There are no shadows in the darkness.
All things merge and they are one.
The whole unity - illusion;
Flick the switch and it is gone.
WinterAutumn winds are dying
As winter rears its head.
Soon the land will sleep again
In the silence of the dead.
The gray sky seems a blanket.
The golden trees now bare;
Their branches reach out to the sky
To grasp the misty air.
Dark browns replace the orange
And grays replace the blue
Soon snow will change this landscape
As the spiral dance holds true
The silence will be welcomed
By a solitary crow.
An eerie song of mystery
That few will ever know.
For winter keeps its secrets,
The ones not hard to hide.
The answer's all around us,
But the question sleeps inside.
Satan's FuryWhen Satan's fury burns in Hell,
And you feel the power swell,
The Darkness flows from within the lake,
All for the cause of Evil's sake.
The time of doom is close at hand,
When Darkness shall rule the land.
Through the Darkness you shall go;
Only where, He shall know.
Although the Darkness has much might,
It must conquer the piercing light!
And when that light has been snuffed out,
You shall hear His demonic shout:
"Blessed is he who has My mark,
For he shall live in the land so dark!
Death to he who is spawn of the light,
For he shall feel My furious might!
In this land so dark and cruel,
All is under Satan's rule.
And then, alas, without the light,
All must perish in eternal night.
NaiadHow can it be
that my heart's now alive?
I had thought it to die
In the shadows I pondered
the course my life followed...
and where it now leads,
I don't know.
As I sit here alone
and your name haunts my mind,
I feel passion...
it burns at my soul.
And I sing out your name
as I long for your touch
and I know with one kiss,
I'll be whole.
PonderingsGray skies slowly darken
As the sunlight fades away.
I sit here alone in the twilight,
Amidst a landscape of gray
Shadows reach out grasping,
The coldness stills the air,
I glance down upon the lake before me
To the reflection at which I stare.
What image is this before me?
Whose eyes burn into mine?
Vague recollections taunt me
Of what I left behind.
Each path that I have chosen
Leads me places I know not where.
Despite my better judgement
I simply do not care.
What roads have I not traveled?
What lessons have I to learn?
As the shadows creep yet closer,
There is so much that I still yearn.
(To be continued?)
The Void WithinIn dark'ning skies the mystery lies,
What wisdom comes this way?
A silent scream can't pierce the night
Where lurking passions lie.
And as the clouds descend on me,
I can not get away.
There's nowhere for me to hide;
Only madness if I try.
The Night Before ChristmasT'was the night before Christmas,
When all though the house
Not a creature was stirring,
... except for me...
The traps were all set
By the chimney with care,
In hopes that "St. Nicholas"
Soon would be there;
The children, so foolish,
Were drugged in their beds,
While I contemplated,
If I'd have their heads;
I sat in my chair,
Alone with my gun,
Reviewing my plans...
Oh, THIS will be fun!
Then from my radar,
There arose such a beep!
I sprang from my chair,
And started to creep.
Away to the window
I flew like a flash,
Tearing open the shutters,
The windows went crash!
The moon, on the breast
Of the new fallen snow,
Gave a luster of midday
To objects below;
When what to my wondering eyes
But a miniature sleigh
And eight smelly reindeer,
With that little old driver
I began to get sick,
I knew in a moment
It must be "St. Nick."
I readied my gun,
With intentions to maim
Then shot each in turn,
As I called them by name:
Die, Prancer and Vixen!
Song of Healing
Day to night, dark to light,
Fall the sands of time.
Let the years like the gears
Of a clock unwind
In your mind walk through time
Back to better days.
Memories, like a dream,
Wash your tears away.
Like a star in the sky darkness can't reach you.
Light the night, joy is light 'til the new dawn.
Cast away your old face
Full of gloom and spite.
With this mask I will ask
To borrow your light.
God KillerGod Killer - by Joseph Blake Parker
Inspired by “Shadow of the Colossus” and “San Manuel Bueno Martir” by Miguel de Unamuno
Have you ever killed a god?
