Here where the only shadows cast

are those we create,

with only the weight of the world

upon our shoulders,

heaven still seems so far away,

lost against the backdrop

of yesterday’s dreams

as they’re held hostage

by tomorrow’s tragedies;

I’m reminded that

the war between the heart and soul

is nothing more than

the war between Heaven and Hell

and nothing less than

the rebellion of earth against sky,

and we’re too busy

making victims of each other

to find peace within ourselves.

Between The Angels And Me

Whisper a prayer for the dying,
but keep it a secret and let it burn
among the stars of Heaven.
Allow my soul to escape
the fetters of this mortal coil,
and fly beyond
the limits of conception.
And if, between this world
and the next, I am to be lost
let there be a fire lit
to help me find my way home.

To the Bottle

The pain of loss,
of being wrong,
that moment I want
to take back.
Forgiveness isn’t coming soon,
or so it seems,
and so I run
to the bottle,
yet again.
Staring up at Heaven
from the bottom of a glass,
questioning my choices,
even as I make them,
questioning my fate,
even as I make it,
I see only the clouds I’ve cast,
the rain I’ve made,
and the world
I’ve forsaken.
All I hope for
is to forget
and numb the pain
praying that I find
the peace of sleep –
of oblivion –
and that on the other side
the storm has passed
and you’ll be there,
still waiting for me,
always waiting for me.