An Imperfect Rhyme

The world oft teaches me intensity
When upon my own bed I lie,
Learning the fakeness of intimacy,
And what it means someday to die.

Mistakes driven hard by an imperfect soul
will mirror an imperfect rhyme-
Identity lost in insurgence of role
and worth barely now but a dime.

How do I know what to perceive as truth
and what to dismiss from my mind-
fitting my morals into a small booth,
Or letting them keep on this grind?

Orwell* had seen the sheer complexity,
But I merely eyeball the sky,
learning the fakeness of intimacy,
and what it means someday to die.

*George Orwell (1903-1950)

Bits of wisdom? Wisdom in bits?

A feeling of gratefulness is always moral, but the firestorm known as contentment is one of the world's most dangerous feelings.

Also,

Money may keep our culture going, but art makes culture worthwhile in the first place.

For the Sake of Argument

-It is established that Christians worship and adore a kind and loving God, one that desires the best for all people and receives great joy in being a part of the society He created on Earth

-It is also fairly established that many major world religions around the world contain higher powers that are equally altruistic and loving

-However, all these major religious claim to be the only legitimate way to avoid an eternal damnation

-Therefore, it is being accepted as a general truth that whole swarms of human beings are being damned by default merely because their choice of religion is wrong (PREDESTINATION!)

-How exactly does this play into the notion of a loving and altruistic God, to damn whole races of people on the notion that they never become exposed to the ‘correct answer’?

-And how do we even know that ‘we’ (Christianity) ARE the correct answer?

-Is there a correct answer? Would God will multiple forms of truth?

The American Dream

What do I desire?
The allure of her dark, metallic hair.
The undeniable crush of a deep and promiscuous kiss.
Or do I?

Am I instead drowning in the sin of my culture?
Told what to desire by a nation of demons?
Huxley* abounds! Instead of contemplating greatness,
I fall off the planet with each passing female.

And then I realize…

God has been diluted like the cheap vodka
that blinds people to him.
This is not the American dream!
I am not in love with a girl at all…

*Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

“Fortune and Fortitude May” (late 2007)

(every = ev-er-y)

On things I have said I pride myself not,
And beg I thee now that it all is forgot,
And forgive me now for this agony must,
Address the infernal concept of lust,

Which tortures me every portion of day,
And night, though fortune and fortitude may,
Settle me now for an impotent time,
Before that which is hardly settled in rhyme,
Assails again my soul and my mind,
With no ready solution for me to find.

I fooled my heart to think love so deep,
Existed so easily for mine to reap,
And surely desire be not just a jest,
To awaken just every heart now at rest?
The storm of my life is not what would seem,
With music of Grainger* in every dream.

On things I have said I pride myself not,
And beg I thee now that it all is forgot,
Where may it vanish in the sea and the storm,
Of discontent hearts that never seem warm.


*Percy Aldridge Grainger (1882-1961)