Am I a stubborn child, just a little boy,
screaming for access and order—
for blood?

No, I am a wrinkled man,
just a bag of bones,
sitting with scoffing accusers
watching the world go to hell.

God, how can I see and not see?
How can I hear and not hear?
Believing is easy, but living’s impossible…

Here, towards the open sky, I pray,
“God, take the stone away.”
Is it true that You conquered the grave?

Like a thief in the night You will come.
No one can know what time.
How will I know You if I cannot see You

and live and war with myself,
that part of me
that tells my father I hate him
for bringing me into this world—
so full of evil?

Declaring war on my old man.
He buries my head deep in the sand.
He spins the truth to weave a lie.
He feeds on death to stay alive.

Declaring war on my old man.
The stumbling grumbler, broken hands.
Softest worm tongue, friendly ghost.
The parasite that drains the host.

Inventing evils, full of scorn.
Stuck in a mirror, devouring porn.
Bows before the gods of war.
He holds his worth in empty form.

His no is yes; his yes is no…

Thank You for bringing me
into this world of mystery.
Thank You for releasing me
from my own fantasy—random chance.

Thank You for the hardest times,
the lessons learned, the nursery rhymes.
Thank You for freeing me
from the clutches of my enemies.

Thank You for the well-placed word,
the winter swell, the hummingbird.
Thank You for blessing me
in Your universe full of glory.

Loosen up, son. I’m a Californian.
There’s not enough time to waste
in a day.

I lay awake;
talk shows tickle my ears.
I pat myself on the back.
I’m not like those rednecks.

I love my own demise.
I keep a pleasant little lie.
It’s better to be left here
than standing over there.

On my own judgement,
I’ve read all the right rags.
I merely operate on data;
I only analyze the facts.

Who are you? Your rulers are children.
Who are you? Your ministers rapists.
Who are you? Your pundits comedians.
Who are you? You’re scared of your brother.
Who are you? Who am I?

Listen up, son. I am an American.
My ancestors worked so hard
to spoil you blind.

You lay back and take it easy.
Everything is under control.
My progeny will pay
for what you take today—
you deserve it.

To pay for your policy,
let us all bend the knee.
Let the new priestly class
divvy up the cash for the grifter.

Who are you? Our prophets comedians.
Who are you? Our priests are pedophiles.
Who are you? Our kings are bad actors.
Who are you? We’re scared of each other.
Who are you? Who am I?

Who pays for the strip malls,
parking lots, and corn walls
that line the freeway?

Who pays for the poison food,
the protests, the channels used
for nightly programming?

Who commissioned those
obnoxious ads that autoplay
while I’m pumping gas?

If we’re at peace,
then why do we wage war to eat
the heart out of the land?

I don’t know. Is this home?

Why do all the greatest minds
just waste their time
to read and write click bait?

What happens when democracy
consistently
selects our greatest morons?

Is it me? Is it you?

Who pushed all this policy
to force the poorest
in the jaws of necessity?

How can we sit comfortably
in our TV command stations
bombing other nations?

I don’t know. I guess I’m slow.

We don’t make quite enough
to set aside our trust.
We want a safety net,
so we won’t have to ask You.

You gave us fish and bread.
You got into our heads.
Inside our hearts were cold;
we will not let You touch them.

And all the counterfeits,
they feel as real as this.
Would we risk all we’ve known
when we can’t tell the difference?

We come for fish and bread.
You offer life instead.
We don’t believe we’re dead.
You’d leave us empty-handed.

No, we’ll take up the stones
that You left untransformed.
They cry out for Your blood.
They’ll cry out till we cast them.
We know we know what’s best;
we put You to the test.

Crucify Him!

Why is your ambition to destroy us?
How do you drag me in
with your suicide and your fire?
How do you steal my will,
ache my back, drown my heart?
Why do I try to reason?
You’re irrational and slippery.

I cannot forget you.
Oh, I cannot forget you are not me.

Why do you follow me around
as a jester, as a clown?
You are the eye that makes me stumble.
I should pluck you out
of my weary head.
How do you slip in through the bottle
and hold my head down,
cross my feet up?

Why do I want you around still,
around until
I’m dead and in the grave
with the foolish and the shamed?

I cannot forget you.
Oh, I cannot forget you are not me.

The talking heads have taught me
to hate the other team.
Critique the symptoms of their sickness,
then contract the same disease.

I put an ad out for abusers:
got so many mean replies.
I’m a newly-minted victim
even you will recognize.

Murder takes hold in the heart,
tearing people apart.
You don’t need a knife.
You don’t need a gun.
Yet the damage will be done.

