Tag Archives: atheism

Wiped Away Tears

Man can defeat the Will of God, and burn the world.

               Commandments tattooed on skins, but no mark on the soul.

               Bottomless pits and hellfire don’t dissuade what they want

               And seek and from drawing of sharp knives to kill.

               We do what we do, no matter what we say.

               We do what we do, no matter how we pray.


               A heaven, where God’s own Son would wipe away my tears.

               Where the light was forever, and life was everlasting, all was love.

               I would be holy and justified, and leave my corruption in the old earth.

               I would be holy and warm, never again to fear or hunger or thirst.

               Jesus would be with me, and we’d all be equal in his favor.

               Why is it here, though, that I fear those that believe?


               Up on the roof with a bottle of not all sacramental wine,

               Watching the stars above, cold and out of reach, like angels.

               My heart swells for love for a woman, and love for the world,

               And my soul feels empty and washed away, even as I pray,

               For what is love and the wonders of creation, if all Holy Children

               Come to burn it’s face, and all that could have been?


               What was the meaning of His Dream?

Sometimes I Wonder

Sometimes I wonder, do you even see or care,

               Or even try to understand this crushing despair.


               Sometimes I wonder, how you can stand so high,

               And not wipe away the tears, we left behind cry.


               I wonder how you can be so goddamn flippant,

               So goddamn above it all, telling us only to repent,


               As if the fear we feel, and who we are, is a mark of sin,

               And that we must be ground under to begin again.


               The Holy Ones, like you, worship cruelty and violence,

               Or uncaring, dismissive, look away in unnoticing silence.


               The Holy Ones, gave a devil a key to fire and power

               For promises of a return to a more beguiling hour.


               Look at me, look me in the eye, see me as I am, as I shake,

               Don’t call me a sinner, or cast me aside as some fucking mistake.


               Look at me, put away your faith and surety of purity and grace.

               Look at me, see me as one hounded and afraid, in a hallowed place.

And The Angels Left Town

And the angels left town, having better things to do.

               They are not watching for those coming for me and you.

               It’s dark even in the early morning, as winter comes.

               In the distance we hear the gun fire beat like war drums.


               A cross is a sword, blood shed is not redeemed by blood shed,

               I have no gun, we can only run as The Holy come for our heads.

               Our home, left to be plundered and broken, our one safe place.

               We head into the woods, and I cannot wipe the tears from your face.


               A promise of salvation and a paradise burns down the world for all.

               Carrying a gun and cross, A flag and bible, the world is made to fall.

               Promises that we for others, only one kind, not us left behind sinners.

               They care not for anyone’s pain or brokenness, only for being winners.


               A snow flake falls, and then another, and then a false whiteness covers us.

               It all looks so pure and innocent and free, but from behind gunfire concuss.

               Love your neighbhor is a pretty thought that adds up to exactly jack shit.

               There is blood always dripping from the pages of sacred and holy writ.


Still Warm In The Sky

Your love doesn’t light this darkness,

               Because you always have to be right,

               The holiest man in the room.


               Your love doesn’t chase this cold,

               Because you can’t hear the wind,

               And my cries fall on deaf ears.


               Your love is no comfort or harbor

               In the storm that has come down,

               You still bask in the sun.


               Still warm in the sky.

               Still safe in your ignorance.

               Still safe knowing you’re a prophet

               And without a single blemish.


               I just get talked down to.

               Condescended too.

               Told I am childish, foolish.


               So I face the darkness and my fears

               Alone in the night, alone without you,

               Because you can’t see what could make you doubt,

               What you don’t want to see of your brethren.


               I won’t cry when they come for you.

Funeral For A Friend

I’ve come to bury a corpse, metaphorically speaking.
The body was killed by your cowardice, your excuses,
the need to be always right, no matter the blood on your hands.

A cross has a sharpened end, and it’s blunted my heart.
If I speak of god, you reply. If I speak of my dreams, silence.
If I speak against you, I get your “Father” voice.

Not your fault what happened, but you didn’t have to cover for them.
You didn’t have to sigh and say it doesn’t matter. “Father”, fuck you!
You’ve got even more skin in this then I do, asshole!
 So I’ll see you every day, and smile through heartbreak
and a head full of bad shit, just keep smiling, as always.
But you are not my friend, and I have no use for your bullshit!


Israeli woman from a past year, me and her sharing wine.
Lost all hope for a resurrection, a saving grace, from Galilee.
Just drink our wine, and hold close, as the sea eats up the sun.
There’s no comfort left in the stars, no kisses sent by the moon.
 No rocks or bread, no devil to tempt us, just the foolishness of hope.
We lay together, look at night sky, the one and only miracle of light.
We make love in the depths of the darkness, to sweeten our death.
One flesh, but no spirit is kindled, the seed falls onto the hard ground.
 And morning come, will come when all is barren from man’s infernal fire.
The sun mocks us, offers a cruel hope, a sanctimonious reason for living.
We are naked in the last shred of soft darkness, of cool and empty delight.
The sun on our skins is warm, but touch leaves no traces, only ugly scars.

