What do YOU desire?

Desire

I am a man of desire—And in my pursuit I grew thirst. 
My eyes poured over a water bottle 
shackled by ice. 
The vessel’s glisten was quite chilling, 
and my sand-swept tongue hardly found 
relief 
from the alternative: metal fountain dribble. My $2 
exchanged for 16 fluid ounces made my 
piece complete.

   (A girl and her limp child drink something brown
   for another year).

I am a man of desire—And how I desire! 
For the angels to dust the ground beneath her 
every step. 
She is a beauty even among angels. To dwell 
long in her gaze is more euphoric than the sun’s warmth, 
deep orange 
just before it sets. She sets my senses 
ablaze.

   (A 12 year-old girl is boared by a frenzy of sagging skin
   and heavy bone. Occasionally they call her beautiful).

I am a man of desire—And I replay in my mind
the ecstasy of competition. The bang of my heart,
a wrecking ball to bricks. 
To be exalted—Champion! Adrenaline
ruptures through my being, the crowd a resounding 
gunshot.  

   (A boy soldier replays the muffled wail of his mother
   and sisters, and pummels the leech of his memory with
   gunshots).
 
I am a man of desire—And I desire for my
desire to die,
lest it be the desire of Christ. Fill me,
desire of Christ—

   “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, 
       because he has anointed me
       to preach good news to the poor.
    He has sent me to proclaim freedom
     for the prisoners
       and recovery of sight for the blind,
    to release the oppressed,
       to proclaim the year of the Lord’s
     favor.”

An Unfinished Poem

The moonlight, with great might,
casts his reins upon the sea.
When he lets, the waters rest,
and when he tugs they rise;
again his wrist recoils,
and so he tames the tide.

Falling somewhere

Drowsiness stalks me late into the night. I hear his sly moves under shadows. I sense his eyes gorging on me long through the evening, preparing to leech on me yet again. I’ve set traps, barricades, and even resorted to my own elusiveness, but never have I escaped. His style is eloquent: always detectable, yet never preventable. His tactics: unsophisticated, yet impossible to emulate. He bides his time, never slacking interest, never bored by his detestable game.

I’ve fought valiantly, both in armies and alone. Sometimes I surrender, other times a brutal fatality defeats me. What kind of curse do I carry around every day, waking up with complete certainty that I will fall again? The pattern of the world is such: to rise only to fall again. However, I believe a day will come, and has already come, that one will fall to rise again. The dawn will be the beginning and the end, and my stalker will die eternally!

Ramblings of another world...

Implosive bubbling of spiritual fervor persists in my bowels. Oh how standing in place writhes my soul! Why I torture myself regularly in my inactivity, makes no worldly sense. Of course, I have known for many years that the sense of the world is simply rubbish agreed upon by men, men with enough pride to be heard. No surprise does it come to me that I defy the world in my very nature! Of course, I suspect that many do, but are only afraid to admit to themselves that they too are not of this world.

“Not of this world— HA! That is the most preposterous claim ever to be uttered by an almost educated man.” I know your thoughts, for you have been claimed by this world already. Begin to die and you will find yourself open to any explanation out of this world. For the desires of your body will consume you. Chase them all day long! But when you near the long sleep, you will start to wonder, “Have I been duped?” For how can a life spent on desire upon desire upon desire, yield no fulfillment? You will ask yourself, “Shouldn’t I feel satisfied by the rich life that I lived?” You will begin to blame the desires you failed to meet. You will remember all of the times you chose decency over your greatest urges. Torn between pleasing the world and pleasing yourself?

No! Another lie has seeped into your heart. Every act to please the world you’ve done in hope of reaping reward. In hope of recognition you always acted. You have been deceived by your eyes, which you have spent your life casting on guilty pleasures. You have been deceived by your body, which has controlled you as much as you were willing to allow. But wait!—what kind of sense are you considering here? Allowing your body to control you? Have you just begun to believe that you have, at times, found yourself in disagreement with your very body? Alas! You can also acknowledge something without sense! Certainly no science could have brought you to this, but your own experience has made it undeniably true!

