The voice resounds

pounding the earth

trodden by men and monster,

the grass leans to it, the trees bow to it,

the concerns of every heart foster the still small voice of a God who is there.

But in the black of blindness we forget the call

the whisper of volumes covering the earth

finding our every hiding place

offering comfort

appalled at the rhythm, the cadence of the voice.

Come back to me.

We stand at the gates of perdition’s flame

eyes seared in the wake, tears born from the burning ashes of those before

and through the door we would blindly stride,

save for the rhythm which flows

confide only in the melody of that voice which bids come back to me.

We find a man of like demise

propitiation throws him within our sight

and glances like daggers proceed whips broken upon his back

the voice he has

the cadence wrapped in limbs like ours, in hands which grasp to know what only the mind can see

The God who is there

spoke in silent steps becoming one to the road of suffering like the hammers which would drive the nail, broken by the weight of love

the dove of peace descending to lift him beyond our veil

tempted and tested and entering the city as the King he came to be

allowed nothing

pail anemic complexion marred with red flesh

See the man who would be king.

Left and right in trinitarian form

voices choosing their destiny amidst a sea of roman riot.

One voice prevails

hailing like thunder upon the annals of last confessions

unseen in its power but spoken from the cross, the throne of zion.

Forgive them for they know not what they do.

In the beginning spoke the voice the words that could not be extinguished

couched in anguish, soaked in blood, torn asunder by the leather of baal, chained to creation by iron and raised in blasphemy above your children.

Ironic bail from a prison of ones own creation.

And even with no one at his side to hear his voice

no one to protect or to defend him

the darkness could not fight the voice. The darkness could not comprehend it.

The darkness could not comprehend him.

In the end

his voice stands

spoken into victory

risen into history

proof of true love

resolve of light in the darkness

He is not dead,

silent in the graveyard of humanities ambition,

one voice among the crowd of those who stood out.

His voice resounds as sure as the light of day finds every seed,

His voice tells us he is risen.

He is risen indeed.


she looked my way

just like the others

it was the first time that we met.

I caught her eye

but for a moment

it was life lived in a blur

I can’t say how her look revealed me I can’t process all that was said

but from the short time that I knew her

I was forever in her debt.

She was complex and yet so simple 

she taught me things I’d never heard.

she showed me love was more than romance

because her love was undeserved

and she grew up though no one else would

and her applause were silent praise

from a young child to a woman

who crossed his path because he’d prayed.

you want so much someone to save you and so you call at passers by

but if your still you’ll hear the echo

your not the only one who cries

I never thought that I could give her

half what she could give to me 

but I followed suit

and gave her all

and she returned it all to me.

she looked my way like no other

though only briefly we had not.

she caught my eye

but for a moment

there was life inside that blur

she has a look that is revealing

there are no words for its effect.

but for the short time that I knew her

I am forever in her debt.


been waiting a long time for the sunrise.

been waiting a lifetime for a glance in your eyes.

hoping and praying

wondering and waiting

to see if I meet you tonight.

I’ve looked in the mirror to see if you’re there

saw a reflection so cold,

so raw,

so bare.

Looked on the inside

the outside and what lies between, but you weren’t there.


How long can I remain in stagnant inconclusion

Before I create unwanted absolution

And end the beauty of intelligent design.

Can I continue to deny both

The flow of the sea and the course

Of the wind in foolish

Pretense of wisdom?

If knowledge is left calm for comforts sake,

Then is wisdom not forsaken for the sake of calm?

And all this is pointless rotting my soul and leaving my soul


If not for you.


Why do I care?

Why torture Myself with an inverted stare?

Is plunging into insanity really worth a glimpse at the depths of my mind?

Should I consume

My life with constantly stepping

Over chards

And scraps

And bits of glass?

Can I really be the tie that binds?

Is my attempt in futility;

A practice which can never achieve fluidity?

Only frustration fills all voids that I willfully tread.

But if life is anticipation of dread

Than that is not life,

And I am the living dead.


Will nothing I do ever be enough for anyone?

Have I created a standard with a price so high that it cannot be completed?

Can no one repeat that which is honorable for the sake of honor?

Must I always be the arbiter:

the lamb for the slaughter?

Do you need me to be your staff along the less traveled path?

Stand alone, and walk yourself!

For I am hastening unto death.

I must rest or be broken;

A token of your inability to care.


Words can not comprehend

Or extend the relevance of feeling.

The ability to relate to irrational thought

Provokes the mind to invoke it’s spirit into flight.

Summoning the night to bow down to morning glory.

Feeling is the path which the wind inspires.

Moving a wooden leviathan across a sea of life…

For the rudder cannot guide the ship without the explosive wind,

Anymore than a person can act without a reason to do so.

They are a perfect union;

Completing the journey and establishing fulfillment.

Bringing relevance to insanity,

Giving every journey hope.


The power of conclusion is masked in the smallest member of its body.

Its outcome is the path chosen least for it is a force foreign in a troublesome sea.

A stranger thrust into a sea of dissolution,

Its surface mauled by false conclusions.

It stands strong in the wake of itself,

The firm foundation of momentum.

Madness is revealed as genius in its path

Its aftermath

Is tried but true.

The hand of celestial bodies

In a terrestrial world.

The very essence of the journey


Bringing hope into tangible