I Ate the prayer

Layer after layer, through teeth and truth.
Bones that trip and slip under.
Down into the briny wonder.
I ate the prayer.
Closed the eyes, for tomorrow will never see.
Bring that illusion back.
Roll back the time.
Sucking up event horizons and riverbed pebbles.
Milky chalk to wash the medicine down.
I ate the prayer.
Laid out on copper plates and paper trays.
Flung from hell and the devil’s lips.
That kissed and took me under.

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A break with reason

Let our eyes see, peek behind the blindfold.
Your well-worn heart heaves to a different beat.
The bones of the world hold heavy in your hands.
Try to understand.
The harm was meant for someone else.
Someone I’ve never met.
Not to shine that light on anyone I love.
The ones around me when I die.
As I try not to cry.
This two hearted monster that runs to naivety.
Boiling my brain into shadows.
Burning my blood.
Breaking my smiles down to nothing but prayers.
To only be afraid of the end.
Building myself an Allah. Building up to Jesus.
Crying and creeping out of this cradle in my mind.
There is nothing but sugar in my bones.
And desperation in these bombs.
Exploding into nothing.

Oh Father

Trying to forget, in a month full of regrets.
Each one a paper cut on my tongue.
The sting and sing of a song never sung.
Oh father, please hear these crystal callings.
Tuneful as they resonate out of my bones.
It hurts deep within, now an avalanche of sin.
A snaking of something unknown.
This internal scaffolding rattles with every utterance.
Forgiveness seems to be someone else’s fate.
But I cough up a prayer, a confession;
my contrition aimed high into heaven.
As below my skeleton shatters to dust.
Silently, as I know I deserve it.

Interred

He was buried on the Tuesday morn.
While the rest of the world slept.
Into the ground, like being unborn.
Darkness around the coffin crept.
And they left John there, in that hole the ground.
After covering him up with earth.
In spirits they wished their sadness to drown.
So drank their sorrow away to mirth.
But after a while, inside the box.
Poor John had started to stir.
From the top of his head, down to his socks.
Some chaos was about to occur.
For John wasn’t dead, he’d only been sleeping.
When they’d thought the worse and put under.
And now the panic, inside him was creeping.
To get out of that terrible blunder.
But the panic was not down to being buried alive.
Or confined in that horrible space.
For John was nearly ninety five.
And it was heaven he knew was his place.
So he did what anyone would down there.
In the dark and no longer young.
He crossed his chest and uttered a prayer.
Closed his eyes and swallowed his tongue