Cutting and the Soul

The press of the steel,
To see if I still feel,
The twisting of the wires,
With these bloody pliers,
Entwining the barbs with flesh,
Forming a steely bleeding mesh,
Hooks pull upon the skin,
Pulling up into bleeding crests as a fin,
Black blood congealing around the lips,
As the swallowed razor slips,
Deep into the soul,
Spilling blood black as coal.
Slow flows drip from the shivs,
Forced into self to relive,
In body the pains of mind,
To reveal to eyes blind,
What is hidden inside,
That as this blades slide,
Again and again,
Into this flesh of men,
Leaving faint lines,
First crimson like wines,
Later white and stark,
A permanent mark,
But these wounds are not, really,
On my flesh and body, to see,
But inside my being,
In the mind and feeling,
These hooks are but the bait,
Strung out by the twister of fate,
To mock us who would achieve,
Anything, or would dare to believe,
The razor is inside "the prize",
A nasty death dealing surprise,
The barbed wire entwining,
Is our self wrought woes and repining,
And all simply because we do not receive,
The one thing in which we might truly believe.

Español Amor.

Tu cabello es como un beso eloquente,
Y tu ojos es como un estrella de los cielos.
Tus labios son suave como miel,
Y tu piel es suave como seda.
Te amo mi amor,
Con todo mi ser,
Especiamente con todo mi corazon.
Tu eres mi princesa sin igual,
Mi Niña hermosa,
Mi amor bonita.
Tu eres la hija de Dios,
Y tu eres muy perfecta para mi.
Tu eres mas bella,
Que todas las chicas en del mundo.
Tu eres como un chocolate claro,
Pero tu eres mas dulce que eso.

With a little correction on spelling and grammar from mi amor post writing.

Tolkien's of Love.

"This all things devours,
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers,
Gnaws Iron, bites steel,"
But that is the old deal,
Times change,
And changes estrange,
One from their old ways,
And their past days,
And I am no longer among men,
Like this riddle of Tolkien,
I love and am loved,
And I adore my beloved,
She has warmed me,
And taught my heart to be,
Kinder and softer,
Gentler and oftener,
A better, wiser, stronger man,
Who is able to, who can,
Choose to do the best,
Not just the 'right' as the rest,
But more so than this,
She has taught me to never be remiss,
In the ways I ought to go,
She has set my life aglow,
Thank you King,
For giving me this thing,
That poets call love,
A precious gift from above,
For her I would,
In all that I could,
"Slay kings, ruin town,
Beat high mountains down,'
Not because I am time,
Or because I relish in crime,
Or in destruction or violence,
That all is far from me hence,
But to provide and protect,
Her, God's daughter select!
Mi Princesa sin igual,
In character and beauty without equal.


Forgive the pun.... I was quoting one of Tolkien's Riddles here.

Longing as for Breath

This potent love,
Striking true like a glove,
Into my heart,
Piercing to the lungs like a dart,
Driving out the stale air,
Of selfish care,
And apathy,
Leaving me,
Gasping with longing,
That I might bring,
In deep a breath anew,
A breath seasoned with you,
I long for a breath,
Like one trapped beneath the depth,
Of the sea,
Swimming up to be free,
I long to draw a breath deep,
So much my soul does nearly weep,
A breath of your sweet love,
Just inches above,
I long to pull myself to you,
And drink deeply in all I do,
Of your love, and expire,
Back my deep affection dire,
You are my souls burning fire,
Burning my unloving shadow in the pyre,
Built of my old self,
Of the boards, once composing closet shelf,
Let me breath once more,
Let me draw up to the shore,
And let me kiss the sweet sands,
On these precious lands,
Which are called Love, and Affection.
You who are my hearts only selection,
You, fair maiden of perfection,
To whom I write this reflection,
I long for your love more than air,
For your touch, more than care,
For your smile,
Than for all the wealth ever sent upon the nile,
For a respite,
From the dark of night,
Through the warmth of your touch,
But for now life is such,
That we must wait,
And I hold and trust to fate,
That God will let us draw breath once more,
Together on that distant shore,
In lands called Love and Affection,
Our marriage, blessed of God, to perfection.
I will wait,
For God's will and His chosen fate.

