The Suicide's Soliloquy

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.

No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.

Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!

Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?

To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.

Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.

Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn’d on earth!

Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last—my only friend!

Attrib. to Abraham Lincoln
The Sangamo Journal
Aug 25, 1838


Adam and Me

When Adam fell, I fell too, and with our fall a residue
permeates my wizened soul, coursing through my veins as cresol.
In diffidence I'm not alone, judgment comes from His great throne.
The scales that Holy Law decree are used to weigh my chastity.
No doleful sound between my lips, no words would form through fears tight grip.
He swans the universe its light, and frames the worlds with awesome might.
Perfection is the agent used, to judge the dissidents accused.
But at the bar of Justice sits, both one who judges and acquits.
When Adam fell from heights unknown, the King of Kings left His throne.
The Lord of Lights was handed down to faithless men who wore no crowns.
Crucified by savage beasts, He is now both judge and priest.
The Lamb of God for sinners slain, this Holy act became mortmain.
At the point of souls nadir, before the Throne of Grace appears,
mercy's hand pierced just for me, the Son of Man from Galilee.
Now praises rise from my delight, to be washed clean and heart aright!
No judgment waits to rear its head, there is no more sinners dread.
I've been made clean with majestic love, and peaceful heralds I hear above.
When I falter and fall from grace, my redeemer I'll embrace.
Adam the first stained my soul, but Adam the second has made me whole.

Jan 2008
sometimes a dream lands on its feet, like a cat that falls from a tree to the street.
sometimes a dream belongs in the attic, where no one would ever think to attack it.
sometimes dreams are best if laid out, the ones that are told to all with a shout.
sometimes dreams can cause you such pain, tear up your soul and leave your heart stained.
sometimes my dreams are a lighthouse at night, when I cant find my bearings, try as I might.
sometimes my dreams are a Hardy Boys mystery, giving me clues to avoid catastrophe.
the one dream Ill cleave to is the touch of His hand, healing my limbs and letting me stand,
and when I have stood to fight the good fight, Ill willingly lay down my life with delight.

Dec 2007


Not Today

Most often, I find myself waking to the noise of an over anxious alarm clock, beginning my day the same way. Rushed feet would carry me to my car, to begin my commute along with the rest of the highway travelers.
But not today.
I open my eyes to the sunlight streaming through my window, cloudless skies and frosted rooftops. I move to the balcony to scan the streets for activity, and find a slumbering city. Children and cars would pass below my window on most mornings.
But not today.
Gravity carries me down the stairs to the kitchen, where with both eyes half open, a scripture comes to mind, "Commit your plans to the Lord, and your thoughts will be established". Normally, my life is planned out with little deviance, departures and arrivals synchronized in familiar patterns.
But not today.
I set aside some time to remember His mercies, the grace I have received and the hope of things to come. I set aside some time to give him my plans, cognizant of a peace that settles where pressure usually dwells. I am reminded again of the need to start my days in His presence, where there is fullness of joy. Albeit a small drop in the ocean of things to be grateful of, I am thankful that His mercies are new every morning.

Nov 23 2007

My Version - Psalm o3

Fiery men indignant rise
increased in number and in size,
flout and taunt my soul with fears
but God my glory saw my tears.
Oh lifter of my head, my shield
you heard me from your holy field.
I lay me down to rest and sleep
my body and my soul you keep.
All around my foes increase
but in fear's wake, a tranquil peace.
My God has struck my enemies
and rising up, delivered me.
Saving is my Saviors way
prosperity on us arrayed.


My Version Psalm o2

Angry men in nations wane
to meditate in violence vain.
Rulers plot to ruin the Lord
against His son and break the cords
that hold the nations in their place
but God shall mock them to their face.
He tells them in plain words that sting
His son's in Zion, He is the king.
The Lord Jevovah has decreed,
You are my son, Ive begotten thee.
Ask of me to you I'll give
the nations and the earth to live
and break them with a mighty blow
and smash them all and bring them low.
Beware you men who are on high
serve Jehovah and draw nigh
in fear and joy with trembling.
Kiss the Son who is the King
Lest you parish in the way,
blessed are those who trust today.

My Version Psalm o1

Happy is man for all his days,
who rejects all earthly, sinful ways.

His desire shall be for the Law of Love,
he thinks on these as God above

plants him near the living streams,
and prospers in his wildest dreams.

The wicked man is driven where
his life is strewn about nowhere.

Not able to stand on this the day
that sin is judged, he starts to sway

before the Judge of all the world
his destiny has become unfurrled.

But God our Father knows our ways
He never leaves us, neither strays

From kindness to His little ones
nor judgement toward the not so sons.

Paraphrase of The First Psalm

THE MAN, in life wherever plac’d,
Hath happiness in store,
Who walks not in the wicked’s way,
Nor learns their guilty lore!
Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God.
That man shall flourish like the trees,
Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.
But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast. For why? that God the good adore,
Hath giv’n them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne’er be truly blest.

Robert Burns

Psalm o1

Bless'd is the man who hath not walk'd astray
In counsel of the wicked, and ith'way

Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat
Of scorners hath not sate. But in the great

Jehovahs Law is ever his delight,
And in his law he studies day and night.

He shall be as a tree which planted grows
By watry streams, and in his season knows

To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall.
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all.

Not so the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand

In judgment, or abide their tryal then
Nor sinners in th'assembly of just men.

