BLINDFOLDED - OCTOBER 25, 2010.

As a casual boy of village living.

Prancing along skylines a beauty of lining.

Sulking as the forest dies in violet, bright.

So does my heart cry, so does my heart tear.

The softest of cries and the sun rises to dry my tears.

On a slow walk home, boy, witness violence and shriek at realizing his identity.

Electricity in his veins, touching anything and everything to bring life to once living.

When I become empty, then I must die to become new again.

So then when I am alive, I have finally died to myself.

Thus, the boy now learns to die in order to live.

The first voice to speak. In the middle of falling deep.

What flesh is, is nothing. What love is, is covering sin.

Eternal, we will be eternal. Eternal, redeemed, found again.

Only by grace. Oh, only by grace. Praise.

Oh, my father, open my eyes to see the wrong of my doings.

The foreign child I have become and the seeds(dead) I have been sowing.

Forgive my ways and the plague of my sinful heart.

Demolish the wall I have foolishly set above all to show my rebellion and provide me a brand new start.

I have without sense, made the enemy of the only one who had called me.

A display case of my everything. Nothing more than a abomination, a lie of a boy claiming to be a man. 

To learn would be to become a seed again. Vulnerable, and ready to be planted. 

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Symphony, phony in every other way. Letter-writing hands and  

wilderness fingers.  No real scenery to illuminate the blast

or contain our condition.  The forest is down! Frown for me,

now the forest is down.    The wait, the wake, surrender the

snake. The neighborhood of our growing, the plaster walls of

our beginning.   If parents, you may cry. If father, mother,

should call us through the rye.        Forgiveness, pleading

forgiveness for my children.    Forgiveness for my children.

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