I Long and Will Wait

I long for that day,
When none can say,
We act without propriety,
When you are with me,
I long for that moment,
When in bliss heaven sent,
When we before the Lord,
Make our pact to be of one accord,
For we have avowed our love,
Before each other and God above,
But on that day,
We will also say,
Those avowals before men,
That none may call our actions sin,
I long for that so,
As only our two hearts can know,
And I will wait for you,
As long, my love, as I have to.

Fire Blossom

You are the blossom of fire,
In my hearts to sire,
The kindling light of love,
You melted the ice,
With your compassions so nice,
Gentle as a dove,
You taught me to care,
Reincarnating love there,
As only a daughter from above,
Could possible,
And set my heart free,
You are the incarnation of Love.

Soul Condition

This festering disease,
Within my soul,
Gnawing maggots,
And putridity abounds.
Souring soul ichor like cheese,
Tainting heart to black coal,
Wrenching my guts,
Tearing loose guttural sounds.

A symptom of culture,
Teaming with pestilence,
Spilling forth its taint,
In an unceasing flow.
Turning temple into sepulcher,
Shrieked obscenities replace silence,
And calling sinners holy saints,
The symptoms this disease show.

This retched affliction,
Which is but self-imposed,
Warring within every cell,
Every chamber of my heart,
It is a self-wrought diction,
Making permanently reposed,
My spirit since the day I fell,
Willingly upon Temptations dart.

I deserve nothing,
But the sharp stinging,
Following the Ringing,
Of the Reaper’s Swing.
For I slew my heart’s King,
And stripped Him of His ring,
Crowning the very thing,
That can only destruction bring.

But there is a panacea yet,
To douse my affliction,
And cleanse my heart,
That I might continue to be,
For my soul is yet wick and wet,
Fire yet flickering despite condition,
Lend me, Great Physician, your art,
And make me strong and free.

Lies and Truth

Unseen to the naked eye,
Tears we never cry,
And dreams which never fly,
Strangled till they nearly die,
All because we accept the lie,
And believe in our lack of value,
That we are tarnished, not new,
That nothing we might do,
Is veritable or true,
Yet the truth, God loves you.

Time's Stride

Time never stops,
It never drops,
Or ever fails,
Despite how often humans rail,
Against its passage,
And Many a poetic passage,
Has been written about its stride,
Its pace, unceasing in its ride,
The endless ages,
Compassing the pages,
Of Times diaries,
And so I patiently await the day,
When this distance will pass away,
But till this moment,
We must cherish each second sent,
As a present from heaven,
Upon all men,
Immersed in each day,
Till you once more lay,
In my arms,
Fair maiden of matchless charms.

The Cult of Apathy

Press, puncture, pain,
Slide, drag, tear,
Flesh opened as a lane,
Blood flowing in crimson glare.

Shudder, gasp, shake,
Drip, drop, pool,
As again the flesh is raked,
Ruby drops on the floor cool.

Ache, angst, agony,
Whisper, weep, worship,
Yes worship one who will never see,
The bleeding adoration in every blades slip.

Despair deepening drives,
The burning, blistering, and bleeding,
And even many to end their lives,
Poised by sorrows serpentine sting.

Hearts bleed easily,
And life too precious to be,
Thrown away so carelessly,
But how few will see,
Till 'tis to late for sorry,
The flow is to free,
Unable to be stymied with such paltry gauss,
Death an outcome, and the cause?
'Tis the Cult of Apathy.

Sundial of Self

Wounds can’t be made to heal,
If you will not deal,
With this masochistic sundial,
You’ve made yourself all this while,
To keep the time,
In a life not worth a dime.

