A Poem for my Husband

Your kisses always taste sweet to me.

Your skin feels like my favorite dress-

smooth and warm where it touches my skin.

Us fighting is exhilarating-

thunder and lightning and pounding rain.

Making up with you after the fight

is like a fresh, new dewy morning.

I adore waking up beside you,

listening to your gentle breathing.

My husband, my love, my life, my world,

what we have is something valuable,

it can’t be bought, or sold, or traded,

to others its completely worthless.

You can’t put a price on the mornings

I watch you get dressed from our warm bed.

My dear husband, know that I love you,

now and forever, with my whole heart.

I am yours, husband, and you are mine.

~May 2, 2016~13239198_10209899861118356_7725521178370482228_n

Waterfall

You’re like a waterfall-

All sustaining,

all consuming.

A roar of pure power-

Never ending,

never leaving.

You’re like a waterfall-

Your majesty

without an end.

You grace ever flowing-

Pouring, pounding,

ceaseless, drowning.

You’re controlled, chaotic-

So beautiful,

breathtaking love.

You’ve not forsaken me-

When I cry out,

my God, my God.

I’m taken by surprise-

By your splendor,

by my wonder.

More than I can resist-

Your mightiness,

your strong current.

You’re more than I can fight.

The Fall of Rome

I’m living through

the fall of Rome.

I’m witnessing

the breaking of home.

Factions revolt,

beat the war drum.

I’m living through

the fall of Rome.

Did the ancients know

the end was nigh

when torches blazed

and leaders sighed?

Were they all unfazed?

Yet I think not-

the sounds of war

caught them off guard,

the Vandals cry

they heard as they died.

As bickering

the Forum filled,

anger, revenge

divisive killed first

the spark of hope,

eternal strength;

arrogance crept,

hatred slithered.

Long ere invasion,

Rome had fallen

to decadence,

lustful living,

a lost innocence.

Choices were made,

egos were stroked,

the seeds were sown

for destruction.

I see it today.

I’m living through

the fall of Rome.

I’m witnessing

the breaking of home.

Factions revolt,

call the war cries.

I’m living through

the fall of Rome.

Politicians lie,

corruptions deep,

hatreds deeper.

The price is steep,

that our blood will pay

in division,

turmoil and pain,

we move to death

as one nation,

our soul has been raped.

We lock our doors,

barricade our minds,

chanting mantras

like our good luck charms.

We’re torn apart-

torn limb by limb.

We’re all rebels,

fighting ourselves.

Searching for something,

but just for us-

drowning in noise,

suffocating

to the ring of phones.

We lost ourselves-

no, we didn’t,

we SOLD ourselves-

for peace of mind

never delivered.

We’re crumbling down,

breaking apart,

rubble fallen.

We need unity.

We need saving.

We need freedom.

We need to live.

We need to serve.

Solidarity

us a mere dream.

Guided by self,

by lone interests.

What’s in the future?

Who picks us up,

and cleans us off?

Who restores us?

Who supports us?

Returns legacies?

Tear down that wall,

open borders,

help the wounded,

the sick and alone.

Love God, nation,

family, friends.

Lift with strong arms

us from our shame.

The future’s not set.

Our legacy,

our history

are locked in time.

We claim to move on,

but continue

to live like this.

We don’t have to.

We can learn, now,

how to move forward.

My burdened heart

is reaching out

to the victim,

to the survivor,

the fatherless,

the downtrodden.

I pray we won’t

see the ending.

Today, forever-

Will children play

where widows weep?

Will hope abound,

and forget sorrows?

We pen this tale,

every detail

unchangeable

as we go on.

I am so afraid.

We’re living through

the fall of Rome.

We’re witnessing

the breaking of home.

Factions revolt,

play the war songs.

We’re living through

the fall of Rome.

Epic of the Vampire: Canto V- Fabula

With all great legends

embellishments are  added-

just a grain of truth

to the liar’s sea.

So too the vampire’s story

changed with each telling.

Unable to pray

(For the Lord’s name burned their lips,

bitterness, their souls)

extends to the cross,

holy water, reliquaries.

Chastened by prayers,

victim’s devotions,

legends armed the peasantry.

Aversion to tastes

(strong herbs sour the lifeblood)

added to the arsenal

garlic- a weapon.

The castled hemmed in

by rapid flowing waters

another rumor.

Though they could not drown,

the waves battery was fierce

with no bridge at hand.

So moving waters

became the villager’s friend-

another roadblock

for night’s own hunter.

A stake to their undead heart

could end a vampire-

at least cause him pause.

A brick in mouth to starve him

in his mortal grave.

The bricks broke his teeth,

sometimes his jaw, pinning him

under the cold earth.

