Paper sheets, and padded walls

“Insane”, that’s all he muttered before casually glancing at the watch on wrist.
Pat noticed the iconic Omega trademark and three dial configuration upon the watches face. Often called by his outer voice as the “Ohm’s waste of time and money.” The inner voice had to admit the truth though, it is a very impressive watch even if nothing more than a needful thing to own. “Time is time whether it was told by Mickey Mouse or a Dollar Store special…”
It was the sudden voicing of random thoughts in the first or third person that made his doctor mutter obvious facts. Pat often wondered if the muttering was not the doctors own sickness pushing up into the light.
“Is my fifteen minutes up already?”
The direct questioning of the doctors movements seemed to unerve him. He moved his foot in a nervous tapping.
“No”, he replied. “There are a few more things I need to check before we can…”
Blah, blah, blah was all that Pat heard. Thoughts meandering back to the beginning of the page.
What did I say that was so insane? The truth most likely. Then again, maybe not.

Thick misty droplets of water formed upon the warriors armor. Standing before a roughly stacked alter of stone, the knight watched as wet tuffs of grass and kindling took flame. The ceaseless movement of the air blowing up from below churned red embers into imagined signs and symbols. From within the boundries of the cloud smoke darkened and grayed blending beyond visual discernment with the fog of the surrounding air.
Only the differing heat between the two defined their difference.
“Another log upon the fire”, he spoke. “Another soul traced out for judgement. Soon all will be called to bow before the Light of the coming day.”

“I have been here before. Tired hands tracing out lines upon the same blank page. Written words, gone unread, spoken echoes within my head. This same mildew that rots my skin, tants my soul, bleeding out to fill this room.
I have been here before. The same moth eaten chair whose cloth now stretches molded over a padded and wooden form. Yet it does comfortably supports my bones. Even the cobwebs and dust bunnies still decorate my world with my precious books and magazines stacked preciously near to hand.”

“Woe unto you who know not. Your blind ignorance to fate. It is the same as mine. All is vanity, worthless, pointless, and futile.”

The Sage cautiously looked around.

“The Dreamer dreams things yet unkown.
The Watcher sees from beyond his throne.
The Litch who lies entombed still knows; it is only the Author unto were your destiny flows.”

“Sometimes that guy gives me the heebie-jeebies”, the Sage spoke to himself. “I never know if he just likes repeating things for me to write down or if he is using it as a factory reset… some new beginning to disrupt the conversation in the readers mind.”

Here the Author points out the word of the day must be “beginning”. <
The Sage replies, “Do I even need to write that down?”
Yes… <

“The nurse will be back in and she’ll bring your copies of the lab tests, new prescriptions, your next scheduled appointment, and I also want her to check your BP before you go out the door.”

Pat smiled. “Sounds doable. I reckon I am due for a chat with Linda anyhow. She is always good to get my blood pressure up higher.”

“On second thought, I will just check it again myself.”

“That sounds good, Doc. It all sounds good…”

The White Thread

Souls burn in the thin air of the mountain high places
Found stone piled ever high mounds upward upon which sacrifices lay
Here the sun’s light rises red even as its setting light fades to starlit black
We are but vapor before the Lord
Barely marking a moment in time
What Law have you fullfilled that you may say you are worthy
If not all then the answer is none
For surely you are dead under the understanding of it
We were all dead once
But not for Grace given by the One
The Only Alpha and Omega
Destiny ordained that all would be cast into chains
The choice is ours
Punishment meant only for fallen angel and demon
False gods without power
If it were not for the lust and jealousy of man
Or
Before you now
The High Preist stands
The Great Comforter enshrined in the Temple of the heart
And upon the Eternal Throne
Without beginning or end
Judgement waits all
But many will not even reach this Heavenly threshold
Cast down into a Lake of Fire
Even as the last breath escapes the mouth
As a vapor cast out into utter darkness
To “Repent” your iniquity, “Accept” forgiveness, “Know” that Jesus Christ is the fullfilment of the Law, “Understand” His sacrifice was for you, and the “Resurrection” is the beggining of a New Testament for “All” the families that walk the earth.