A sundial made from the shade,
Cast by this blade,
Still sheathed in your back,
As your blood courses a well caked track,
From wound to this cesspool you’ve waded,
Ever since you let your life become jaded.
Pull this blade from your spine,
It is no friend of thine.
There is nothing you may gain,
If you do not separate twain.
Yes, this ancient wound was real,
But your long past due to heal.
Do not, friend, be a fool,
And wallow any longer in this pool,
Of self-loathing,
And specious spites sting.
Pull out this knife!
Get back your life!
Wounds will heal,
Infections purge, and rents seal,
If you remove the cause,
And don’t forever pause,
With enmity seeping into marrow,
Loosing all hope of tomorrow.
Even scars eventually fade,
Please pull out this blade,
Do not let your life be jade,
And live as but a shade,
Forever weak and forever staid,
Heal, and see what, of life, might be made.

Tis not Sad

Tis not sad, unless you make it so,
For you never know,
What way life will go,
Enjoy this moments flow,
For only a future hiatus will show,
Perdition's burn and Providence's glow.

Harmed my Amor

You speak, the words I hear,
It sleeps, but awareness draws near,

You harm, the one I love,
Now alarms, this thing is no dove,

It’s awake, you’ve been a fool,
Rage to slake, He will be cruel,

Now pain, will be your lot,
Little gain, from what you bought,

Your blow, to my amor,
Will show, what was hid in my core,

I’m not, all softness and mercy,
Though I ought, some say, to be,

Your bones, I’ll grind,
And moan, you will, in darkness blind.

Lightless, and alone,
Unless, my rage is stifled and not shown.

Despite my fury,
For what you've done,
To the one,
Who loves me.

Fall Like the Rain

The scent, a damp musty smell,
Which greeted as raindrops fell,
As we too have fallen from above,
Not for glory, virtue, power, or even love.
Nor were their times of correction, of reflection,
For simple was our mortal transgression,
This thing that made us tares among wheat,
That no matter the feat,
No matter how hard we fought,
Or how much we sought,
Only one fact remained to greet,
Us on our fate, we are obsolete,
That is our sin,
Destroying from within,
Not that we were unloyal,
But that within this coil,
We were outdone by our fellow men,
And thus cast out as in sin,
And in our pain,
We fell like the rain,
Except for this one thing,
We were caught by the King.
Placed among His holy ones,
And not called failure, but sons,
Found worthy not by might,
But by faith in the right.

Flying Four

Upon a blue sky,
As they soar and fly,
They are always there,
We only have to dare,
To turn upward our sight,
And look upon their flight,
These kings among the flighted fowl,
In whom there are no things foul,
Is it eagles I so describe?
No I will not leave you deprived,
Of these winged kings true name,
For they and eagles are not the same,
They are named Hope, Dream,
Faith, and the quartet’s cream,
Their captain, named Love.
A fierce falcon and gentle dove,
Have you seen them fly,
With such beauty upon the sky?

Mimeography in Flesh

Drip, drip, drip,
Comes the flow from the slip,
Of a blade,
As it slowly wade,
Through the smooth glassy surface,
That once bore the grace,
Of being unmarred,
Yes even unscarred,
Tender flesh,
Now crisscrossed by a mesh,
Of slips and lacerations,
Of cuts and macerations,
The drip, drip , drip,
Pooling from chest, face, thighs, hips,
The carving, the crisscross,
Checker-boarding, removing flesh like dross,
Slip, snip, Slip,
Comes the sound of poorly fixed rip,
As needle, thread, and scissors patch,
On pieces that are but a poor match,
Snip, snip, stitch, stitch,
Trying to emulate the famous, and rich,
Self loathing vivisection,
To try to achieve another’s ‘perfection’,
Trading your flawless unique flesh,
For a tattered, wretched, mimeographed mesh,
Society’s collage sewn into your individuality,
Scarring, marring, tarnishing all you could be,
If only you hadn’t sought to be cachet,
And instead to let today,
The master paint your canvass alone,
Then the masterpiece, you, would have been shown.

