Tag Archives: loss of faith

“Icabod”

Rachel, Rachel, I’ve got Ecclesiastes in my satchel, bad shit in my head.

I can’t find peace in this world. I can’t find a quiet place to lay myself down.

I looked to you when I came out of the night, I followed you like the North Star.

I still look to you, but faith is broken, impossible. The church door read “Icabod”.

Crosses don’t cast out the demons, not mine, not the ones pointing guns.

Crosses sharpened, the guns point at us, the fucked up, the not in line.

Rachel, Rachel, Jesus gave you a soft, tender soul, but their’s are sharp.

If love is gone from them, if death comes for us, what did I ever believe in?

Rachel, Rachel, I stand in the middle of Henley St. Bridge, the cold wind calming.

The mermaids here were hunted to extinction. The sweetwater fouled forever.

They just use, they just abuse, they just make excuse for innocence stolen carelessly.

Was their God ever your God, was there even a light from the eye in the cross?

Sink down to the cold sidewalk, back to the edge of the bridge, wind breathing.

Rachel, Rachel, they failed you, and I have failed you, and no one cares at all.

A goddamn smoke might have once calmed me, but not even hymns call angels here.

Rachel, Rachel, I have no hope of light winning, of us laughing in heaven, in the light.

 

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Atlantis Guitar

The freight train rumbles by,

as I drive to work, still dark.

I thought about the bad dream,

finding a headless angel in the park.

I sit in my car, time to wait here,

drinking too hot gas station coffee,

listen to that mournful Atlantis guitar,

and try to head bad breath with a toffee.

That headless angel is being put

on the freight train, express to Groom Lake.

Someone might take a picture in Santa Fe,

but no one will be grieving at the wake.

A ghost can’t make a night stand still,

and the one with me, she just plays that song,

that Atlantis guitar, from when she was young,

when she could say in peace there was nothing wrong.


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?

The Quiet Tongues That Steal All Light

We conjure demons when we’re exposed.

               The quiet tongues that steal all light.

              

               There is still calm in driving, sad songs,

               But there’s nowhere to go, anymore.

 

               I lay Hope in her satin finery in a glass coffin.

               We ooh and aah over death with a silver lining.

 

               Faith kissed me once, softly, on a winter afternoon.

               That moment is lost, and she’s gone to the war.

 

               Charity, works the nightshift, never sleeps well,

               And even in the evening, she is too busy to talk.

 

               Try and soothe this thing, this worm undying,

               This gnawing of thoughts, leaving dreams raw, ragged.

 

               Without them, without the tenderness they gave,

               Or the shared jokes, the morning meals, anything at all.

 

               A room with no drunkenness or intoxicants, only a fire,

               That is remorseless and understood all too well.

 

               Exposed, like a moth to the board, the demons come,

               Wisps of sulfur are a mercy in the smoked glass killing jar.

A Favorite Spring Day

After play practice, sitting together in the early spring sun, sharing a smoke.

               A jet fighter roared across the sky, and drowned out the devotions you spoke.

               I dreamed of taking your hand into mine, and how soft and warm it would be.

               I dreamed of you, and you dreamed of a singer who was born across the sea.

 

               So many things had yet to come, for us and the world; we had something for hope.

               We never knew the fire that would come, or all the death with which we’d have to cope.

               The jet fighter became distant, it’s roar a dim call against a sky so clear and utterly blue.

               I knew not when we were innocent, and with a mischievous angel we blindly flew.

 

               Above the city, on my own, without sleep or peace or even you to dream about,

               A jet fighter screams across the night, the war going on, though we’re all wore out.

               A song by the singer you once loved plays, and just watch the sky and the city so bright.

               I know worse is coming, I know I want only to leave this world, and once again take flight.

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?

Omaha Nocturne

So far gone from the man you knew. Maybe you’ve changed as well.
The day when I could love this world, and have hope for tomorrow
is long in the past. The day when I shared your faith is even farther back.
Only the dark songs speak to me. Only dark dreams fill my rage choked soul.
 Beliefs don’t mean much; people are going to do what they’re going to do.
Faith just means closing your eyes when there’s a gun pointed at your head.
I try to tend the last rose of love, the rose that once grew wild for you.
I try to keep a smile for those still here, but I fear it will one day disappear.
 The nights are only truth when they’re starless, moonless, hot as tired iron.
People change, the world changes, and I can’t even remember you here with me.
Death is sleep without dreams, and dreams just lie to you, tell you there’s hope here.
The darkened room is the most vicious hell, and your voice no longer soothes me.

Will I See You In The Sky?

Will I see in the sky, in the sun,
my heroine, my hope, my cherished one?
The light from beyond the black of the grave,
the light of all the joy and love you ever gave,
found me in the darkness, though I covered my eyes.
That I could ever be so free again an unending surprise!
But the angels all have track marks on marble skin,
and the prophets and the guardians of light are full of sin.
I can see your eyes in the stars that scattered when you left.
I can feel angels wings stirring under skin, a hope again bereft.
The savior failed me, believers won’t aknowlede the damage done.
I love you still in my emptiness. Will I see you in the sky, in the sun?
 For RJS