The Grand Artisan

God … the ultimate Artist
The supreme Scientist
The intimate presence within
and throughout this existence
Regenesis … poetry in motion
Is she masculine
or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Are we just avatars
in a game of actual reality
Is this life
an artistic documentary
viewed through
all the agony
and the ecstasy
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand
upon the canvas of eternity?

Or are we just
rats in a laboratory?
A collection of quarks
traversing the dark?
Mere particles within
the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
An infinitesimal spark
in a dimension mechanical?
Speaking of relativity
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum
Is that the universal story?

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Contra Versia

The contradiction
within creation
a perpetual balancing act
with the disharmony
of destruction
That spark of oblivion
as sharp as a knife
From every dimension
in every direction
a never ending question
Salvador Dali whispering
. . .  “Everything
that is contradictory
creates life.”
Conformity is death
Imperfection breeding strife

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The Broken Hallelujah

For the children
of a grand delusion
who never stopped dreaming
For those hurting
through all the loving
and the loathing
who fell
chasing their own tail
like a sacrificial offering
to a reflection glistening
four sheets to the wind
and under the full sail
of a fevered imagination

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Empathogenesis

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Bursting forth
from the Hotel Eden
a thunderous explosion
The trembling earth
cracked wide open
as from the fiery breath
of a vengeful dragon
Smoke and dust swirling
Grasping flames
Hot tongues of venom
Shattered glass descending
as vicious rain
over everything broken
The dead and the dying
a shrine to destruction
Upon the bloodied lips
of dazed confusion
a burning question . . .
“How could a loving God
allow this to happen?”

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Werewolf Déluge

“Just keep on walking!”

I saw a werewolf

with a hymn book in his hand

prowling around

as he sniffed the ground

from Jonestown to Gaza

He’s that well manicured gent

some say he is heaven sent

Huh, I’d like to meet his tailor

You can hear him howling

on your television set

Better not turn it on

Little old lady got bitten

late last night

Werewolves of religion again

. . . Ooh Ahh

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The Writing On The Wall

Can you hear

a whisper in the air

with that certain scent

the serene accent

of a reality much higher ?

Like the clockwork

of a Wagnerian concert

upon a flow of celestial poetry

Do you have an ear to hear?

When it comes down

to the state of the heart

do you even care?

🔆 🔆 🔆 🔆 🔆 🔆 🔆

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