“How art thou fallen from heaven, O day star, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, that didst cast lots over the nations! Isaiah 14:12
Winter it comes when it’s warm, takes my thought with a faire storm, and then it’s a dusty, dry deep ravine, that causes my staring grief. Closing in now near midnight, in a wash near mountain heights, so far the dawn can’t seem too strong, and I can’t leave. It seems to me all these years my desperate heart can’t steer me from the thought, spirits debunked, a tattered creed. For just this once in my life, can’t I be whole, just so nice, will you not recognize, my name, why do you still push me, to tumble into disbelief. Yonder the plains of barren land, straight on to Kansas, where corn stands, it’s all a cycle, winter, spring, summer and fall relief. Yet I don’t think it happens now, standing here believing, but yet some doubt, would it be something if you would give me eternity.
Still in the darkest, purest night, with my loins ready of hardest might, yet in the light waiting, nocturnal jest, making, I’m still not free. Better it be so cold, so cold, bastardly fires baking my immortal soul, still you will not look at me. Waiting it could be for someone, cast down, from the highest, where sun abounds, justified, no man, angels or heavens do not know me. So you come to me, and pass on by, here upon crags, that cut my thighs, though there is no blood, yet my heart is pumping inside of me. Then if not my time to come on up, where thought travels in speed insane, would you rather keep me here below. Down to those railroad tracks so thin, you keep me waiting, terribly angry just in need.
So it would seem before the morn, as the swallow fly’s by. Nature curses that, foreseen, forlorn, cast from the mountain, I am still waiting to be like what you asked I see. All around me summer time, still it feels like judgement sublime, my eyes like coals, blindly they rove, but something I see. Could be a deficient in your light I perceive.
Yes, it is true, for all these years cast out of sky’s, fettered by tears, still as I wait something in states, and wizens me. Could it be as I fell, lack of humor, or some say hell, could be I’m the left of your right, and judgment of all you see. If it’s a truth of all you need, I am here waiting cast low indeed, and all the world, all of the world is waiting, just like me. – 07.22.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל