200 Years (Every Praise)


“The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.”-Alexander Fraser Tytler

(Every Praise)

Now oh Judea before what rides, a strain of white lightning across the Galilee sky. G_D of all your mercy before you I rise in every praise.

200 years of lies and scorn, against the better reasons we all are born, how will we rise to greet the day from years of nightmare, of nuclear decay. 200 years of crazy thoughts, anarchist dreams of the fiddler’s knot, of that purgatory that knows no end, a socialist dream, a socialist sin. Where are you when black shirts come, to deliver your daughters to prosecute your sons. Know it now, know it true when they come for the weakest, they come for you. Oh believer, oh my heart, know thy love when all this starts. Know thy faith, honest true, what is forever starts in you. 200 years a circle starts, look toward the future is it dark? Clap your hands is it still dark?

If I had a telescope, in that saw real time, I would train it skyward and look for the shine. I would send it forward through present gloom, 200 years beyond our ruin. What would I see, what would I know? Would we be mortal, or demons without a soul? Would we still dance, or move around, would we have ego’s or would we be a part of a collective sound? For the want of an answer then I pray, for the need of a vision I turn my back on this day. For an open conversation I kneel and I say “YOU are my G_D”. For an open conversation I kneel and I say “YOU are my G_D”.

200 years of going before the storm, finding you in lightning in a different form. Finding you in weakness when I cannot see there you are in all that I believe. Night birds calling before the end of time, plague and persecution from what we thought was kind. Not an ideology or personal belief there you are. Going forward now from way back then. 200 years backwards and 200 till then, you are light eternal, the better of sin, you are every praise. Now oh Judea before what rides, a strain of white lightning across the Galilee sky. G_D of all your mercy before you I rise in every praise.

200 years of what we are. Bowing in our terror of what we see afar, every cloud, every thought, every praise. Oh, my creator of thought and psalm, oh my creator of thought and dream, bring me to you where I can see. Where I can see. Every praise of thought from inside of me, past present future to the ides that be. 200 years that goes beyond me, let light be. Every revolution before the dawn, sing hallelujah our inward song, oh my little children that our yet to be. Sing every praise. Sing every praise.

(Every Praise)

“I said it in the darkness, as the change flew under head. G_D is not changing, and neither is he dead.” – 08.17.20 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

The Other Wing (Passover 2017)


The spirit, that was one, spoke to me near my failings, one wing that of compassion, the other a crimson red! It was a dark angel, that rescued me!

And the daemon came, the one that balances the ancient of that one name!

And he told me to hide, that night from that dark angel’s game!

The last fire has signaled that it will not glow, and everyman in his dream, has gone so far below. Into that city, where the shadow of Giza lays, Egyptian kings, among fetid things, no souls, to lie in decay. History speaks of shadow lands that lie in will below, waiting for the paradigm of a shift in seed to know. So, it is a story now, I tell of the other wing, the unbending bow in a red tipped flow, that bowed when judgment came. Goshen lies in sediment, grazed in spirit by something came, that, that is, not a son, or a pascal lamb, but a G_D that is always, one, I am. A question now, a question, after all these years, to you as a people, and you in kind, will you bless me this day? And if this other wing of mine, that darkens its own course, would you come to realize that it’s part of light’s own force?

For I’m an open window, that shuts when it will, but my glass has two sides you see, and I always will. Not seen through a dark glass coarsely, what a silly thing. If you look to see in front of you my cloud is darkened teal, and when you turn in your desert, you’ll see compassion is real. My other wing it comes this night, dropping deadly from your own sight, and as you sleep, in the light, I’ll kill, that which would deny, my ancient will.

I am an ingrained tetragram, not an illusion, Eden’s fan, with two wings. I sigh, when you cry, my eye’s red rimmed, I hear you cry. A will of force, is part of me, and my letters fill a sapphire sea, for spoken existence is what you are to me. For every century, every year, from your own minutes, in addictive tears, I turn my wing, the one tipped red, I will fly, right over you in these darkened skies. Do not look to see me pass by.

The spirit, that was one, spoke to me near my failings, one wing that of compassion, the other a crimson red! It was a dark angel, that rescued me!

And the daemon came, the one that balances the ancient of that one name!

And he told me to hide, that night from that dark angel’s name! – 04.07.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Eagle Rock (55)

Move a little bit, and open up your door, come on outside with me, it’s just a little holiday to celebrate something, higher than our eyes can see. For up there really far on the Mummy Range, a trail twist and turns then it bows in pain, it introduces itself as my life and gain, for it is me, on my birthday it is me. Eagle Rock it lays like a woman spread, at thirteen o seventy elevations head, such a pretty site and its Hagues Peak, on my birthday where wings are formed, it is me. Come a little closer with your broken dreams, hike a little higher, with your shattered seams, know if I can do it, through all of my life, you can too, on Eagle Rock, turn around, let loose your arms and fly.

