Embers

I allowed myself to forget the rest,
Allow happiness to take place in the
Seat of my home, mend my brittle
Bones by warmth and jokes and
Forget about the cold for a while,

 

Smile in the radiance of everything
Play songs on the radio and sing
The notes with a renewed fervor
For life and simply watch the strife
Disappear from the doorstep of this

 

Place. I don’t race to find opportunities
And maybe there’s something wrong
With me, actually there is, I know, but
I chose to let go rather than let the weight
Of the world drag me back to hell, I’ve paid

 

My dues, I’ve of the tell tales signs of the
Devil and they’re nothing new, nothing
I haven’t seen reflected in the mirror a
Thousand times, I’ve grown horns and
Found myself enveloped in fiery red,
But for now I stop. Just stop. And watch
The fire for a while.

The Faith Chronicle: Of Heaven and Hell

She borne of heaven andangel (2)
He spawned of hell, wove
Indifference to create a
Golden ladder, it crossed

The threshold of wars and
Despise and together they
Climbed to a neutral place,
Here freely discussing beauty

Of faith and soon found
Riddles spilling from their
Hands, truth unravelling and
Showing beliefs, neither had

Encountered before, minutes
Ticked by on the grandfather
Clock and as midnight struck
They would retreat, one to

Plunder, the other to sleep,
Both laying promises they
Would meet here again, and
Two lonely philosophers soon

Turned to friends, they traced
Back the centuries with compass
And scope and found stories of
Prophets boarding a boat, with

Them, a simple treasure chest,
Inside it-hope and those who
Were left, chilled on the shore
Drowning in hate, and violence,

Until they knew no more, forced
By the ocean to a bottomless pit
They found magma and warmth
And huddled around it, creating

A home, a King and a throne,
Writing revenge in the sand and
The divide was born, both inspired
To unveil this act, climbed the

Golden ladder back, each on their
Return heard a snap as the tether
Was chopped, they faced reprimand,
By their leader and father, brothers

In blood, torn wings from her back,
And horns from his head, both of
Them outcast for words yet unsaid,
And in alliance a curse was cast on

Their bones, they would wander the
Bad lands forever alone, never hear
The others angelic tones, nor recognise
The drum of feet, they may wander on
The same pathway, but by God’s hand,
They’ll never meet.

The Faith Chronicle: The Deadly Seven

Shadows curled in cornersangel (2)
Soft whimpers and curled toes
Shying from the illumination of
Your soldiers, clad in armour shaped
By the gods, the last of their kind
Desperate to survive, dragging aching
Bones and battered limbs, hidden among
The deepest recesses of the dark, hounds

Barking in the wake of their stride, these
Being of purity and light scorching the
Earth, molten waves of pain, the end of
This game, pawns taken from board and
Laid down on reality, sparks rain from the
Skies and fireflies show the way, hacking
Down the essence of time, prayers fall
On empty ears, those who listen too full of

Fear to reply, vigils on every street corner
Enticing the creatures from the hiding places,
Ending their race one and for all, tall silhouettes
Striking fear in the hearts of fear itself, a paradox
Melting in the heat of the hunt, with nowhere to
Run stumbling they seek confession, showering
Themselves in holy blessing burning on their skin,
Determined not to let them win, but their very

Existence emanates sin, according to scripture
Those who live must be wiped clean, purity
Wrapping around their souls, if there is no anchor
There is no shore of penitence, finally they move
To end this, swords in hands, ridding this land of
The seven brothers, so no one else would ever suffer

The Faith Chronicle: Our Father

Blasphemy echoes from your lips andangel (2)
Drowns in oceans of red, surging creatures
Crawl from underworlds to watch the
Resurrection of our lord, and saviour,

Thorns slit skin and veins weep in weak
Resistance, counting the sins on fingers
As they delicate remove appendages
Before the wooden station at the

Base of the rusted gate, tempting fate
to nail frustrations to your bones, fire
burns and smoke smothers, taunted
by brethren, mothers urge the truth to

shatter from your broken limbs, dragged
between grotesque statues, lead feet
and heavy head, none will grant mercy,
the dead shall rise from their graves,

with ghostly eyes, sip mass from the
souls, cries fall on deaf ears, no one
hears over the striking thunderstorm,
and rolling skies, folding infant’s in

the grey, catching demise like fireflies
luring prey to their den, deaths hounds
waiting to be fed, teeth gleaming in grave
anticipation, torn skin and spirit are hoisted

to the station, a mocking figure, a warning
to all, billowing in the violent wind He stands
over skeletal remains, a face like an angel
morphed to something else, the howling

increases as He raises his pale smooth hands,
horns creak to the side, lizard tongue licks
chapped lips and eyes that pierce the soul
dart quickly over an enthused crowd, proud
their father has returned, All Hail, they scream,
All Hail Lucifer.

The Faith Chronicle: His Servants

We are clay at mercy inangel (2)
Your merciless hands
Shaped and moulded into
Abominations, relations to

The softer born, bodies warmed
By the fire, while we act as guards
In the cold, behold, the love and
Grace of our Creator, the likeness

Of our faces matched by his own
Prideful and loving to his angel
Children, stiff and rough with
The devils spawn, warm words

Trickle down closed throat, the
Blood of the mighty, the drink
Of the rich, we dare not sip it
For fear of redemption and

Walking among the finer things,
They walk rings around us, the
Sophisticated, challenging our
Posts, they know, one tiny morsel

Out of place we are chased by the
Veils of penitence, washed in holy
Water until our skin burns and leeches
Holy words, fires bright above their

Heads, high and prejudiced, hell fire
In the eyes of the truth, stolen from
The vaults of the underworld, with it
He gifts them with the power of

Knowledge, his seven tongued children
Roam these lands spreading praise,
Killing lambs, and cooking a feast of
Serenity, stone still statues we remain,

Standing in the harsher rain of abuse,
Shivering in this dampened form,
They dance before us, carrying troughs
Of food, starved and ravaged we are

Refused seats on the table with our
Lord, and as the centuries pass here,
We are ensconced in the dark and
Dreary hollows, forever fearful and
Obedient, as He has declared.