“If she’s amazing, she won’t be easy. If she’s easy she won’t be amazing. If she’s worth it, you won’t give up. If you give up you are not worthy. Truth is everyone is going to hurt you…you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for” Bob Marley

For thus the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, has said,
   ’In repentance and rest you will be saved,
   In quietness and trust is your strength,’
   But you were not willing… - Isaiah 30

Honesty has opened my eyes
To the rotting of my flesh
Not by the way of nature, but
Of my own will, I am dying.
“Woe to the rebellious children,”
Says the Prophet, for I add sin
To sin uncontrollably, again,
By my will.
I see that all is dying
In one way or another
But my death is not in my
Appearance, But of my soul
As I cower from the plans I set
And hide behind implicit lies
So not to die so publically.
Run from Justice!
Hide from Mercy!
I have done such things
In naivety, but for now
I do not lie anymore
To myself, but stare straight at my soul,
Eye to eye, word to word, to see
Who will be the first to step down.
Though it seems a fight to the death
I am still here, fading in the truth
Of my knowledge, bleeding weakness
Through my teeth, as if I might
Actually be in the right
To stand before my soul and contest.
Most hide; I have for some time
From truth, but all forfeit or reach death
Eventually.
Repentance does not seem far
From my heart, however, I have yet
To move in any good. Even
In my snare, I watch with compassion
And see those dying attempt to live,
As they tell themselves myths
To preserve their peace.
I have awoken – my mind – in paralysis,
Eyes sowed shut and body laid waist.
I cannot see the fruit of my sin,
But remain alone with my knowledge –
This coffin, my dark friend –
And know that I rot from within,
Awaiting death or a savior
To escape my own will. 

Take a hit.

Again.

Turn up the music
Laugh.

Make food.

Turn down the music
Laugh.

Start writing
Delete.

Turn up the music

Take a hit.

Start writing
Stupid.

Breathe
 

Tomorrow.

My bride is in a distant land;
She is royalty, you know, and precious
Like the Queen of Sheba who traveled far
To hear the King speak in all his wisdom,
And I am her King, yes, hard to believe
Don’t let my tone of voice betray your ears 
From letting hear the words I speak of things
That have short company with the secure.
But first my love, my distant love I’ll be with
Shortly; I pack my bags as we speak
Or rather, I speak and you hear me teach,
But teaching can wait a little longer.
She is so lovely with her royal gowns
Weaving across her legs crossed on the ground,
Listening. Believing that the heart
Travels far with gifts for more than just custom.
Her eyes glow full of child-like hope,
And let me tell you the beauty of it,
For when a woman’s eyes meet your soul
There is nothing that’s passed that you don’t own.
For a matter of fact, Time is not real
Until you meet her eyes; when they grab you,
Stiffen your spine and pull your chest out
Your stomach as your heart reaches for heaven. 
Listen, young man, don’t let your ears wander
For I have things to share, that of the King.  
No; No such thing as Time, only dreams
Until you meet her touch that tames the hearts
Of lions and softens the shoulders.
Be good to her, my friend, when you find love,
She is not too far across the desert.
Her eyes will never look at you, but with,
And her voice resides between your ears;
Even miles apart I hear her speaking.
Oh, how odd God made it that your story
Begins so late in life when ambition
Relents so easily. She is worthy
Though, good boy, for nothing else is as real,
At least for your soul, all is but a dream. 
She will walk with you to her heart’s chambers,
Imploring God to shower you with grace
Like a leper cleansed in the Jordan,
And plea you not to be man or god,
Or to serve in any effort to please,
But to bear your body and hers as one,
Speaking; her voice and yours, face to face.
Ah! At that, you see, I must be off,
My bags are packed and Time is fickle.
A teaching, you say, I must have digressed,
I always seem to get lost in poetry,
And she is poetry, good friend, in full,
Her soul the content and body the form.
But don’t let me talk on any longer, 
Well, let’s see, a word of the wise:
Do not awaken love until she pleases.