The Oracle of the Litch

Yet my mind reaches out in thick webs of ceaseless thought
Pondering its tomb of bone and rotted flesh
Eyes that once saw the golden rays and red painted sky
Now see only images æthereal in black
Shades of the past
And the faint ghosts of a future set in myst
Yet the present goes by unseen to me
So it is
Deaths hold is but a weak curse upon me
Yet without breath
My voice is heard
A timeless chiming
Echoes of an empty hall
Awaken the daemons
Consult the daimon
Let the angels speak
Words unheard
To those yet willing to hear
Know that this is but a ripple upon the coming wave
A tsunami drapped in fire
Even as the masquerade plays out
The prophecy unfolding
Charade or riddle
Has been written by greater seer and sage
Upon yellowed scroll
Repent in acceptance of the truth
Now
Or upon bent knee

Fading the Day

Walking away
Into shades of grey
Walking away
Light fades to night
I imagine you there
Never turning to see
Even as the horizon
Blends earth and sky
A dream was all we had
And now even that has been taken from us
Nothing is real
Not earth or sky
The nothing is real
Not you or I
Nothing I feel
Makes any sense
The nothing I feel
Brings back the light

I remember the days before

I remember the days before pouring through the breach from Saudi Arabia into Iraq.
Months sitting idle standing guard, repairing equipment, training over the same lessons.

The season changed but the looming doubt and fear never did. Each day built upon itself like the ever growing dunes that piled up at the tent flaps.

On occasion some other units would become fully activated and ready. The dynamics of our purpose would change. Tents would be pulled down, moved a few hundred miles, then once again assembled. Each time the burm would not be built up so high or as wide. Each trench dug a little shallower and shorter.

We knew. Soon those protections against the world would only be a hindrance in the final day before the breach.

Live or die, most were ready for what outcome there was to be.
You see, those enlightened few had already experienced death, that blissful adrenaline rush over the edge of reality, and now only moved by muscle memory. We knew what we were to do.

Kill and die, live or die, stand up, move again, rinse, repeat. Everyday was the same day. The only difference was the sand and dirt that piled up at the door.

Soon it will be time for those that don’t know to shake back your own tent flaps. Step out into the reality of an endless day, and fight a war you did not prepare for. Those people will believe in Hell that day…

And us devils who know will be there to show you the way.

Across the Table

Thoughts of you lay concealed hidden by secret doors and curtained rooms.
Stranger things and stranger lies gather dust just beyond what seems real.
Where wooden gavels mark the minutes, and the guilty sit in uneasy repose.
Waiting there for the call of our name.
Before us all is laid bare to answer for and be fairly judged.
May wisdom give favor to the words we use.

An Anchor in the Deep, The Book of Pat

I have been here always. Knelt before the same wooden altar. Bathed my mind beneath the ever shifting light of stained glass. I have read and pondered the stories that remain framed within those panels of glass.

They are glittering jewels that dazzle the eyes. Drawing the mind into the inner light that radiates out filling the void of the room beyond.
Marble floor with the patterned grain of darkened stone tracing out it’s ancient markings from time long lost beneath the sea.
Here in quiet remembrance the candles burn, and none but I know why.

The Watcher sat just beyond the doors of the great hall.
The large metal rings which had been fastened as the doorhandles and knocker lay flaccid against the ancient wood.
Their immense diameter and thickness making anyone’s hand look childishly small.
No one as far as the Watcher knew had ever tried the rings to gain entrance to the rooms beyond.
He had though witnessed the rare occasions when those within had swung open one of the doors to come out.
Usually they emerged suddenly and in silence. The great doors hinges effortlessly giving way, and then with little effort reversing back to the closed position. It was during those random moments the Watcher was able to see the doors construction. Thick as a man’s forearm, and framed with metal bracing within. Definitely stout enough to slow any intrusion of people or sound.
As for the room beyond it was shrouded in an eternal darkness, but at the distant end one could just make out a sparkling of jewels upon the floor and a dazzling wall of colored light.
The Watcher imagined that between the brilliant glitter of jewels and blinding light a dark figure knelt silently. Any certainty on exactly what lay at the far end was to never be known by the Watcher. Some places he knew well enough to stay clear of. It’s just the way it is.

At the Beginning of Each New Day

Along the waters edge where sand and ocean meet
The worlds first words are spoken
By the soft and whispering breeze

It speaks of the many kingdoms
and of ageless palaces carved of stone
All the chambers filled with musical laughter far below in the surging sea
The echoing ripples flowing
Splashing playfully upon the distant shores above

Alas the people of the land no longer remember the beauty
Nor can they walk the halls
Time since it has passed deep beneath a sea foam gray

Softly the wind summons back the memory
As the crabs solemnly standing guard lament
And flying high overhead seabirds call out a sullen praise

There at the waters edge where sand and ocean meet