Men or Mice

Once, twice, thrice,
Here comes the slice,
All must pay the price,
To be among men not mice,

For each one,
It’s a different race to run,
Are you listening son?
We all have to get it done.

Some have to kill their pride,
Some learn to open wide,
And no longer to hide,
But there is no free ride,

Some have self to kill,
Others to temper anger with the will,
And yet more to drink sorrow’s fill,
In order to summit manhood’s hill.

But if you want to be one,
Counted as having done,
All there is in this race we run,
Then listen up son.

This is the slice,
Within you is the hidden price,
Your weakness you must dice,
To be among men, not mice.

In Anyway Good.

Is life just rife with strife and knife,
Paying the price, twice, thrice, roll the dice,
Or is more under the floor, though the door, in the core,
Or is our moment in time a crime of worthless dimes and empty chimes,
No this I know that days go with this flow, and time will only show,
The high One and His Son are love when all is done.
But would we do what should be, if we could. Are we in anyway good?

*Edit 2nd of 5.2010*
Its a shame I uploaded this one it is quite paltry, however I will leave it.

You are Beautiful

In you do I see,
More beauty than the sea,
More wonder to me,
Than a sequoia tree,
More gentle grace than a dove,
Winging in the sky above,
Better fitting than a silk glove,
Are you for me, my love,
You are amazing,
To my eyes your bring,
Tears every time you smile or sing,
And my heart has felt the sting,
Of longing for you,
And no matter what I do,
This one thing is true,
That I love you.

Taste of a Free Mind

When you set your mind free,
Anything can be done quickly,
It may start slow,
And gently grown,
But someday that tree,
You will see,
Has grown quite tall,
And will never fall,
It is a gift true,
But you must also do,
That which will make it grow,
Or you will never know,
What it could be,
Or how it tastes to be free.

How to Compose Poetry

It will become easy with time.
You don't even have to rhyme,
Tis not a crime,
To drop them like a dime,
And not pick them up again,
To spill them in a spin,
Like a whirlwind that does rend,
Even the best of men,
Just say what is upon,
Your heart before its gone,
You just have to don,
Your minds poetic dawn.
It is a gift, but also a skill,
So do you have the will,
To practice it still,
Till your hearts fulfill?

Hero and the Monster

*This has lots of dualities in it... Have fun looking for the symbolism
and duality if you are so inclined. If not oh well enjoy.*


Sword in hand,
Ready to make his stand,
Torch raised high,
As eye seeks to try,
To discern through the dark,
To catch some mark,
Of the hidden beast,
That it might not feast,
Upon his flesh and bones,
He can hear it prowling it moans,
The grating of its claws on the walls,
The cackling mockery of its calls,
Taunting him in the dark,
Circling, in night grim and stark,
Hand gripping blade tighter,
As torch grows lighter,
Knowing beast will wait,
Till light is gone to sate,
His thirst for blood,
To grind this loan warrior into the mud,
They say it takes one to know,
How another’s life truly does go,
So then perhaps the best,
To lay a monster to rest,
Is also the same and the one,
Who once in darkness did run,
His heart strong and brave,
He will not go quietly to his grave,
Tis not from pride,
That he will not cower and hide,
Like his fellow ‘men’,
Every time the monster comes again,
He simply knows he cannot bend,
He has another to defend!
Thus he has descended from world above,
To kill the beast, protect his love,
That she might not be taken in stark night,
And devoured in a world of fright,
The torch sputters its last,
The die is cast,
The blade is thrust,
And this you can trust,
One might creature died there,
And one rose into the glare,
Of the morning son,
But which one,
Rose from depth of heart,
After claws and blade did part?
Which reigned as a king,
Which felt death’s sting?

