a demon dreaming

it's a dry, wintertide night,
twined tight in Abbadon
enfolded in embers and bedsheets.
ash falling gently
coiled cascading spirals meet the ground down around me sleeping,
cradled delicate in death's clement bed, glowing,
my scaly armored arm and claw holding close to my pillow.

i dreamt, that eve, of the hell above me.

a pale greyscape with grey shapes, bleak and bleary eyed world
where fate's fallen daughters martyr their problems.

nowhere was on fire. everywhere was burning.

the turning of their seasons rained down the nuts and bolts holding heaven together.
tepid, i trudged weary, war-torn feet past
the desolate,
the desperate,
the hesitant,
but all of them the same.

the space between Savior and sinner never felt so asunder
with none in the gap so i stood there in an abandoned ossuary,
as God's groping, hoping eyes scanned the last of the sorrowed soil.
now bleeding beneath me the dry dirt lost its thirst in the flood that formed.

i looked up to see heaven's lament.
tears in the eyes of the bravest of angels.
these holy cold halcyons hailed down from the hallowed ones
so i set down on a tombstone and watched the world end with the sunset.

the horizon so heavy,
i wanted to ask God what had happened,
but we're not supposed to do that.

i'd never seen such dismal dead moments.
the river styx sung sweeter hymns than the stinging silence that me there.
me, a demon.
me, a pathetic hellion stranded in purgatory couldn't fathom what these beasts were doing.

the cemetery: empty
except for me there..

no mourners.
no weeping.
no person keeping vigil over
the tiny saints
in shallow graves
swallowed up in death's early mouth.

(and to think we're the ones out to steal souls)

sitting amongst the still-born cherubim,
the unbirthed someones of the world all at rest
innocent of the blood stains on humanity's hands
as they slept there in unheavenly pieces.

peaceless; i'd never been so confused.

my cracked, wretched skeleton never felt,
never sung the psalm pumped through a beating heart.

and beneath these brittle ribs
no lungs exist but even i know life is precious.
yet i'm stuck in revery,
lost in the nightmare of a world that would suffocate that which the Divine breathed LIFE into.

i could feel hell's burning hunger,
the fire starving for atrocities like it's never tasted... like this.

i don't know how long i stayed there.
sitting in the grey rain,
on a grey grave in a grey place that used to know black from white.

my feet,
tail,
talons
all covered in mud
& the heavens above
just kept pouring.
& i saw walking toward me
the sillhouette of the Someone holding something.
Someone holding flowers, probably intended for the dead person i'm perched on.
and He stumbled closer, not even noticing me,

the mercy-filled-holes in His hands dripping in the storm of angels' affliction.


i've seen Jesus weep.
i've seen Jesus bleed.
i heard when He said,
"let the children come to me"
i was there.
but i never fathomed the father heart
of this melancholy Messiah
falling on it's knees
crying out for the weak like this.

had i the torrents of emotion, feeling or fervor,
i'd have been moved too.
i would have drawn damnation's sword,
avenged these slaughtered lambs.
had i the heaven's hands i'd hold back Azrael's arms, avid,
but i haven't.

there's. nothing. i could do.
this chimera had cornered me.
it was all apparition anyway. couldn't be real.
but when the prostrate Savior cried out,
every crawlspace in heaven rended,
all hell's holocaust a s c E N d e d
and the static of their screaming set my ears to bleeding
so i woke up.

this seamless dream ripped open hope by the night's placid vigil

i gathered in the tinder, pulled bed blankets close, and lifted
tattered bony fingers, flipped over the pillow so i could lie down and rest my head on the cool side.

county highway 73

i'm driving.

faster than i should be.

like i'm out to prove something.

and tonight it's my hope

all roads don't lead home

because home is where it's hardest

as to where my heart is...?

check the glove compartment.

inside there's a note

inside there's red letters

and the last words she said

hurt worse than this head

still pounding

like this heart still sounding the alarms hoping they'll be loud enough that i can't hear You talking God

i'm part

of a world

that cannot be fixed

as if it even wants that

i'm part of a song we've forgotten to sing

i'm part of a dream but we've cut off our wings

making angels like icarus

turning saints into hypocrites

and if there's a difference

it doesn't matter because we care so very little about what might matter

and that's the question of You

and i don't blame us because i'm part of a world that's too timid to reach out and feel

as You dawn on us, we're asleep at the wheel

and the radio dial steals the conversation that each of us should be having

with the unempty space a million miles away in the passenger seat.

it's not something glorious.

not urgent

nothing burning on our lips to say

it's just that we'd pray for anyone but ourselves

holding out til' we hit something.

that magnificent crash

we collide with the fact

we're not alone down here

and if only we could handle that we might drive more cautious

might try more honest at maintaining conscience.

unconcious, we press on hoping at the end of this trip

there's somewhere to rest because

we. have. not yet. rested.

we are part of a world too tired to fight for itself anymore.

and we cannot trust these dotted white lines where to drive anymore

and though we can't see further than the end of these headlights

that's not an excuse to not look anymore

so i pull over

stop for a moment

knowing no one else does this

because everything is urgent

but nothing is permanent

but personally, that's a confused dichotomy

but honestly, You've been pulling at me for hours

and i cannot get the music loud enough

or the silence think enough to drown You out.

because i know i'm not the only one who sometimes looks in the rearview

and could swear that i see You in the back seat

haunting me

but it's dawned on me that with the voice in my eyes

i can't scream at the skies

and not believe in You at the same time

i cannot claim there's no celestial Giver

while resenting You for what's been taken away

and i just wanna pray some silent song of surrender

knowing God that You took her home for a reason.

ps27:4

our hearts can't survive without delusions of grandeur
if we cease. to. think. we're bigger than the everything in our way
then we cease to be anything entirely

i know now that what separates

men & angels

is the fact that

they. still. dream.

if it weren't for that they wouldn't have wings

utlimate? no we're not

final reality? not at all

God forgive us.

we seem to have given up any hope of anything that

m i g h t b e h e a v e n

You see, we don't

though we

still look to the skies

instead of wondering who suspends the stars, so at home in the void,

we question as to whether they can still fit into

our business suit pockets

as if all the profit we make will transfer eternal treasure

hoping that heaven has a caste system

...decorating dreams

i could search unending
minutes s t r e t c h i n g themselves out to touch eternity
& the burn in me would not subside

my grasping at the infinite
take hold of windless whispers
knowing none could be as permanent as You make me feel like forever and a few seconds later
understand that these fragile hands don't span to count the smallest
fractions of time stolen from words only once uttered: i love you

but with that one breath
i am set until death
hoping heaven will not be much different if i spend earth with You

so tonight
with Your warm hands in mine
and our hearts intertwined
we will dance slow in the candle's flickering firelight

projected onto walls long forgotten

and hallways we got lost in
as inside no one else could lose themselves yet still be found... but us.

and the sweet, sweet sounds from out of You mouth will echo without mention in the hiding places of this heart
on this night

we cup our timid hands

collecting stars to decorate our sleepless dreaming at ungodly hours
as the moon envies jealous
angels playing a symphony
and tonight
for the first time in my life
the clouds do not block us from seeing them

so sing out weary
starving soul
without fear
as we will someday hold eachother soon
like the uNSteady pen
writes an unready melody but
those. three. words.
are better unrehearsed. kept quiet.
til they BURST LIKE A SMALL CHILD IN CHURCH WHO'S GRASP ON HEAVEN IS TOO FAST FOR THE PREACHER. THE CHOIR.
the silence
the violent heartbeats insde him will not hold much longer

so i'll open the floodgates and clean things up later