glowing veins in her skin.  I can smell the fear of death spiraling off of that old man, and am nearly blinded by the innocent courage of his grandson…

What am I doing?  I call myself the open mic for destiny to spit life, but my actions thus have left me powerless and with no power the room booms with my muted influence.

A slow winding trail of happily mourning bodies makes it way past me… I try to speak to them in passing, convincing myself that the grade of offhanded love is passing… No wonder I can’t make a change.

The horrid aroma is clogging my throat, forming a moat between the royalty locked inside my dome and the civilians on the other side.  On stage I become entertainment, in a church I’m some term with “praise” in it, at work it’s little more than paid enslavement, and when my imagination takes control I’m the hero of the day in it… fanciful illusion at best.  Heaven’s grasp extends itself to me with my every breath, granting life more when hell puffs its chest, it’s so fresh- angelic guidance and God’s grace.  I am the most broken of men… listed among the strong, but truthfully among the feeble…

All I see are dying people.

Everybody sleeps, but nobody dreams.   Capitalistic monsters posed as originality and ate creativity when in actuality cree-ate first… we were created at birth… creative genius is the cellular structure of our soul’s girth…

Dying people… dying people…

I look around and all I see are dying people living in a world of potential.  A world tilted at a steep decline, prepared to usher them to the mercilessly jagged rocks awash in the consuming waves of the ocean below.  These people… these dying people say nothing with their lips, though I beg them with all my might.  I offer to lay down my life, but it seems like only literal sacrifice will suffice at all.  They won’t talk.  They just walk.  Their hearts blink frantically- the erratic, desperate winking of their most vital organ attempting to attract the gaze of even the most desolate passerby.  All it takes to raise a flame, is one spark… All it takes to wake a life, is one heart…

Why not mine?

Why not mine.

That is the question I pose to myself… It is foolish to feud with the clueless about clues- to lie down in a coffin and reason out the exit from a mother’s womb.

Dark cannot recognize dark- only light.  Death cannot recognize death- only life.

And if I am claiming to be plagued by all of these dying people migrating through my life…

Why have I not yet given them mine?

Forgetting to Remember

If the sun thought itself moon, and heaven thought itself doom, and if we believed that life is nought but lies then what use would be truth?

What would be the use of mending broken hearts, just leave them unended, suspended in their dark cloud of gloom.  No room, for hopeful spectacles, or unexpected miracles, see- if I forget myself worth goes through the roof.  Salute to who I was…

And who the heck are you.  

Sharp eyed watcher, wide-lensed cinematographer, sleeping dreamer, grade school teacher, student, actor, new spouse, preacher…?!

Or perhaps an interesting combination like your favorite flavor, in your favorite layer of grandma’s one-of-a-kind-cake.  Maybe you fancy yourself a special exotic blend, like I did- a little less than perfect, but a little more than sin.  Mixed in with all God’s best ingredients, envied by angels, and just a step below Jesus.

If I thought myself you, and you thought yourself watchdog, life would be chaos, and the aim for which we were made to claim by a faith walk across fiery terrain would be utterly forsaken.  Like trying to cook a sweet potatoe pie in Barbie and Ken’s oven, the result would be nothin… we would just lay there.  Staring into each other’s eyes, some mad and some crying, wondering why we’re not transforming into something incredibly phenomenal.

What is the point of being cast in existence, if in it, we try to play another role?  If you have a thumb that is constantly trying to be a toe, it’s better to just cut it off- it’ll throw your life off balance.

What sense does it make for a storybook character to try and leave the pages, or a fairytale princess to try and demand wages- just serve the purpose  for which you were created and everything else will fall in its proper placing!!

… breath…

The heart deceives, but the heart also knows… your heart will point you to truth, but then dissuade you when you get too close…

Mistaken identity is the greatest sin of all- it’s better for you, to be personally clueless, than to be hypnotized by the ring of somebody else’s call…

If you know not, then fear not- pray hard, and try lots.

If you knew once, but lost time, then take time, to rewind…

And don’t forget to remember.

Aced Out

Feet to ground.

Head to the sky.

Body standing tall in the pool of gravity.

Life inflicts its demands on me quite lavishly, eliciting a vividly livid response from my living… What matters most?  Sun beams lance down like lasers from a futuristic space battle, striking my skin with keen efficiency.  Each step down the street is one more in the incredible heat, and the sweat beads around my eyebrows swiftly.

I call a full scale retreat into air conditioning.

My body is battered from battling and I must re-treat my wounds.  Naked I lay on this hospital bed of poetry, waiting for the nurse to re-dress everything broken in me.  Waiting for these words to stitch me back together, and for these flows to regenerate the hope in me.

Air conditioning.

I was pushing hard- trying to reach my best until I was bested by stress and it sent me into cardiac arrest, and now I lay here behind bars.  Trapped behind rhymes, mentally scarred, and fearful…  What if I can never walk again?  What if I am doomed to sleep, but never dream, eyes permanently opened in a comatose state glued to the ceiling?

…What matters most?

I drown while breathing and the waters of planetary pull slosh around me mercilessly… Grounded.  Like a ten year old sent to his room, or a plane with no wings, I am stranded here against my will.  My gaze sees the birds high and free and I struggle against the chains of my insecurities.  My wrists chafe against the shackles and a desperate prayer slips off my tongue… Nothing elegant, witty, or over spiritual- just a request for realness.  A plea to fully die, or fully be alive, but be loosed from this shadowy place in between.

I sleep.

I weep.

I breathe.

Prophetic imagery has succumbed to lobotomy- my future is swathed in darkness.  What to do… Where to go… Who to trust…

God, I need you.

… In the absence of my own faith, His voice speaks for me.

I am afraid of the unknown, but that won’t keep me from walking…

Feet to the ground.

Head to the sky.

Body standing tall in the pool of gravity.