The prey turned to fight,

emboldened by these stories,

outnumbered them.

And so now the beast

was relegated to myth,

and he relinquished

his power by might

as the man who could not die

fled into the night.

Ev’ry so often

the monster walked amongst men

taking on a guise-

human in their eyes-

gaining trust, admiration,

accumulate wealth,

and they made him king.

A kind, cold monarch by day

holding power close,

hunting with new stealth-

an indiscreet prostitute,

or a servant child,

vanished in the dark.

As time passed and he changed not,

schemes were set in place-

an heir would appear

and the vampire king vanish,

power passing hands

between the undead

as an empire was built up

unbeknownst by men.

The enemy ruled

as the hunter was hunted,

it became a game

of cat and of mouse,

while the cat wore crowns.

A Tree

The body of Christ

is as a tree planted,

drawing sustenance

from His omnipotence,

life from above, below, beside.

Its roots lost to day’s light,

anonymous to those above,

anchored in time, from dust,

and to the dust returned.

The trunk- the tree’s legacy.

It has withstood time’s test.

Branches sway thither,

tossed by tumultuous wind,

each finger stretched,

facing Jerusalem,

Judea, Samaria.

Touching Rome, Canterbury, home,

reaching out to the ends of the earth.

Leaves and fruit fill boughs,

drooping to the ground

under the weight of bounty,

eager to feed people’s souls.

I am but a bud,

not fully blossomed.

I, too, could bear fruit,

or be blown away

by the storms of life.

Fed by those before,

clinging to my roots,

I take my place

and open up.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto IV- Venenum

The years passed along,

slowly, but surely crawled by,

and the immortals

continued their lives.

The darkness claimed their dear souls

as they sank into it.

Unable to think

of redemption from the curse

they became placant.

Convinced of their fate

they ruled the mortals with fear

and hatred blossomed

like a spring flower,

filling their whole existence.

They questioned themselves,

for what does sin mean,

when its your very nature,

an unchanging fact?

You kill for your food,

you feed on the unholy.

Evil fed on them.

That which made them man

trickled away like lifeblood-

compassion, mercy,

loving-kindness, faith.

Their souls became as their flesh-

cold, dead, frozen.

They yearned for something,

to feel human once again-

to feel anything.

Unable to die,

possessed of a half a life,

they cursed their maker

til anger faded

as despair shrouded their sight

and hatred was dulled.

How the years crawled by,

how quickly does dischord spread

among the undead.

They sought love in flesh;

new life unattainable

through normal methods,

even this lost charm,

in became vain and empty,

a passing pleasure.

How fleeting is lust,

how meaningless is pleasure

with its purpose lost.

An escape was sought

in drink- intoxication.

This- impossible,

when the deadened flesh

can feel none of the poison

imbibed as liquors.

There is no torment,

no torture, no power of dark,

no hell on this earth

quite like that they lived.

As generations passed on

and villages grew,

becoming cities

which then became nation states,

powers united

with other such towns,

the fortress sat unchanging,

claimed by deep despair.

Poisoned by the curse

which grew stronger as time passed,

with no redemption.

And the immortals

continued their lives.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto III- Formata Muliere

The serpent’s one wish

Was to share his punishment,

so he trapped the man.

And yet, as time passed,

Man fought the monstrosity-

he resisted it,

stopped drinking the blood

of all of humanity.

Remorse coursed through him,

he fled from mankind,

he isolated himself

in the mountains cold.

Like an animal

hunger drove him to madness

and he lost control.

He fed on man’s flesh,

yet he knew not what he did,

broken by the curse.

Thirst satiated,

he realized his new nature,

and despaired of death.

The darkness took him

and he gave himself over

to depravity.

The evil one saw-

content with his workmanship,

yet longing for more,

he searched for new ways

to scorn the Almighty One.

Parasitical,

he mimed creation,

took a woman, transformed her,

gave her to the man

to become his wife,

stay by his side to the end,

like Adam and Eve,

walking in Eden.

They wandered the countryside,

searching for safety,

for word had traveled

of unholy blood drinkers,

monsters, murderers.

Hunters were hunted,

mobs came for them with pitchforks,

weapons and torches.

They were feared, hated.

They fled into the darkness,

became part of it.

They were haunted by

all they had lost in the curse;

light and safe haven.

Highest mockery,

every detail Satan set,

merely mimicry,

meant to scorn the Lord-

how the favored had fallen!

The vampires fled

into the mountains,

the Transylvanian forests.

They built their own home,

stone by stone they built

a fortress in the hillside,

a place they could hide.

They built a legion

of followers when they fed,

stealing them away.

The legends grew up

around the inhabitants

of the dark castle,

as man and wife lived on,

unable to die.