My Life

My life is a short, but sad story, of this I can truly be sure. For the good things I feel, touch, smell, hear are real, but change as the waves on the shore . Sometimes they run high, proud and mighty, sometimes they run low, light and dim, it just all depends, but when the good things do end, my life starts to 'come very grim. I try not to admit my own weakness, but sometimes it comes bursting through. If I ever seem sour, or cross, do not cowher, it's probably not aimed at you. I'll admit I'm in love with a stranger, and I always end up thinking why, I pour all my heart and my soul and my self into a love that just could be a lie. I'll admit I have not been the best man, I'll admit that I have been a fool. But doesnt it seem odd that a kind loving God could sometimes just seem all to cruel?

As the Clouds

As he lay dying on the cold, hard ground, he thought to himself, "What was my life?". And as he lay, his thoughts travelled back to a better time. To a young child playing in a golden field of long grass, each blade lit like a flame in the glorious light of the summer sun. A sweet breeze sweeps across the golden plain, it carries the seeds of flowers across the sunlit waves of grass. The boy would lay upon his back and shape the clouds in his mind's eye. So innocent was the child, so pure of mind and heart. The delicate balance of nature held within the spirit of his heart, and the love of everything good. The child then grew, and as he grew, he started to see more of the world around him. Among the many towers of light and glass, amongst the many nomads and winding roads we find him again, ball in hand, a high iron hoop set upon a great pole in a park. He would spend hours at play, in this place of concrete, and metal. Wether he could help it or not, many times he found himself gazing as the cars streaked by. He would often find himself wondering where they are going, and why they need to get their so quickly. He ponders this only for a moment, then he goes back to his ball, to his play. We then travel from that land, and now see him much older, and wiser, but yet naive. He sees around him the imperfections of the world around him, of the corruption, seduction, and greed. Though he cant help but see the world needs change, he finds it hard to be indifferent. We find him in an open lot as he sits in his car, his best gal at his side. Beautiful, young, and perfect in his eyes. He loves her, this much he knows for certain. And as they sit, he finds that her hand begins to gently carress him in that sacred place of pleasure. He has known these pleasures, and knows it well. He cannot help to think of the consequences, the guilty pleasures, and the question of why, but he falls prey to the temptations, as he always has. He sees how much love, hate, and jealousy effect the world around him, but he cares little, and sometimes, not at all. We now travel again from that place see him in a single file line. Crowded, hot, and cramped, he waits. Young men, all dressed in green, awaiting the cold piece of metal and wood that will serve them in combat, their life support, their own personal protection, their saviors. Hes given a heavy pack, sparce rations of food, and a slap in the face, he knows not why he made this choice. He learns to fight, to love the man next to him like his own brother, and his rifle even more so. He marches with his rifle, eats with his rifle, sleeps with his rifle, he knows it well. They go to war together, to the vast jungle on the other side of the world. He quickly sees this world is one of darkness, of regret, of pining. They pine for better times, for the loves they left behind, for the days of innocence. He bares many hardships, him and his rifle. It is now that he sees the darkness of humanity, as he sees a many headed beast of flesh, metal, and fire engulf him and his brothers like a wave. He fights this beast, his rifle laying many down before him. But his rifle soon fails him, and he soon finds he has been bitten by the flaming metal teeth of the beast. His breath escapes him, he falls back, almost in a daze. He lay staring through the trees, on the jungle floor, and he again shaped the clouds. As he slowly slipped away, he knew. It was as the clouds.

Death of the Messiah

Tell me, who is this God of yours? Who is this all-powerful master to whom you so willingly give your souls too? Tell me who truly believes he is real? Who? And where is your God? Is he here? Among us at this very moment? People I tell you now, your God does not exist! He is nothing but an imaginary being created by your feeble minds to justify existence and purpose! And who is this Son of God? This Savior, this Messiah who is supposed to save your poor, desperate souls? The man I have before you, claims such a title. He has the tongue of a serpent, and the cunning of a wolf in sheep's wool. The man before you is a Criminal! He is a bastard son of a harlot, who has gone about spreading lies, toying with your minds, and weakening you all to his treachorous ways. He is nothing but a pest, a virus, a blasphemer, and a damned fool! He claims to have healed the sickly, made the lame walk, made the blind see. He claims that he shall be a king, and we must worship and follow his God, but I tell you know, he is NO KING! HE IS NO GOD, NO SON OF A GOD, AND NO SAVIOR!!! His forked tongue has spread his wicked poison amongst you all. You have all submitted to him, believe him to be magnificent, perfect, and holy. But look upon him now, good people. LOOK AT YOUR MESSIAH NOW!!!! BEATEN! BATTERED! BRUISED! SCARRED! HE IS WEAK! FEEBLE! AND LAYS BEFORE ME! You have been tricked by this conjurer, tricked into believing of a heaven, of a golden city..of a God. if this man is so powerful, why doesnt he strike me down?! Why doesnt his God call down the lightning and fire upon me?! I will kill this man, for he has earned his death. You will all see the truth, and you will know that I am the only God you will ever Have!

Diaries of a Dying Soul

I need a way out. This body has gone beyond its limits...my soul needs to scream. The beauty that once was has gone, like sand blown in the wind off some distant beach in another world far beyond the reach of those who do not believe in the impossible. I gaze into the stars, and lay in wonder of the eternal dance of the heavens. The stars carry out their beautiful movements, swaying to a neverending melody which we cannot possibly hope to hear. The burden my soul carries is great. How do I go on? Where do I run when the levees of this world break? Who will be their to catch me when i stumble? I cannot recall a time when I did not question faith, religion, God, Heaven and Hell. I cannot recall a time when I didnt fear the answer was Yes. To what end I cannot tell, but that is what the journey is. The destination is trivial compared to what you may find on your travels. We all wish to travel to distant lands, to experience the world, to find purpose and place for ourselves, but do we ever? Faith is something to believe in, but to what end? When the sun sets on this world, are we all not here in the end? What do we do when we find ourselves gathered in one place together, with nothing to speak of to one another? My soul yurns for adventure, to travel far and wide. To meet those would be friends not just of body, but mind, spirit, and soul. To be able to say yes to everything, and to truly believe in love, faith, the world, and everything that dreams may come. To believe in the power of our hearts, to see the beauty that was once this world, and to believe that it can be whole again. Blessed be the hearts that bleed, and those who care about it. The animal spirit within me lends its voice unto my lips, it speaks the words that only can be written but not said. I need a way out. I need a way out. I need a way out.