fri|end

You tore a hole through
The threads of our time
The patchwork red and harrowing
Purples deep as the bruise
A pattern of black cuts through
The fabric; it is thick and cruel as
Your thoughts. No warmth for
Suffering soul, no quilt for
The quivering. You were an
Empty case adorned with praise
Because your tongue spoke no kindness
Your heart gave no grace

I grew new eyes but
You grew no ears
What to say of you?
A demon of light? An
Angel of hell
How must I think of you?
My brother, my foe
How can a tree watered with truth
Bear no truth, unless inside the
Twisted knots lies a
Tired, scared thing
But you didn’t have to hurt me
You didn’t have to kill me too

ἐγείρω

Sailing like the
ocean breeze, a
daughter swore with
broken knees
"We must be oceans
grand, my dear, whose
majesty comes from
quiet streams and a
depth-descending deeps."

There are wars with
hands and wars with
hearts, and while
violence may subdue,
love conquers all.

Be kind, be soft--
Gentle skin may bruise, but
it's the only kind that
feels.

photo

נָשָׂא

It was not enough to
see you fall. I
want to see you
crumble, for
you are built of dust.
Your words are putrid,
your flame is black.
O brother, what am I to
think of you? For
in your eyes I glimpsed
both demon and light
Your hands wield destruction,
but still they stretch into
troubled sky to grant the
Lord His glory?

You are blind and
the truth will
find you out.

But I am finding myself on
shores of grace, and
as I approached ever near, tears
began to well in my eyes
because I, too
am dust, bitter
as the earthen grave.
But knowing You who
are light resplendent,
glowing, transcendent and
pure, I am washed with
the fragrance of life,
Your blood for my
jaded bones.

Was I to bleed forever still,
when blood to cleanse already spilt?
Father, teach me how
to forgive.

photo

αναπνοή

Walker of waves,
still my heart

Restless soul, I
found you by the sea
you were a
wild child with
bruised knees, and
He found us both, pale
as ghosts on the shore—
gently-breathing breathless lungs
And into His arms I ran
"Child, welcome home."

mend

I heard the mountains move
I watched them as I crumbled

Father...—You speak as my head,
gently cradled, disappears beneath
the bandage You spun
The grave did I fear but
from ashes I rose
and from a death I once embraced, You
took me warmly to Your arms, and
as intransient ghost, I slipped through the soil into
a world beyond bone, beyond flesh and
in passing death I breathed
life into my lungs and this
skin became home to something beating—
zealous, throbbing soul.

miasma II

Putrid stench; smoke chokes the
air like demons—vile things
Death's flowers like blackened souls
Blood dried around the lip and
bodies tender from the bruises
My God! Alas, the damage your
children ravage, swollen bodies
crushed beneath the cruelty of man!
My soul— still, hard— sinks the depths of
despondency. Sorrow's sirens sing
out to me, pull at my hair, weave
obscenities as sharp eyes scour me
And death, romantic is the notion of
lover strangling lover 'til
breath and sigh subside to nothing
This soulless thief, would me, devour?
Great beast, if left alone, my
thoughts would thee caress with
painful disease
My God! Have we destroyed each other?
Unceasing, pungent labor, my torment is
mine own inflicted cross I carry

miasma

What of beauty? By it my
heart was broken, but for a
moment I breathed much easier—a
light; scattered shards on
endless seas where my
love was stolen from me
I held my fingers in between
dust pages on failing spines—
a ship of bones, its ribs a
sordid home. it bled through
the wood—stank of twisted knuckles,
bitter herbs and acrid hope. and
I was a wretch poorly clothed
A dusk so black even
darkness cursed, but I
lost you in vinegar soil
foul-mouthed and stricken ill,
With you I have fallen and
fall still