We want compassionate programming,
so we can keep our fingers clean.
Won’t put a face to the statistics:
they should be heard but never seen.

It’s an executive order
from the president of pop:
“You’ll be ostracized forever
if you entertain independent thought.

Let murder take hold in your heart.
Rip this country apart.
You don’t need a gun.
You don’t need a bomb.
Let the damaged will be done.

Let murder take hold in your heart.”

Lord, please. Stop them from killing—
the legion contriving to murder children.

Send them to the fire.
Soak the whole earth
with their cold blood.

Slay them, God, please, or save them
Make the earth clean;
deliver the just reward.

In the graves they hollowed out,
let them go down. Let them go down.

Lord, please. They won’t stop hurting,
rationalizing, self-justifying.

They will not repent.
Your people are sleeping.
They will do nothing.
They let them run away into the fire
where the worm never dies.

Stop them. Slay them and save them.
But keep them from killing
Your beautiful children.

If it be Your will, spare one from death
as You did for me.

God, please. I have no children,
and You watch the bloodshed.
What are You doing?
Why won’t You stop them?
What should I do? What can I do?

Lord, please. Why are You waiting?
Wipe the earth clean
of those who kill babies.

Let them turn from murdering, or
turn them away, if they’ve chosen death.

How long must we wait for You?
Are You still watching?
Are You still listening?

I’m not sure how we got here—
this temple’s filled with lies,
with wolves in shepherd’s clothing,
with sheep with wolves inside.

Now they are so damned, hungry—
they eat their young as bread;
they break our bones and grill us
when we do as they’ve said.
They cry against His Spirit;
they play like God is dead.

I must’ve been heard when I cried out.
The more I understand,
the smaller I become.
Now that I can see, I see I know nothing.
The misery of man,
I leave it in Your hands.

Don’t let me be sorry
for trusting Your story; I’m constantly
holding my breath. O, my God.
I’ll wait for the sky to split open;
my hope is I won’t fall asleep
in the way. O, my God.
I know what You did though
to poor Jeremiah; I fear You’ll be doing
the same with me. O, my God.
But I’m done trying for the city
to lift me up to jump
from a high rise. O, my God.

The wisdom of this world is folly.
I’m gonna be recognized as crazy—
a crazy fool.

I must’ve been heard when I cried out.
You opened up the sky;
scales fell from my eyes.
Now that I can see, I see I know nothing.
Let Your Kingdom come.
Let Your will be done.

I don’t care what they tell you:
They trust a clever lie.
They think they will not answer
for ripping up His bride.

Again, they crucify Him.
He turns it on its head.
He makes His murderers holy.
He overcame the dead.

And though you don’t deserve this—
angry and feeling judged—
He offers freely life now…

O, Lord, please give me a child.
May I find favor in Your sight.
I want to be; I want to be a father.
I want to train soldiers for the battle.

Why, Lord? Why withhold Your grace?
I know I have hid from Your face,
but You called me;
You called me anyway.

O, Lord, why open my eyes
and keep me broken?

You called me; You called me to the battle.
Is this it? Is this the battle?
’Cause I don’t want this;
I don’t want this battle.

O, Lord, give me rings like a tree
with many years and a progeny.
Give me sons. Give me daughters.
Let them drink;
drink from Your waters.

O, Lord, please give me a child.
Or put me, put me on the front line.

Though we are both crazy,
though we are both numb,
we can hush the grumbling;
the battle has been won.

The Lord can bring us children,
build up for us a home—
a life beyond the wealthy
in the family of the Son.

If we focus on the problems,
if we center on the pain,
we’ll live like this forever;
we’ll always be insane.

Let us peak through the curtain
at the source of the light
through the lies that made us certain
we could live by faith in sight.

And I am horribly afraid,
dumbstruck and agape.
I will always be in awe of Your glory.

A sea of glass and fire
rising up in a wave;
politicians screaming,
their monoliths ablaze.

The riches of the world
bring cancer of the flesh,
but the riches of the heavens
give life by way of death.

I am terribly afraid,
horrified and amazed,
by the immeasurable things
You have made in Your glory.

We go out on a road trip
to all the stunning parks,
hear the rumbling of Old Faithful,
gaze upon the stars.

We stand atop a mountain,
cry out into the wind,
give thanks for forgiveness
and the conquering of sin.

Till we have faces,
who can comprehend
the majesty of beauty
and the jealousy within?

Has Psyche lost her senses
to the Mountain God unseen?
The truth is surely crazy
in the broken minds of men.

I am trembling in Your grace,
thunderstruck before Your face.
What is all this You have made
for Your glory?