Have you too desired what you would not allow yourself to have? Even with complete peace that no harm to your future will result, even with full assurance that no other man might know, a force compels you to act against the body that grips you. We cannot explain this discrepancy between body and self with any worldly sense. It cannot be the cause of bacteria, or pathogens warring inside of us. This discrepancy is of an entirely new category of warfare. It has transcended science completely, and in doing so, has transcended the sense of this world!

How many excuses of self-denial exist? Can we forever deny what exists inside of our very selves because science cannot accept what it cannot explain? We cannot, not forever. A long sleep awaits us, and when it is near, we will begin to recognize that a part of us was not made to die. We will begin to recognize that a part of us was not made for this world. Not this broken world.

Sex trafficking

Over 2 million children every year

My hope was a flame,
fragile and prized.
My own treasure kept
from his cold-weathered eyes.
But now the wind breaks me
he takes all my worth,
he drinks my displeasure
with unquenchable thirst.

Disheveled I’m left, day after day.
The wind breaks me
and folds me unthinkable ways.
He steals all my clothes,
he wrestles me down, down
to depths of a dark underground.

My hopeful flame slipped
between hard hitting rain,
but the wind with his might
sought the light of my flame.
His heavy blows blustered and blistered
and drained
all the hope
out of me and my flame. Then he abused me again,
the wind and his rain.

http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/worldview/091203/moldova-sex-trafficking

Chinese New Years (it's coming up? maybe?)

Chinese New Years has always been a disappointment. We all know dragons are mystical beasts built of steel plated scales, powerful reptilian wings, and fire emission capabilities. A festively painted costume, lacking wings, legged like a centipede, and stumbling through a jovial crowd, does nothing but destroy the dragon’s true identity. I’m glad God did not come down as a dragon and ask us to become like Him.

Purpose can be tough to find

Purpose eludes the self-made man

The purpose of life understands
elusive tides of living: laying low
while the sun pours bright,
asleep until moonless nights,
when meaning hoards disguise
in invisible shadows of uncast light.
A wise move for treasure, pure
as unknown snow, to remain hidden
from the sort that destroys in creating.
For purpose so pure would certainly
die like the lives of these men, as death
is born through the minds of these men.
Bound by time, not purpose— are the whims
informing the hearts of these men.

Sometimes I feel like a kite

Spiritually High All The Time

Desires in stride ‘longside kites and cloud spills,
prancing, in flight full of dancing and trills,
marks the joy of chasing hard after one will.

We all know at least one person who will hate my guts for this poem (I'm related to quite a few)

God Bless Us!

God bless our troops for vengeance!

Oh, and thanks for the death that you died,

so we could kill off those bastards,

to whom you were offering life.

God bless our troops for justice,

and ignoring the sins that you bore.

We’ll kill the last of those heathens,

who’s lives haven’t worth anymore.

God bless our troops for the long haul,

make your will according to our plan.

We know you preached about turning of cheeks,

but who are you to place killing on ban?

God bless America, land of the free,

retribution, and glorified gore—

swindlers, gluttons, pornography,

and giving of all leftovers.

Here's to YOU Scott Szabo

Aficionado

Aficionado of coffee, films and books,
and quite a few unique facial hair looks,
describes my friend Szabo: he drinks espresso,
and enjoys strutting about in stilettos.
Alright, I admit, the last trait was a lie,
but you'd laugh if you saw those shoes on this guy.

His taste in music, I cannot understand,
In fact, I doubt that any man can,
though he’d be glad to discuss the topic with you,
so long as you were prepared to worship his view.
Again, that last line holds no truth at all,
I just had to incorporate: the kingdom, worship or the fall.

Aside from him being my brother in Christ
(and the fact that I slept in a bed with him twice!),
I’m at a loss for exactly what keeps us so tight
(No—it definitely goes back to one of those nights).
Sophisticated, an intellectual, most the things I am not,
do a damn good job depicting my friend Scott.