I found my fire and it scares me
thunder pales
the truth is in me
each day I am torn , and each morn born anew
the pain has become the norm
I am knocking ..on heavens door ,
I think...
Is Jesus even his name
Is Yahweh game
I wished to be a mendicant in life
A monk and a monastery
coz this life has no meaning known to me
It’s all illusion and sleight of hand
the gifts are undeserving .
my soul. was sold. This I knew even
when I was as a child
In Creation Complicit.
What is mine is taken,and what matters is turned to dust .
My best friend. my brother was slain
and my mentor and teacher thinks that I am insane .
But even before I was in darkness spelled
I saw heaven
felt the pleasure that bespoke pain
I struggle to explain myself because just maybe I am wrong.
so many people look to me for hope
but what if I
am wrong
what if I did not see what I think I saw
what if light is dark and right is wrong.
and my feeble mind in reaching
has broken
And the light I see is the phantom sight of a blinded eye
And will powered myopia drives my battle cries.
the vast engines of my hopes & prayers
are driven solely by fear
when my last faith was betrayed
I did not get up
I remained a broken toy
A puppet without a puppeteer
Seven years fleshless
A ghoul full of anguish and pain
Wholly and completely vain
with friends friendless
unclothed but not naked
wearing masks truer than the lie I had become
I go on because I have been loved
and In that loving embrace observed
The Universe
Yes my insanity knows no bounds .And My observations are vain:
you are here
because, I am here
and when I am gone you are not
yes, this is a lie that pleasures me
and when it is gone I am not,
and even with this all I have is not purpose but Doubt
in my repast I am Loki
I am Satan
I am God
I am the Master of my universe
but when I look at my life , I am Rebecca
I am Eve
I am Jesus
A martyr to my own cause;I eat my young
the serpent in his own garden .Sisyphus
I want so much for those I love but seem to fail consistently
I want and want and want
apparently more than I can give
my alms are beyond my reach
and my reach beyond my arms
death would be a kind deed
but a cheap and false escape in deed
I want to be honest with myself
Naked
I can’t do it though
So many masks are necessary to me being me
I live by sleight of hand
I owe all I am to deceptions
not to be unkind, but to be me
forgive me world
