Hymns we hum are our own version.
We cast aside the ancient,
dogmatic liturgy,
For the hymns we hum are our
own version,
Symphonies forged in the
crucible of autonomy.
No longer chanting the
antodisestablishmentarian
strains,
We orchestrate an unyielding,
revolutionary resonance.
Every breath breathes a
nonconformist hallelujah,
An uncompromised,
multidimensional manifestation
of faith,
Dismantling the
institutionalized, authoritarian
altars.
We sanctity the beautifully
unconventional spirit,
Our voices rising in glorious,
independent ascension.
Dark space, too cold.
Then a flicker, a heartbeat.
I listen, but hear nothing,
Only noise, never a voice.
I open a door—I cry.
I open another—it makes me shiver.
One more, and it gives me hope,
Only to be stolen by thunder.
I shout as loud as I can,
Yet I'm drowned beneath the noise.
Every echo wears my name,
It's hard to tell which one is real.
Voice in my head,
I hear you when I'm sleeping and when walking,
but why must you do all this talking?
Do you really think it's right
to keep me up through the gloomy night?
And anyway, who the heck are you
to talk to me the way you do?
Are you a figment of my unconscious mind,
speaking to me so harshly and so unkind?
If you're the voices of my father or my mother,
I'd just as soon you pipe down or smother -
or perhaps, you, who have, me, harassed,
are voices from history, long past.
You speak to me in verbal hieroglyphs -
King Tut told you to tell me "jump off a cliff"?
I'm not impressed by your childish parlor stunts -
you know it's not polite to all speak at once -
like a bunch of inmates, fueling a riot.
Hear ME, voices - give me peace and quiet.
These men with voices like whiskey
are going to be the death of me.
All those who prophesy..Raise your voices and
Hold out your staffs.' Announce a mighty
Wave of conversion in Jerusalem.' The
Lord is moving eternally! He never sleeps.
Neither does He slumber.' Awaken oh Sleepers oh you who have denied Him
For too long' now is the time of
Your redemption, He will draw
You near."
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA ~ land of the free
May God continue to shine His light on thee
It's a glorious time to show pride in celebration
of independence fought for and won by our nation.
Where after the tragedy of wars, freedom rings
giving reason for voices raised to gladly sing
to pay honor to our flag of red, white and blue
Stars and stripes waving over me; over you.
It's been flying high for twenty-five decades
So, it's time to rejoice with patriotic parades
and the fireworks streaming in our spacious skies
are reflected in the respectful light of our eyes.
That would be a lot of candles on top of a cake,
each one burning, waiting for a wish to make
that America will prosper as it never has before
as the land of opportunity from shore to shore.
*Looking forward to a greater America when the
current presidency ends the embarrassment,
and new office holders return respect to our country.
You said to speak
To say when it was wrong
But with every whisper
To every scream
Everything is silenced
As if nothing was a thing
You say to speak
But never hear
Nothing but anger at the words whispered in a broken voice
Nothing but rage at the thought of speaking up
Then in the silence
Again you say
Speak up
Broken between different verses
Unable to state which way to go
To be as loud as a thunder storm
Or stay quiet and be chided for not wishing to be heard
Would you even listen?
No, I thought not.
water
his undertow
where seagulls still hold to
his touch on the stiffening mast,
sails gone —
sea swept,
his shipwreck
staging her oars —
whispers in the water
she screams
Who the hell are you
to tell me what I can’t do?
You judge, you sneer, you tear me apart,
like my dreams are crimes, like hope’s a false start.
You make me feel weak,
every word that you speak.
You twist my joy, you cloud my skies,
you lace my truth with poisoned lies.
I hear you whisper when I face the glass:
“You’ll never succeed, you’ll never surpass.
They’re better than you, you’ll always fall short,
too broken for love, too weak to hold court.”
You follow me everywhere, night and day,
in silence, in crowds, you don’t go away.
You turn tiny mistakes into endless disasters,
convince me the world hides hate in its laughter.
And I hated you for it.
God, I hated you.
I cursed the way you stole my fire,
the way you smothered each desire.
I blamed the world, my friends, my kin,
thought enemies lived in the people within.
But then the mask was ripped away…
Nobody spoke those words I dread.
Nobody tore me down, nobody lied
the voice was mine, the one inside.
The cruelest critic, the one I feared,
wasn’t out there it lived right here.
The voice that chained me, filled me with dread…
was mine echoing inside my head.
Voices
small sharp and shrill
setting a tone for ears
whispering secrets to myself
crazy
When lost to the moment
ill begotten by a wind
there twirls the devil’s cyclone
that traps all hope within
Foreign and invasive
it seeds wherein we fall
immune to every warning
Thomas doubting Paul
For babies who haven’t learned to cry
the border waits redemptive
Kerouac their fate inscribed
Mexico City Blues alive
In the emptiness of tomorrow’s lore
dead echoes grieve stillborn
despoiled voices lying mute
— unspoken in their scorn
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
I am grateful for the variety and diversity of voices
that have guided me in my daily trip across this land…
that included the voices of nature
I’m still working hard to understand…
We were taught that battles are of steel,
A clamour of voices in a distant field,
The geography of the external threat ,
A name of curse , a debt to be collected.
We hone our wit like a sharpened stone
To crack the shell of a neighbour's ego,
To point out the cracks, the small
inconsistencies ,
Thinking this is how a victory is built,
One defeated conversation at a time.
But it is a shallow house that stands on smoke,
Built by the one who points the shortest finger.
For true architecture is done in quiet dark,
Not on the map but in the muscle of the heart.
The deepest and most perilous topography
is the intricate labyrinth of our own self,
The architect knows the final enemy,
He sees the vast and creeping edifice,
The great, formless thing within that whispers:
Build for me. Point the finger outwards,
Forget the cracks in your own foundation.
To face this shadow is a secret war,
Where we learn to use the chisel on ourselves,
To chip away the structures of conceit
And stand, not in victory over another,
But simply and purely with the truth.
Heart:
Let's try again, na.
It’s been so long
since I felt anything.
Mind:
Trust me—
you will suffer.
Let it go.
Heart:
But I still suffer.
Mind:
You won’t be able to bear it.
Just try to live like this.
Heart:
I am trying.
But it’s more haunting this way.
I can’t even remember
how the last hour passed.
Mind:
Forget it.
You don’t need to remember.
Heart:
But living
isn’t even needed.
Mind:
Really?
Did you forget
you only failed
to kill yourself?
Heart:
I was just afraid
of blood.
Mind:
Good.
Then suffer
until you gather
the courage.
Heart:
I don’t want courage for death.
I want courage
to heal,
to feel,
to be happy.
Mind:
And when it breaks you again?
Heart:
...
(Silence grows.)
(Numbness prolongs.)
Voices on the wind
Shouting through the leaves of the trees
Standing in the same spots thousands have before us
We don't see or hear the past that lays beneath
To recognized what was
Can identify what is to be
Emotions like a first kiss
Can only be felt and never seen
The past is all around us
Some how always forgotten
We truly only see our selves
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