Another year escaped me

trying to halt the cosmos spinning

but the Cheshire cat kept grinning

so I track of lost time

I prefer be late than lost;

immersed in restless pacing

so focused on the racing

that I’m blind to miracles

So raise your glass and find me

with all my cares behind me

and I’ll even let you join me

and we’ll drink to open eyes



I had lost track of time

standing still, staring intently

at the worn wooden entrance.

Did I have the courage to see

what lay on the other side?

The door was so plain

yet so menacing.

It seemed to grow

taller, wider, darker.

Masked in ivy the barrier stood,

able to sense my cowardice.

Wracking my brain to recall

how I had come to be here

only led to further questions.

The timbered gateway remained.

In fear I turned away

praying for any alternative

only to find the passage that

led me here was undone.

That’s when I knew,

it was divine.


The devil is in the details;

the quiet repetitions of intricate patterns.

Awaiting an eager, trusting soul

to charm into complacency.

You’d imagine him frightening

but he’s delicate like lace.

Circular, elaborate designs

comprise his parameters-

a sickening but lovely hypnosis.

So I

I fight against this conditioning.

satisfied in the knowledge

that there is more to existence

than soft distractions.


I’ve mapped it out

a thousand times;

I am some kind

of architect.

Envisioning a life

engineered by vanities.

Serving myself,

believing I know

what’s best.

But this structure

is insecure,


I dream of

a fortress that is

cracked and faulty.

Brought down

by simple storms

and weak winds.

I lament to admit

I need a designer

more skilled

than I.


I never even saw your face

since you were sleeping on the ground

An heir of God’s amazing grace

who seemed more lost than found

Your concrete bed and outstretched hand

asked for something more

Facing the fact that you’d been damned

to this life among the poor

I parted my lips to say something

I opened my arms to do something

And for a moment I was you; helpless

unsure of where to start

The tragic image of your figure

was carved into my heart

I hope you know that you’re watched over

and that angels dance for you

And even still moreover

you can always have life anew


We worked hard

to serve ourselves-

building golden thrones and legacies.

Murderous succession

settled in our hearts,

and we the Kings

drank power like wine.

We entrusted our fate

to the inanimate

and offered our own flesh

in bloody sacrifice.

Our desperation for survival

could hardly be satisfied;

a spirit that would lead us

to a palace called Exile.

But the history we worked

so hard to write

was undone by a man

who rode in

on a donkey.



Conversing with the mad hatter

sipping wine from a teacup

leaving lipstick stains around the rim.

He wipes my words off my sleeve-

and when I see his eccentricity

it lights up me like electricity.

My reckless heart undoes me

but I’ve no agenda save God’s.

The hatter smiles back at me

Like he knows something I don’t.

He can see I once lived half-alive

but playing the victim’s not my style.

Our discussion marches into night

and he pours me another cup of endearment.

"If only our tongues were made of glass, how much more careful we would be when we speak." -Shaun Shane