Watched one fall to the musty
earth beneath you and leave a
Do you know what happens
when you kill God? The grass and
trees crawl upon Its breast and
Did you taste the blood on your fingers?
As you watched the rest pour out of
Its side? A flavor like water, but
Then you know that you do not die
In the water that drowns you when you kill
God. No, you live and you watch the water
Down the mountain in rushing streams
that satiate thirst and germinate seed. Like
icy balm on their souls are Its blood and your
What could be left for a mountain maker, God
killer, human savior, weeping sinner? You
descend into a box with your clerical collar to
Orgasm Finding YourselfPearls of love slide down my leg
Blood pumping hard and fast through my head
The euphoric feeling takes full control
The heat from this pleasure touches my soul
Eyes dilate and hands start to shake
Out of breath and body vibrates
Muscles tense so tight
Like I've gone in to shock
This second feels so right
I never want to stop
Then words can't explain the feeling that comes
Spirit and body finally becomes one
Focus comes back and pulse rate slows down
Then the pearls become rivers that soak my night gown.
Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back 1. I say nothing I am thinking.
For twelve years I have wanted
to do exactly this, but suddenly
pronouncing my own name calls up
the question of who it belongs to
in the same breath Like
Solomon I was born a singer
but in the wrong key and my
chords will not carry me, will not
summon the wolves to me only
packs of hungry dogs
stupid with domestication
but nearly feral And like
a hungry ghost I have learned
not to speak against those
who will give me food
2. A sketch of myself.
He says I must have been born
in the wrong culture, he says. I got a taste of
the crackling heat here, heat to drive you crazy,
and suddenly I open my wide arms for
New Orleans, find myself needing the wind from
the Great Plains. Like a buffalo I have the spirit
of the Sun and I carry it with me. I am a plant
of burnt umber,
By the White Wolf
By the White Wolf
She's come to me now
It's finally over
I pass into the gray
Her visage terrible and wonderful to behold
Her fur stark white
The spirit of death is she
She comes to guide my soul
What remains of me
I still my heartbeat
I quench my breath
She has marked me with the scent of death
Close your eyes and expose your neck
Let her sink her fangs into you throat
Let her bleed you of your spirit
Let her bleed you of your soul
Let her guide you into the gray
There is no family now
No pack to depend on
In the end we start our road alone
We will see the ones we love when she visits them
Stare into her eyes now
It's time to follow her
Time for the finial journey
Time for you to rest
By the White Wolf
Can you fall in love with a drawing?
Feel your heart beat to lines on paper?
Could you be the soulmate to a fantasy?
While still knowing it's not real?
Would you come back for a character?
Knowing the lines on paper will always keep smiling,
And you'll keep coming back, keep loving the ink that shaped that smile?
Wake Up, America(6/29/2014)
Can any American--
No, can anyone really say
"God bless America"
without recognizing the irony
in speaking those words
as we live in a nation
that applauds evil
and mistakes lawlessness for freedom?
We live in a nation
where everyone does what is right
in their own eyes,
A nation where we encourage
achieving success at any cost,
where we desire sex
with no boundaries,
where we proclaim spirituality
Welcome to the temple
of our idol named Pleasure,
and like a whore she enters
our hearts through our pockets.
We stuff our faces with that bread
to fill our bellies instead of our souls,
We drink our fill of wine to get drunk
and forget His bloodshed on the cross.
"America, America, God shed His grace on thee"
So we can look spiritual
as we say 'Amen' every Sunday
and then laugh in Jesu
God is a hipster.God went to Starbucks
because the Wi-Fi signal in
heaven is crap. He pulls
an HP out of the laptop bag and
rolls His eyes at the kid lugging
in a typewriter. He clicks on Word
because He never really stopped
creating – He has more furniture
than He knows what to do with
and no wall space left for His canvases.
He likes Word – His Word – because
it reminds Him of another beginning,
before time, before space, before everything.