When I think of you are and where I am there is the rising taste of bile in my mouth. So little matters.

Only you.

Morning Soul Rush

The deepest platitudes run empty
As they crash in waves upon distant shores
Trite in sight in sound and day
They proceed hollow voices crying
That ask upon themselves simply more

Sweetest sunlight rays softly fly
Fleeing sources as they die

Steadily consistently inconsistent structure flaws
Abide and abode
Produce razor sharp wit that sinks its claws
Inside and out

Inside or out
Live or die
Process reprocessed
Time reflected in shadow
The walls


** ** **

I could never be arrogant enough to suggest that it is just the world that has problems...the world is merely a mixture of organic life with the decayed old...it is myself that possess the ability to make choices that will govern the destiny of those around. It is the self that contains all of the salvation and hatred that spills into the world.

Every beaten breath, every life scathed by the falling rain can be seen within and without. Every being, every one, everything...everything retains a purpose greater then that which we will or can understand. Ambiguous in mystery, powerful in taste...strengthening personal resolve.

There is will, there is more, there is something deeper in and all.

The deeper problems in me are what will lead to the greater destruction without. White washed tombs offer no salvation...offer no hope. The death inside must slowly and painfully be removed piece by piece. With out the hope there is no life.