Desert Children

A flicker in those bold, wild eyes

And the bright morning star ignites

The perennial flames of the youthful sun;

They dance along the grey, muted skies

Dawn whispers, 

And a hushed red glow 

Emerges, brooding amidst 

the brightening horizon,

Spilling and casting soft, dreamy hues

upon the wakening world.

The Eastern wind roams and whistles

Across ageless sands and sleeping deserts,

“Baérohsh aer zoé kånahk!”

Abba flings open the floodgates of time, 

Unleashing the ripened store of 

Vital light and roaring heat,

Chasing yesterday’s shadows 

through the hidden wilds of eternity.

A Voice, riding on the wings of light,

Roars for the children of the West,

His conquering sons and dancing daughters, 

to bind their wounds,

To gather their naked hearts,

And clothe them with Heaven’s garb.

The old beauty breaks down to dust

under the beat-down sun.

New waters burst o’er the Sonoran lands

And the desert children begin to dance,

“Awake! Awake!

Put on strength”

The Children rise in blazing glory of the Son,

“Rahshaht ao ner tzishet!

Båarraoke attah Yeshuah a Meschiach…”

~*~

And I woke to the whispers of angels.

“They shall go after the Lord; 

he will roar like a lion;

when he roars,

his children shall come trembling from the west;

they shall come trembling like birds from Egypt

and like doves from the land of Assyria,

and I will return them to their homes, declares the Lord.”

-Micah 11:10-11

For the Days We Wish to Cry

Just let me spill over,

Fall with the dripping rain,

Spinning till we crash and split

Into seven drops of serenity.

But I am still falling, love.

Brightly Violent

She thinks in colors too,

looking forward to the prolonged nights

of utilizing firehoses to extinguish

the inner rage and frivolity

suppressed by family and discordant relationships.

My, how she dreams, and smiles,

and without even knowing 

pulls me in

gently

to her warmth

of both subdued and 

brightly violent colors.

Appreciate love?

I’m so happy to have existed

were I to have known only her.

I am a being of higher value,

above the animals that haunt and stalk

the memories of the Egyptian ghosts.

In her painted eyes

I beheld man,

clinging to a rose of beauty,

rising out of chaos and into light,

but his roots pulled him back down…

it’s all in the upper body, I s’pose.

I saw myself then.

And now it's cold outside,

but thanks to you

the imagination's warm again. 

Far Forever

The history is in your eyes,
New moments spilling over wells of memory
Carving new paths for each tear to take.

They will find their way home,
Here in my hands, in your hands
let my fingers start the healing,
Not even the ancient father will avert the end,
The sweet consonance to come.

It seems Never soon enough.
Never is a naughty word.


Don’t be far forever.
Sometimes a man must take the path less traveled by
His needles and lovers must stand by.
Sometimes I think I’ll never turn back
Or will be overtaken by lovers less thrilling.

My heart has its home, though these feet roam
Wounds will rise, battles wage in the skies
The Wanderer will have his way and then
Come hell and heaven, I will have you,

Again.

I won’t be far forever.