judge not lest ye be judged yourself..
upon this earth we are the makers
of our own personal
heaven and hell.

sure, some jingle in thy pocket
may ensure a smoother ride..
but a weighty wallet
won’t lend warmth
to you upon a lonely night.

sure, a pious life …

the revolutionary
is precisely that
which is least often
popularly understood.
the key to grasping it
lies in the merciless,
unwavering pursuit..
not of the popular..
but of your deepest,
personal truth.

I am content
with never breaking mainstream,
with never being popularly understood..
because my purpose
is to carve …

Upon the night of Hallow’s Eve,
two moon-crossed lovers found
within each other’s hearts
their soul’s relief.
Within a shared existence
in a moment of beautiful living.
Within each other’s presence.
Within the act of giving.

To hallow.. is to sanctify.
To make the other holy …

breath to breath..
step to step..
beat to beat.
in-between,
that is the only place
where lovers hearts
may meet.

in-between..
there lie the liminal..
unpenetrated spaces.
the boundary of holy ambiguity
that separates two lovers faces.
until they intercept each other’s gaze.
until their bodies find complete surrender …

Within my lonesome underworld,
today it is still summer..
But then again, upon the end
of dark and moonless night,
there always comes tomorrow…
And with it comes The Sun,
our heavenly star.

She used to shine so bright for me..
Upon each morning she would rise so tall..
But …

Even a staking thru the chest..
Is not enough to lay this foul,
unholy force to rest.
A silver bullet thru the heart,
however,
might just do the trick..
yet still I am unbothered
for a lick.
And even if they’re coming
strapped with guns,
and even if they …

it does not take a special algebra
to spot a shooting star..
one merely has to turn their gaze aloft..
and in the highest heavens up above
they’ll see the silent messenger of love
ignite.
so very far..
yet so very bright..
and yet his brilliance is visible
only …

God loves a trinity.
A triad structure..
A newfound stability..
A maturity of purpose.
A refinement of voice..
All for an ear
that keenly hears
my crooked rhymes..
and rhymy riddles
in the noise.

I loved them all,
And love them still,
And always will until my death..
The third …

I hope you enjoyed
my madness for you..
a beauty like yours
can drive a man mad..
the madness of wanting to love you
so good..
the madness of wanting…
you bad!

Do we fall in love with those who see us
for our virtues..
Or those who see us for our scars?
Those who see in us a perfect form
that we approximate..
Or those who see us..
As we truly are.

At the core of every lovely pearl
there lies …