Love Saw Me Weep

Also placed upon my private blog.

Love saw me weep,
When upon a fair night,
I let them emotions creep,
And did not fight,
To suppress my agony,
That was dwelling within,
The agony nearly consuming me,
This pain of being alone among men,
And Love, he grasped my heart,
And lifted me to my feet once more,
And pulled out the deceivers dart,
And said words that rocked me to my core,
“Write of your heart to my daughter fair,
Tell her what dwells inside,
Tell her how much you care,
Hide nothing that in your heart dwells there,”
Love did not promise relief from woe,
He promised an answer to my question dire,
That I would at least know,
If in her heart to dwelled the fire,
But I feared I would receive,
A swift shard shattering denial,
Not an answer that would relieve,
The anguish and the trial,
But I wrote to this angel,
With whom cruelty has no part,
Who’s charms only could fell,
The armor around my heart,
And her reply,
Brought me to the place,
Where I might cry,
Not in agony and disgrace,
But comforted by her,
This woman, angel of mercy,
Love, God’s daughter,
Who taught me,
Once more to be human,
Taught me to hate my sin,
Taught me to love again,
And I only long for the day when,
We might be together,
Mi Amor, and I,
By Love’s strong tether,
A rare matching of tiger, and butterfly.

Why Do I Sin Again?

Why do I sin again and again,
Proving I’m lowest among men,
Why do I that which I hate,
Constantly taking the bate,
Thrown out by the deceiver,
Why do I choose to be the receiver,
Why do I take the line,
Why do I allow flesh to dine,
Upon this pernicious poison dish,
He has me by the gills like a dying fish,
Lord please cut me free,
Help me to be,
Set free from this sin,
Help me to never do it again,
I want to do,
The right and true,
I never again want to harm,
Another by taking these false charms,
I only wish to show You,
And Your daughter in all I do,
A pure, holy, sanctified love,
In a circle of beneficence from above,
Never more in sin to defer,
But only purest love to You and to her.
Forgive me my princess, and You my King,
Forgive once more this wretched thing,
May I prove I prove in time to be,
Worthy of all the faith placed in me.

Beyond Compare

Like a sunset upon the sea,
Or a single dew drop poised on tree,
Like a rainbow in the sky,
Or the richest purple dye,
You are beautiful beyond compare.
Next to you none of these are fair.
Even lightning in the night,
Illumining all, so bright,
Or the roll of thunder there,
Doesn't even dare,
To compare to your beauty, true,
Nini, I love you.

Potent Phrase

How many men can look upon an angel,
Before passing to heaven or hell,
Much less to see one,
As frequently as the noon sun,
Which passes daily by,
Up brilliant in the sky,
Yet I get to gaze so deep,
Till my eyes nearly weep,
At this, the greatest beauty,
God has ever shown to me,
His daughter, so angelic,
Who stirred my heart till among the quick,
My beloved, whom I love,
This gentle daughter of above,
Whom I wait for every day,
That I might someday say,
While others gather around,
And mortal heart does pound,
On the night we are wed,
Words rushing from heart once dead,
That potent phrase,
"I will love you till end of days."

Patience

What is this thing,
We are asked to bring,
Forth in our lives daily,
That we might someday be,
United together once more,
Not upon separate shore,
This virtue that stands,
Straight and true as bands,
Of iron strong and proud,
The last after the crowd,
Has all tired and gone home,
Back in mediocrity to roam,
This virtue that waits,
No flailing around for chance or fate,
The virtue that endures time,
Beyond when waiting seems a crime,
This virtue, patience, by name,
Who has one claim to fame,
That is, she waits long,
Long past when others once strong,
Cease to endure and wait,
When others admit their fate,
When had they but stood,
Strong and stiff as wood,
Perhaps one more day,
They would be able to say,
That it was worth the cost,
The risk of all being lost,
This time spent waiting,
When impatience is grating,
Upon the mind,
And doubt is so unkind,
Put patience is a virtue,
Which is uniquely true,
In this regard,
It is only as hard,
As one more day,
Of hoping for sun in the grey.

