What Pray Tell Could I Be?

Unmovable, unbreakable,
Unbending, and unshakable,
Hard as iron, sharp as steel,
Accepts no false deal,
To pain will not yield,
Not hide behind any shield,
Defended kings and paupers the same,
From vices’ wicked game,
Forges cities and protects kin,
Slays demons, and wards off sin,
Where I am not found,
The helpless are bound,
The weak are slain,
And the wicked reign,
Cities crumble into dust,
And men give in to lust,
Warriors fear the night,
And none fight for right,
I armor many a soul,
And can sear like a hot coal,
Under my aegis all men are free,
For fallacies animosity,
I’ve tread beneath the earth
And been here before man’s birth,
I have flow the heaven’s and sky,
I shall be here after the last wicked shall die,
What pray tell could I be?
I am naught but integrity.

Miss That Which Was Never Had.

This desire burning fire,
Consuming dire, temperance’s pyre,
I wish to hold,
In my hands icy cold,
To touch tenderly,
This thing floating free,
Why do I feel the sting,
Of missing something,
Which I never bore,
Yet it stings my core,
I wish to drink up,
Yet ‘tis not my cup,
I wish to consume,
Yet I can not assume,
To take what is not couth,
Like a fallacious youth,
I wish to hold it in my arms,
Washed in the swaths of its charms,
I wish to taste and see,
If the flavor be,
Soothing to the soul,
Or grating like coarse coal,
But that which I desire,
In this longing fire,
This thing I miss,
For which I remiss,
So why is it then,
Do I miss when,
I have never had,
Why then am I sad.

The Mermaid

Head sits upon her hands,
As she dreams of distant lands,
As she rests upon the jagged rock,
Taking in a mental stock,
Of hopes and dreams,
Of her heart’s whispers and screams,
Jagged rocks pressing into soft skin,
And icy salty spray drips from her fin,
Dreaming of something far away,
As distant as night at noon day,
As naked flesh is cut by stone,
And from her mortal heart comes stifled groan,
But this daughter of the sea,
Wishing for that which she can see,
Wishing to not be alone,
But for chance to walk upon earthen stone,
But she is the daughter,
Of the raging water,
Yet she wishes to be,
Able to leave the sea,
Yet she in her heart she longs,
In echoing desire strong,
To embrace that which she loves,
In as strange an union as fish and doves,
Yet her heart cries, and tries to beseech,
And it tries to reach,
That which burns like fire,
Deep in her desires,
To be sought and reachable,
In spite of seeming unreachable.

Careful What You Ask

Be careful what you ask,
In word, look, deed, or task,
For there are things you can not see,
Dwelling inside of me,
Things which try to hide,
And Things bound up by pride,
If you were to request,
Of me my dearest and best,
I could not renege,
One tiny twig,
Of these branching promises,
Of my Strength, my Love,
And for you my dove,
The bedrock at my core,
Even my sacred Honor.
So be careful what you ask me,
For the answer may yet be,
To your sweet whispers evanescence,
A soul shattering acquiescence.

My Saturnalia

As I sit I try to sift,
Out the cause of this rift,
That is tearing apart,
The chambers of my heart,
And severs me from my God.
Why do I continue to corner,
In a commitment with no rejoinder,
The one who broke the yoke under which I plod,
Why do I continue to mix the holy,
With the profane in me?
Like those who made Saturnalia,
Into a sign of "Christian" regalia,
So I continue to crucify,
My brother who chose to die,
That he could forgive,
And I might live,
Brother help me to estrange,
Myself from all I must change,
Make me like you,
In all, O Lord, I do.