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Letting it Go
 Written November 13, 2001

Sitting alone.
Turning off the phone.

Letting the past melt away.
Shirking the stress of the day.

Does it bother you to know I'm not thinking of you?
Letting the fight fade while I exhale.
Arab Tales
 Written September 19, 2001

You whisper awake, and I am sitting there.
5 fingers wrapped in your kinky hair.

Too tough to scream or cry.
Aware of the steely gleam in my eye.

"The end is coming", I whisper in your ear,
"It's time for your people to disappear."

You think you've done such righteous deeds.
But hatred of your race is all that it feeds.

Our fear of beards and tans is growing,
But hatred, not fear, is all that you're sowing.

You didn't know you were doomed to fail.
Unsuccessfully making a nation quail.

Arrogance and freedom, with raised fists we proclaim,
Once we enter a culture, it's never quite the same.
Not beating our wives, not burning their faces,
Over here, women aren't told their places.

Is that what did it? Is that what upset?
Exploding a day we'll never forget.

You can only kill people, never the idea,
A fact that is now abundantly clear.

We didn't turn on each other, in fear and terror,
Making you realize that you were in error.

You call it resistance, while we know it's persistence.

Whatever we did that set you off,
You sided terrorists with men of the cloth.

Saudi or Afghan or wherever you're from,
We promise to burn your kind of scum.
Don't doubt our resolve, we've done it before,
Using money and influence to bring about a cure.

We will find your cave and burn you out,
An infected leg, awash with the gout.
Surrounded by incense, alone in a hole,
Using fear and destruction, our innocence you stole.

Our freedom, we know, comes with a price,
And willing to pay it, just for a slice.

Your brothers in arms will come back in bags.
From a nation awash in fluttering flags.
Brain Dead
 Written December 24, 2001

Rage, rage, against the dying of the fight.
Save me, O God, from the pale TV light.
Deliver us from the Mediocres' plight.
Rage, Rage, against the dying of the fight.

Push hard against the bounds of Politically Correct.
Take the time, the rules, upon which we should reflect

On the hows and whys that control our lives.
For the streets of our minds, upon which we all drive.

Unused passages and closets in our heads.
Falling asleep, reading the Good Book, comfortable in our beds,

Knowing our places after This are assured, (our relationship to logic inured).
Forcibly cheerful, violently happy, down our throats, Love is crammed (all in denial of the sham).

The voice of logic a scream.
Washed away in the happy stream.

Version 1 Version 2
I Knew
 Written December 14, 2001

I knew...the pieces fit.
Even though... they washed away.

I knew...the symbols split.
Even if... they miss today.

I felt... the fabric tear.
Even though... it feels good naked.

I felt...the woman stare.
Even if... I will not take it.

You knew... we were good together.
Even though... you didn't feel it.

You knew... we loved another.
Even though... you tried to steal it.

We felt... the pieces fit.
Now gone... and blown away.

We felt... the symbols split.
Now gone... no other day.

Will we... know another?
Like we... shared an ocean.

Will we... never smother?
Like we... craved emotion.

 		I Knew
 Written December 14, 2001

I knew...the pieces fit.
Even though... they washed away.

I knew...the symbols split.
Even if... they miss today.

I felt... the fabric tear.
Even though... it felt good naked.

I felt...the woman stare.
Now sure... I can't mistake it.

You warmed... but loved another.
Just because... You saw us dying.

You gasped... and nearly smothered.
Now trapped... with hands he's tying.

You thought... we swam together.
Even when... I couldn't see us.

I danced... among the heather.
Trusting in... the love between us.

My faith...never quavered.
Even when... my knees betrayed me.

My blood... you always savored.
Even when... I knew you played me.

You knew... we grew together.
Even if... you didn't seed it.

You knew... we loved another.
But we... grew to need it.

We felt... the pieces fit.
Now gone... and blown away.

We felt... the symbols split.
Now gone... no other day.

Will we... know another?
Like we... shared an ocean.

Will we... never smother?
Like we... craved emotion.

You shake... tattoos hiding.
I walked... but still I stumble.

Unmake... decisions binding.
One lost... but one made humble.

Pushed away... a war it was.
Left with... No clear winner.

Pushed away... I knew because.
There was... a rage within her.

Doubt 22:16
 Written June 23, 1999

The Resurrection?

Hell, I can't even think beyond dinner.

A man? But God. Who's human... But not.

Oh, it's all so clear to me now.

He died for our sins.

Show me a sin, and I'll show you nothing but an empty metaphor.
What is a meta for anyway?

Something we want to believe in.
Something our little minds can grasp, and hold on to and make our own.

Which is more preferable, the known or the unknown?
The Devil you know or the Jesus you don't?

Believing in sin and in Absolutes is so easy.
Taking instructions from a higher power is the path of least resistance.

So typically human.

We build elaborate lies, with skewed interpretations on top of foolishness.
Tricking ourselves into believing there are angels flying sorties, because we're afraid of the things that go bump in the night.

It's a bedtime story, and a best-seller at that.

What's more believable?

1. Christ was God, who chose to die on a cross, tortured by Roman soldiers.
2. Jesus was no track star and with a good pair of Nikes, would have been gone like a thief in the night?

You decide.

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Page last updated: April 25, 2003
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