No Fanfare For Common Men

Shadows of the night,
Slithering at edge of light,
Enveloping like a wave,
All those who would brave,
To step away from light’s beam,
And into the silent scream,
That stalks in the dark,
Leaving its tainted mark,
Upon the courage of men,
Men that when,
Standing in the rays,
Of the light of days,
Garner admiration and praise,
For the monuments they raise,
To human achievements,
But what accolade is spent,
On those who step out,
Into the deafening shout,
Of lonely night,
That they might fight,
All wrong, and all fear?
What monument is near,
Where is the place,
For the true heroes of our race?
Who step out again and again,
Into the battle with sin.
Where is the fanfare for the one,
Who seeks to follow the Son,
Bringing His light to a dying world,
A world to which this common man is hurled,
Not by chance but by choice,
Why do not their fellow men cheer, rejoice?
It is because it is within the common life,
They make their war and strife,
Within the common they overcome the dark,
That leaves its stain stark,
Black as coal,
Upon mortal soul.
There is no fanfare for common men,
Who overcome their private sin,
Not here on this earth,
Of mortal sight and mortal birth,
But some day,
The trumpet will play,
For those who have overcome,
And followed the Son till kingdom come!
Who walked despite fear through terrors night,
And waged this, each one of our souls, fight.

Speaking the Heart's Need.

Also on my private blog.

I want to hold you in my arms,
To be lost in your charms,
To taste of you,
So many things I wish to do,
To show my love in word,
Act, Deed of the strongest cord,
To give whatever you desire,
To show this soul fire,
That God has lit inside,
This heart my chest does hide,
To show you as such,
Just how much,
I love you unconditionally,
With all that is within me,
Both in word and deed,
Speaking the heart's need,
To you, the love of my life,
God willing, my future wife.

Always Beautiful

Also on my private blog.

Whether in noons bright light,
Or shadowed in darkest night,
Whether rising from sleep,
Or about to retire into the Lord's keep,
If fresh and clean from a bath,
Or sweaty from what the day hath,
When singing so melodically,
Or sitting in silence with me,
There is no time you're not aglow,
With this beauty that you show,
You are God's daughter fair,
And I only wish to always share,
With you my love,
Precious angel from above.

Natural Love

This poem also appears on my other private blog.

Rain falls down,
From the crown,
Of high heaven above,
So too does my love,
As I seek to pour upon you,
Love in everything I do,
Waves crash upon the shore,
With a thunderous roar,
So to does my heart pound,
Every time I hear the sound,
Of your voice upon my ear,
Or your footstep drawing near,
The wind sings,
As it moans and wings,
Its way through the forest,
So to from my chest,
From my heart,
Sings forth a work of art,
As my soul moans for you,
In ever breath taken through,
You bring out in me,
Everything that should be,
I wish to be a better man,
And do all I can,
To be strong and true,
To show my love to you,
To be strong as a mountain,
Gentle as flowing fountain,
Soft as the snow,
Quick as the winds flow,
In all of me,
It is verity,
It is strong and true,
This love, for you.

Quatrain of Questions

So it is they say,
There is many a way,
To live this life today,
That all things are grey.

Why then do caged birds sing,
If it will not bring,
The bells of freedom to ring,
It surely doesn’t lesson slaveries sting.

What is this life?
Bound up under knife,
Suffocating from strife,
While all others are rife,

With a lack of plan.
Doing things because they can.
I’m tired of living in a can.
Whirling but not moving, the blade of a fan.

There has to be,
A point here for me.
Why can’t I just see,
It in the future, present, or memory?

It’s not simply “how life goes,”
Where no one knows,
I refuse to be among those,
Caught helpless in the floes,

Of time and chance,
Living inside a moment’s glance,
Pierced by temporalities lance,
And forced by the present to prance.

