Poem: Slipstream

It is obvious now that I have left the dream.
You my friend with all your hip have lost the slipstream.
No matter how you break it down this I know for sure.
You are in need even more of my most remedy cure.
So I shall give you a taste of this most humble pie.
My hope is that it will wake you up from this lie.

I was never your friend nor enemy despite these feelings.
You most intensely have felt both but no mater our dealings.
I know we would have been big but if our egos were submit.
This happens I am sure because of the flow that goes to the pit.
I speak no lie now for that truth manufactured has been built.
All seemingly part of one hyped and elaborate but soiled quilt.

The stream is now done and the sounds of silence won.
For no matter how you spin this tale it is so very done.
In the aftermath one thing is for sure your now in the zone.
I wish you all the best no matter how short lived the throne.
I have from this learned that no matter what will be said.
I am responsible the most for my part on this giant misread.

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Poem:The Wandering Ranger

Some might ask me what does it mean to be a Wandering Ranger?
Surely nothing more than being a stranger
who must now find peace in nature.

Yes I love this beautiful creation
but I seek it now out of frustration.
For just as Tolkien’s sons of Arnor
I have been ever so keen to explore.

Lord grant me mercy for this road I must tread.
I am indeed wandering this world looking to be fed.
For it is my lot in this life to find no place to call home.
Indeed I seek it only in the holiest tome.

What purpose does it for me find favor.
In a world run by a terrible slaver.
Hear me now one cannot two masters serve.
The one of heaven is certainly not of this earth.

Fads and foolish trends do I lament.
When inside the church they find cement.
I am only reminded of what was that pure faith.
That most holy thing now gone only left a wraith.

Give me grace from above as I start this path.
Things have been done that will have an aftermath.
No longer silent can I be about this charade,
Oh my heart is burdened with how many swayed.

So a ranger’s life I now have finding solace in the wild.
Most certainly it seem evident ever since I was child.
I tread ever on the trail finding shelter in the ruins.
Of what most certainly was the church’s undoing.

My sadness is for the bride
and her ever troubling slide.
When she courts the wisdom of men
she so ever abandons the love of Him.

I am now but a mere image of the man
who so faithfully felt part of this clan.
I seek a place where my faith can grow
destined for isolation like Thoreau.

So I wander on with no bed to lie on
Ever so waiting for the rise of dawn.
Wanting only to let your light show me the way.
Until that prophesy is fulfilled on the last day.

Poem: the Beast’s Last Meal

I woke one morn to find a strange thing at my door.
A beast so foul and mean oh the things he ate.
I let him in my door and into the center of my hearth.
I first fed him but meager bits but his appetite grew so big.
He demanded more and more each day I woke.
As if I were the pet and he the master.
Soon he growled so loud I’d but one choice to kick him out.
The beast did take on last bite from me.
The bitter taste of it made him spit out all he ever ate.
The poor and pathetic thing retched so sadly.
I had but one choice to leave it be.

Poem: Cursed

I fight I fall, I forget I repeat.
Damn this cycle and its scars
Nothing more I would like now then to live on Mars.

I search I seek, I sunder I pleat.
I once again find these czars
who do become my prison guards.

I lose I lament, I leave I skeet.
Cursed I am for nothing can I escape
but to live this shit and cry.

I be damned I be denied, I do doubt I am cursed.
So be it may I find my hearse
can it be my freedom finally disperse.

Poem: Real For Fake Sake

The Fakest Thing I have ever seen
is a person claiming to be a real king.
The truth is nothing more than a show prop
All given for the sake of pomp.

What foulest sin did I trespass with?
Surely nothing more then shouting out the pith.
For nothing more saddens my heart
then to see the passing of this part.
For my struggles true they be
Did now surly offend thee.

Be what it may this path now tread.
A solemn resolution sadly lead.
For I now see that what might have been
had stopped at only skin.

I desired real but I got fake
nothing now more left at stake.
This last word I now speak
is something you might think Greek.

Sadly said what was thought to be real
instead is nothing else but drear.
I now know how fake this cause
even sadder still to ponder what was.

I take no joy in this separation
simply because of this situation.
I more sad then ever was mad but yet
I know it was just a cruel bet.

For the real was just for the sake of fake
despite who truly is to blame for this mistake.
So I offer you this last bit of advice.
Seek out my wisdom and avoid our demise.

For the water that runs in streams
is nothing more than cruel dreams.
That illusion of reality is just a business
and for the sourest fruit you can participate
in the loudest of those who pontificate.

Poem: The Child’s Tale

“Once in a Every Generation”
is how the age old tale goes.
A new myth based on an old lie begins
a battle cry for a new war sings now to its foes.

Don’t listen to pomp of the poppycock
They only seek to see you ruin
instead fight them with a truer tale
one born of his doin.

For it is in his birth true
The source of all things far and wide
finds its more essential glue
and when the songbird sings
let it not bind you to the false tide.

For I say it with all boldness
that supreme tale which grants
to all of us the great gladness
the birth of a child is our only hope

No mystical force binds us here
except that which comes from Word and Sacrament
please understand that the greatest story
which has already been ferment.