misty city

misty city, silent waiting night,
patient with purpose and expectation;
with calm born of nurture,
it makes stars of saints and turns
sinners into a comedy of errors
through the lure of its deceptive innocence --
a state of being cloaked with transparency
brought by the familiar moist air.

in the silence lingers intent
and the soft suggestion to seek rest
through honesty of action
and diligence of mind.
in the city things become
what the web of energy needs of them,
and in this manifestation shimmer
thousands of thoughts in rhythm
and millions of voices murmur in dreams
meant to reveal the truth in our lives.

it is this truth that lives in the mist.
we breath it in with hope to know
what we learned the night before
when starlight called us home
from the journey in the bed.

barrel of a gun

Who calls when angels rear their ugly heads?
Who weeps when teardrops fall untouched
and the pain of man rips holes in the sky?
Want for beauty and the mercy of time,
ten billions seek peace of mind
in categories pulled from war
and the conflict of faith.

Dreaded or shaved,
Veiled or painted,
adorned or plain --
when the time has come we are all undone.

Become pageantry for indecency
or quell the urge to kill.
Seek thrills in false premise
or realize yourself.
A promise to a saint
could mean the beginning of unity,
and this saint could be your pet.
Several demons I have met
with better intentions than gods among men,
and I see god in the barrel of a gun.