There is something more,
I know this in my core,
I simply must find that door,
Or land upon that shore,

I refuse to believe,
That chance is the sieve,
By which opportunities come and leave,
Or makes the left behind grieve,

We each will serve a roll,
I refuse to be part of the shoal,
Ambling on with but a petty goal,
Till the day the bell does toll.

I serve the maker of time,
Who spoke the universe aptly as a rhyme,
And I will not believe the perpetrating slime,
Who act as if faith is a crime.

Lord forgive us our sin,
We weak mortal men,
For not listening again,
And heading our flesh our skin,

Help me my king,
To in this world lost bring,
True faith, golden, like a ring,
And let obedience harmonically sing.

Where is God?

What meaning has life?
What meaning to this strife?
When the world is rife,
With corpses rent by bullet and knife.

And we sit in our high towers,
Built by wealth and powers,
Ignorant that the world cowers,
Beneath death’s crimson showers.

Where is this God,
Who says He is shod,
With mercy, love, a straight rod,
Who would against injustice onward plod?

Where do his feet stand?
Or are they running to fulfill his commands?
Or what of his mighty hands?
Are they breaking slavery’s bands?

Where is He in this world,
So in turmoil hurled?
As in agony and death young girls,
Retching, bleed, and like spiders in death curl.

But He is there all the time,
He has given us the means to stop the crime,
Yet we don’t give penny, nickel, or dime,
That we might stymie.

The waves of sin,
That wracks this world again and again.
So the real question is when,
Will we stand up as men?

We are God’s hands and feet,
That we might meet,
Indeed no mean feat,
And someday defeat,

The woes of this world,
Strike down death’s banner unfurled,
That we might downward hurl,
This pernicious serpent who has curled,

Around so many lives,
Lacerating them like knives,
With the necrotic spines he drives,
When will justice, equity arrive!

When we stand up,
And drink the bitter cup,
And realize we must sup,
For this misery is our own sired pup.

Fallen Again

Who are you,
Who am I,
Is this life true,
Or are we just flying high?
Why do we hide,
What’s in our soul,
Is it pride,
Or is secrecy our safe shoal,
Stealth and avarice,
Our fickle friends,
Yet we pay this price,
Every time we bend,
The rules of God,
Every time we go,
Ahead and plod,
Against the flow,
Of who we should be,
Not this sinful fool,
But the true you and me,
No longer drowning in this pool,
Of self loathing and hate,
Drowning self in sin,
But step up to fate,
Become real men,
Become the adopted of God,
Pure, true, strong,
Straight as a rod,
Ready to fight the wrong,
So I will admit,
That I have fallen again,
The bait I bit,
And fell into sin,
I am so weak,
But the Lord forgives,
And I can still seek,
To yet live,
To do His will,
That I might,
Someday kill,
In this fight,
My greatest adversary,
Who lives within,
This natural me,
Who loves sin.

Voices and Choices

Perhaps it is the voice in the darkness,
Survival's cold dark whispered hiss,
Perhaps it is the voice in the twillight,
As the world fearfully slips into night,
Perhaps it is the voice coming at dawn,
Of hope as the night is nearly gone,
Perhaps it is the voice at noon day,
While children Joyfully play.
But perhaps it is the voice that is always there,
This voice that teaches men to dare,
Whether it is day or darkest night,
Whether in comfort and joy in the light,
Or fear and terror of the abyss,
The voice that teaches one to never miss,
A chance to stand for the right,
Though the heavens should fall to darkest night,
This voice that challenges a man,
To do all that he can,
To become better than he was yesterday,
To step forth from mediocrities' gray,
To see the one some day who speaks,
This voice that ever seeks,
To elevate the human race,
That he will take his place,
And will stand upon the sea of glass,
Another graduate of the master's class,
So heed well this quite voice,
And make today, your choice.