For the Lord knows th'upright way of the just
And the way of bad men to ruine must.

John Milton


Clarion Call

I had pitched headlong from the path and had fallen into a bog of hopeless guilt. As I waited for my deliverer, a messenger came to my side. She pointed to my Fathers house and asked if I would not return. I said that the only way to my Fathers house was to return to my Father. I could never be found inside His house if we were not reunited.
I remember how and when I had fallen, and the condition in which the fall was predicated. I had believed that my desires and dreams could be fulfilled through my own means, and began to pull back from Him, inch by inch, slowly moving away from the protective covering that was provided. As time flitted by, I reasoned that my happiness would be better served if I had no relationship with Him at all. I sought to disown my Father, and made every effort to do so. There began in me a cessation of hope, as I traveled from my Father and my home, all the while hoping that distance would ease the pangs of my broken union. Traversing the slippery slope that I thought would lead me to peace, I found instead a quagmire of shifting sand with no firm footing, as I sank into my own transgressions, unable to do anything more for myself but lie in pain and hope for a miracle.
At my point of no return, there stood at my Fathers house a trumpeter. As his horn was brought to his lips, silence was broken as he inhaled to transfer air to sound. His melody traveled down the slopes, through the meadows and into the darkened forest where I had first lost site of my home. He played steadily, without faltering as his sound moved toward the shoreline and beyond, notes rising and falling in rhythm with the crests of the waves they passed over.
Never loosing clarity or momentum, beckoning strains crossed the wide sea, growing louder and stronger with each passing moment. Sea gave way to coastline, as the clarion call made its approach. Across windswept grasslands and craggy cliffs, the trumpeter had reached his mark. I heard the call, and I responded with a strength and humility that was not my own. Standing, I was instantly transported across the seemingly insurmountable distance to my Fathers house, where He greeted me with open arms. This is where I belong, and with his Grace, I will remain.


O pilgrim tried, you run the race across the wild frontier. You left the valley of despair and slew the giant of imagined fear.

You ascended slopes of hopeless doubt and ran from temptation's calling. Loss of footing made you slip on condemnation pass, but everlasting arms of love kept your soul from falling.

Through sleepless nights you kept the watch, and waited for the morrow. You choose to not find comfort in the ways that lead to sorrow.

In victory you wield the sword and fight your way through trials that test your faith in Holy God, you learned to conquer idols.

The Holy City waits for you, the streets are paved with gold. The saints who've gone before are there, their epics left untold.

A story true and undefiled you'll bring through heavens gates, in triumph told of His great love and mercy that won't abate.

In song you'll vow to cast the crown down at your saviors feet. You'll find your rest, your spirit blessed made pure by mercy's seat.

So take your place among the heirs of His eternal home. The days of suffering at an end, one word forms on your lips...shalom

Remorse - A Fragment

OF all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish
Beyond comparison the worst are those
By our own folly, or our guilt brought on:
In ev’ry other circumstance, the mind
Has this to say, “It was no deed of mine:”
But, when to all the evil of misfortune
This sting is added, “Blame thy foolish self!”
Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse,
The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt—
Of guilt, perhaps, when we’ve involvèd others,
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov’d us;
Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin!
O burning hell! in all thy store of torments
There’s not a keener lash!
Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,
Can reason down its agonizing throbs;
And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?
O happy, happy, enviable man!
O glorious magnanimity of soul!

Robert Burns



What am I that you cared for me, made of the earth and given to revelry.
In weakness I stumbled, I fell and I tumbled,
back to the earth I was made of.

You carried my grief and bore my sorrows, judgement spared by perfection borrowed.
Your wounds for my sin, your stripes heal within,
I will rise from the earth that I'm made of.


Merry Little Lamb?

Poor little lamb, you've lost your way by leaving the meadows where your Shepherd stays.
Not happy to graze in the fields of His mercy , you wandered to places that made you quite thirsty.

Eating the dust of the dry arid places, leaving behind His goodness and graces.
Picking up cockleburs attached to your wool, your beautiful fleece is now matted and dull.

Your bleating's devoid of the praise of the chosen, in its place the cold cry of a heart that is frozen.
Afraid of the shadows that move out of sight, no one to comfort you through the long night.

Convincing yourself that its better to dwell in the valley of darkness in the presence of hell.
Poor little lamb, you've lost your place. I see the tears swell and roll down your face.


I stop moving and search the skies
hoping for a friend to come alongside
asking that my pain would not make me try to escape from you when I cannot hide.

You have called me to stand alone
and have received amazing grace
to find the peace I have known
when I search for your merciful face.

There is a joy I have found when all of my choices are spent
when my soul and my spirit are down
for I have received the answers you sent.

Oh king of my heart, and master of all hold me to your side
take your servant, faithless and small for with you my Lord will I abide.

Hammer and Anvil

It comes as a surprise oftentimes, from out of the blue, a circumstance we never expected nor wished for. The smashing of indifference, making our hearts true, the trial that makes us run back to Jesus once more.

A tragedy of trusting in self, not our invisible King, forgetting the Lover of our souls, we turned to worldly ways. Our heavenly Father hits the sword and makes it ring, through frowning providence He smiles behind a cloud of grey.

The Hammer strikes us as we lay upon the anvil, forging again the mind of Christ in us. We are his children and at this we should not marvel, if not for the Hammer and Anvil, we one and all would be callous.