4

Epochs, economies and proud empires
Rise from the ashes of our last idols,
And burn unwitting in self-made fires
Which forged the crown of tomorrow’s rule.
In the midst of this spiraling folly
The human heart sits proud and regal
Radiating a deep melancholy,
Its eternal potential for good or evil.
These epochs, empires and economies
Change not the doom of the placid human heart,
They merely build to destroy, with ease,
Promising all, delivering not a start.
But once, change appeared in a giving loss,
Creator subverting all this on the cross.

6

The hills that we have chosen to die on
Are the foothills of that cursed mountain,
Where Molech claimed his sacrifice from
And the blood from the soil is still shouting,
The blood of the innocent questioners
Chased away from their homes just for asking.
The blood of the truths, in two we sectioned,
Of the halves we kept and the lies their masking.
And the blood of the halves we discarded;
Beauty, imagination and silence.
These our didactic souls disregarded
As we made a home of smiles and violence.
With this simple truth, turn your idols over:
We should die on no hill but Golgotha!

9

Dehumanization facilitates
Cutting off our own ears to tend our hate
That shows itself in patronizing claims
More often than drawing and taking aim.
Hospitality is disarmament,
It’s clearing pretense from our ear canal,
It’s knowing no perspective is banal,
Making room for mutual nourishment,
Letting all five senses bask in presence,
Softening the echoing walls of our cave,
Seeing the being behind how one behaves,
Asking questions first of our own essence.
It’s knowing Christ is incarnate inside
Loving humility not defensive pride.

11

Resistance is an open door within
The imagination, for tomorrows
Undreamt of amidst our mundane sorrows,
And distant fallout from our affluent sin
Of indifference because of distance.
The roots of living plants seep nutrience
Into soils exhausted by incongruence
Of perpetual harvest without a chance
Of repose. When questions of production
Are deemed irrelevant for a moment.
To stop. Appreciate the slow movement,
Of breathing beauty beyond mere function.
Night to night pours forth speech in silence sweet.
In muted awe we make the choir complete.

14

We were right. We always had to be.We chiseled both the rock and hard placesTo break it all down to its components.Now we are stuck between two great quarriesInterned in those atoms up to our facesChoking on the dust of our achievements.Listen, as these pebbles fuse togetherDrawn in by strings through many dimensions,Resounding the chord struck at creation,Singing in us the notes of elation,Rousing our sedated apprehension,To understand our nature as feathers:Alone; a delicate, beautiful thing.United; a great and unfolding wing.