Forget The Sun

The memorial to the saint, in the little park, quiet and seclided.
The faith I shared with her, the adorition I held for her purity,
has slipped away, lost in the night closing over me, old suns dead.
 I sit at the statues feet, feeling numb in a cool early Autumn day.
The wind is gentle, the leaves are just begining to change, all is well.
The proud saint, I once loved, is quiet in all my thoughts.
 A virgin, a pious peasant, a clean hearted maiden. The holy woman
even in plate mail and armor, even in the blood of an endless war.
An angel, not a girl, not broken and mad like one of us.
 Just another virgin dying young and violent, sanctified in death.
To be made a martyr and feminne perfected, to not know passion.
Too long I worshipped her, a penetand La Hire, but this day is not hers.
 Mad and wild and full of perversion and riled emotions, others truly live.
I have always been one, and trying to die for ghosts is for masochist fools.
Flesh, corrupted and holy, prision and paradise, is my true fate.
 I leave a coil and a medal at her feet, bid her adeiu, and change a season
as world prepares to sleep and forget the sun. Seasons pass and come again.
But some suns are never remembered, and some seasons gone for good.

Loss Of Faith

She is sleeping on her side, turned away from me.
It is winter, and the sky is clear outside the window.
I watch her side rise and fall, hear her soft snoring.
I want to touch her. To tell her. To make her understand.
I just turn away from her, and lay awake, looking up at nothing.
 All has slipped away from me, all I cherished, all I believed in.
Now broken, scattered tin idols, littering the hallowed places
in my heart, totems without power or meaning, scrapped forever.
No place to turn to, nothing has been built on these ruins.
And she, she still so fervently believes.
 False promises, false men, meaningless words, let me down.
The cracks opened and made it all crash, and it’s gone for good.
I feel adrift, with nothing but her. I still love and adore her.
But we’re drifting away, and I cannot stay, and she will not follow.
What’s left now, and what can come, what can I call home?

The Night Can Be Sweet

The angel will not wipe away our tears.
The saviour is pious with our cold fears.
The devil will listen, and fight, for a price.
The god, is high on prayer, tossing loaded dice.
 The night can be so sweet, when you’re alone.
The wind hushed and reverent of a pagan tone.
The peace of the wind, the soft envoloping of spring,
gives us joy, denied by ones who kiss a holy ring.
 The holy ones tell us to bow and be repaired.
Their hearts dead, their morality utterly impaired.
They kill and curse and cut us out, except to be maimed.
They hate the wild and free; we’re only animals to be tamed.

The stars above, quiet and distant, things that never spoke.
Inorganic light posts, sailing ships, in on the cruel joke.
We, the unwanted, hold tight to each other, to the dark.
We, the untamed, are the last true stars in the righteous dark.

A Notch For Tears

Somehow you’re never at fault, never wrong.
Somehow humans are evil, but you’re without blemish.
I chase after you, push you away, mistrust you always.
Because you’re perfect, you won’t wipe away my tears.
 Tears come, and you only count them, saying the name of their sin,
putting your father hat on, to tell me Your Perfect plan to save me.
The tears come and blood is in the water, and it dawns on me,
this is what you wanted, me broken at your feet, at my weakest.
 You have to sell The Word, and the broken hear it so much better.
You’ve been collecting intelligence on my every weakness and regret.
So you can wear a mask of angel, to get a notch in your bible, ass in a pew.
Tears fall, blood in the water, all those sweet lies to get me here, broken.
 I turn away, running, blind and blurry from tears, made worse by betrayal.
All I gave you used to slit my throat and garrotte my spirit, to “Fix Me”.
Attention is a veil of daylight dread as the death choir sings your song.
I may be broken, but I am more than a mark to make a sale on.
 Fuck you! Fuck You! FUCK YOU!
 And I find a place deep in the forest, deep in the wildness of mother’s kingdom.
I chased after you, because you took time to talk, but it was always of your greatness.
I pushed you away, because you never heard what my bleeding words said.
I mistrusted you, because it always worked back to your lord, to your holy order.
 In the dark, under stars, in the quiet of wildnerness and the solace of darkness,
I find my peace, my place in the momentary dream of life, in the staggering tears.
I sit against a tree, and let the stars soothe me with their blinking arias.
Wildness, in all it’s cruelty, passion and harshness, is the softest and kindest repose.