charcoal window panes

And I'm tired of all of this
Creating these realities that don't exist
Make believing that I believe what I have made
A thought crosses the void to nest on my mind
Flutter its wings and pollenate the field of desperation
This field full of longing and desire
For the sun to shine through my charcoal
Window panes
I refuse to give in
Because it makes too much sense
I refuse to clean the window panes
And I'm tired of all of this
Believeing in my intellect to define the world
Classifying and justifying my pitiful existence
There lies the love I had hoped for
The union between the Father and His Son
Comradery unsurpassed, bound by loyalty
Connection between the Potter and His clay
Vessel
I refuse to give in
Because it seems too simplistic
I refuse to clean the window panes
And You, being who You are
Take the Windex to my soul and wipe away
The charcoal off my window panes
Allowing the light of your love to shine through
And You smash the clay and start anew
Pain tears my soul and in vegence I lash out
As my fist full of rage crashes through streak-free
Window panes
You refuse to let go
Because You know what I will become
You refuse to let go
Fitting the broken glass into Your loving frame

beneathe the sands

Deep beneath the sands of space & time
Beneath the routines
Beneath the grind
Lies a power the goes beyond
Our manmade edifices and facades
Of power and knowledge
Transcends the understanding
Of weak minded men
Yet can be known by the simplest of minds
A force that weaves in
And out
Of conventional
Cliche
Modes
Of
Intelligible
Exchange
By way of
Linguistic
Symbolism
From one
Homo Sapien
To the
Next
Finding refuge amongst child-like
Curiosity
Found only in
The open-ended minds
Of open-ended people
That take
On open-ended days
Without ever realizing
That their actions will incur
Those of equal or lesser value
From the hollowed halls of linear thought
To the caffeine driven temples of Socratic debate
This energy should not be taken lightly
But should be handled with the most delicate of care
For when the eulogy is sung for freedom of thought
The sound of twenty-one guns will resound for freedom of the soul