The grass looks greener on the other side,
To get over there would mean sacrifice,
Reward there'd be but still more of the same...
I think I'll stay contented right where I am.

unburdened beast

As darkness falls, the shadows creep in,
Why am I to pay for another's sin?

The wrong done to me, thrown in my face,
As the lights go out, my anger ablaze.

Hatred fills my heart so deeply,
I find I'm far from able to sleep.



It is night, and the beast walks free,
Likely on another killing spree,
Blood dried on his evil claws,
Shaking off guilt, he hasn't pause.


The killer walks free, what at thing,
Twisted, snarling snout, he's king,
He gets away with everything...
And it's his victims who silently pay.

Faith

The wineskins have burst; the ground covered in red.
The patches sewn into the cloth have all torn away.
God’s justice neutralized by the sacrifice of His Son,
And man’s justice twisted so the victims have to pay.

In this world, the lion surely lies down with the lamb,
After ripping it to shreds just for the desire to kill.
I’m told to be a good faithful one and suffer this pain,
Lay here bleeding and trust it’s God’s sovereign will.

I am only one blade of grass in this vast field of life,
I know much better than to shake my fist at the sky.
With my faith broken, butchered out; my conclusion-
Mistaken were all my beliefs about the Great Divine.

Destructive Vines

The lattice is strong, but the vines work together,

The tendrils reach out, grasping and winding tightly

The structure finds detriment when overwhelmed,

As the vines cling and climb and weigh it down.

Slowly, steadily, before anyone realizes it,

The innocent-looking plant blocks out the light

And chokes out any of the hope trying to grow…

Feeding off the tears falling down to the roots.

The vines infiltrate, widening cracks and crevices,

It must be delicately removed, killed and cut away.

Its signature remains on the lattice, now scarred.

Wild, the vines will never let up on raging new attacks.

Lunar Light

I walk along the sand, considering the moon,
The power with which it pulls the tides…
The ever-present cycle of dark to complete,
The light that reflects brightly off the water.

I no longer hold the cycle of the moon,
But the tides still pull, if not stronger.
The moon still swells from new to full,
Nine cycles long only buried deep…

Joy x 2, hidden away and increasing
The moon shines only on them for now,
Another’s treasure hidden in my womb-
Turning their tides and lighting their night.