The Coffin's Full

Followed the road
Winding down dusty days
A trail of your memories met me there
Settling on my head
You called my name within
And I felt ashamed to answer
There’s too much I shouldn’t have said

You buried me away
A coffin full of regretful notes
Crumbled ideas and saddened words
That will never be unearthed
A revelation of unforgiving
Murdering the stark sanity of progress
That gives a man’s life worth.

I’m digging into a mystery
Sharing my skies with another
Thanking God that I have arrived
Where I can gather appreciation
Eyes like flashlight bulbs
Wide and brightened light
Escaping from midnight to illumination.

Starshine

This age of cell phone ring tones, celebrity envy and capitalism is slowly collapsing. Let anyone who has eyes read and take note, for what you think is important in this life has no value in the next. You can’t take it with you when you’re gone.

I was looking at the show “Fashion Police” with Joan Rivers yesterday. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black…

Here we have an old lady who has, to a very noticeable degree, destroyed her human face and strapped on something that seems to be a cross between a gecko and a mandrill. Yet she fixes her mouth to talk about other celebrities and the clothes they wear. Thinking back on it, seems like some twisted episode of the Twilight Zone where the real people are idolizing the horrible, disfigured personas of stardom, only to realize that their heroes are nothing but liars.

We are tweeting along with the famous, sycophantic drivel in barrels, bantering away when our spiritual lives are in decay. I believe it’s far gone by now. Shame on us.
I don’t want to excuse myself from this, for I am just as much to blame. Yet, at least I realize my folly. I am human enough to admit I need God and I can’t function in life without him to guide me. But those who are walking that dreamy line toward degradation, I hope you wake up long enough to deviate from the course.

A Glorious Path

The road to glory
Steps bemused with the network of movement captured
In the earth like travelers’ patchwork, connecting individual intricacies
Where they are left to sift through the changes marked in history
Like a hand pushing through sand hoping to find a unique enough grain
To call your own
But that’s a road too long and a way cut short on a glorious road
Encumbered pedestrian leaving home
Ragged personage propelled and stripped
Of loving arms and cherished ideals threaded throughout your austere
Bewilderment
Hopes caged, for misinterpretation’s sake
Knowing that skies cry blue and the sun is granting light
To you, on the road to glory.