On my birthday brother you could see if I rhyme, tell a pretty story about this high mountain climb, but I’d just laugh and say it’s been all my life, nothing’s changed, I’m the creature of a habit of the G_D with no name. That brings me to a subject here on Eagle Rock, stretching my hands toward the summit of naught, sister let me breath in your ear a dream, I am free, in these seventy-two names, I see, you can too, just breathe. After all in all those circles, and those thoughts of blame, you been around this lonely mountain in a time of shame. Time to climb it with your teeth bared in a grin of flame, climb it high, to Eagle Rock.

From here above the timberline an eagle screams, I match it on my birthday, for all it means, I’m something born of Torah, while the whole world sings. Here on my day, the dead move away, for I am alive, on Eagle Rock. Come on dance with me, through the bare aspen lot, climb a rocky trail, breathe, be who you were told you’re not, here above the common traits of man, find your soul, on Eagle Rock.

Move a little bit, and open up your door, come on outside with me. It’s just a little holiday to celebrate something, higher than our eyes can see. I’m fifty-five years old, and I’m born in peace, here I am, come with me, on Eagle Rock, blessed be, on Eagle Rock. – 11.03.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Come do the Eagle Rock with me, it’s my birthday, I’m 55!!!!! – “Well I feel so free” J

Isaiah (Morning)

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

It seems to me that most of self looks to another, looks to see, if what description that blueprint of few, is all of what Facebook, makes it of you. It seems that we look, look real hard to find our description, of what we are. We look to another, one less than, to say we are better, much better than. It seems to me all of what we are, is not real world, that of the blood, that of the reason, that draws us true like G_d or the season, we are nothing through. Oh simple man, or woman in skirt, one who sewed it, that made it worth, do you not know, or have you not seen, that Adonai made you, made you to scream. Made you to laugh, formed you in mud, made you a vampire to suck only love. Better yourself, the one who don’t look, the one who bends better, and mirrors forsook. One of the harvest, cut from the rest, that could not rely on what social said is best.

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

It seems to me, that Lucretius formed a better truth, said that the Universe is centrally stood, said that your molecule, is human hood, made for the atom, made under sun, destiny fortune, better than sum. In all of future, gathered of past, right here before you, treasured at last. Do you not know, and have you not heard, you could fly stronger, better than if you lowered yourself into the herd. That lonely, lonely herd.

Morning!

“Do you not know, have you not heard”

So better your something, better your grand, know that your interest lies in a plan, not that of others, those that don’t know, those who seek victim, when their life is low. Do you not know, and have you not heard, you are created better than earth, not to a worship, not to a sun, not to a thing, that’s shiny when done, well really not to sex when bodies grow old, but to a spirit, that’s mystery untold. It seems to me that most of self looks to another, looks to see, if what description that blueprint of few, is all of what Facebook, makes it of you. – 08.27.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Forgiveness מְחִילָה


Today is the day!

Together we come to seal the vault, hand in hand, a stroll through the desert to face the storm, and that sand that swirls and blows, lifeless shame that binds. It can no longer make us blind. The secret you see doesn’t matter, not the me or the you, for sorrow is not love, neither is loss or gain, for everything is in time, and all this stage belongs to G_D, and his compassion belongs to us. Who is a king, a rich woman, so beautiful and clean, a social justice warrior in Queens, a soldier of the Crips, when they have lost their future and rage? Where goes the deviant, the strong, the wise, and the tortured of ISIS, the new car we lust for, when emotion takes all, that has been stored. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Are you pagan, or brother, white witch that seeks a fire rite, Muslim, disciplined with pride? Do you cry for Jesus, striding in rose petals like a Sikh in the rain? Have you climbed great mountains, found your wilderness, is it your home? Are you cut deep, that tomb holding vampires that in your night, that eventide that last forever, rise from their cold, cold graves? It seems to me now, maybe we are not we at all, that what we learn to live without, makes us learn to live again. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Together we come to seal the vault, this spirit and I, and the desert has bloomed, the struggle for water, has never made me appreciate forgiveness more. And there is no longer you and I, joy or pride, there is missing a community of emotion, those shadows that contribute to uncertainty and a lack of grace. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door. – 08.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Far end of the Black (Cherokee Park)


“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to wild places, to see the light, the fading light, and there was black. Into heaven I rose, into lonely lands, on my own I found memories of some things, tragic spells that I lacked. And those places, so high and free, those dwellings of stone, those places that seemed so black, brought me back, so high they were my friend, and they brought me back. I am a soul who has come too closely to what is not right, and by virtue, what is right, and here in these high places, where there is black, there is light great light.

So close to Wyoming here, so close to G_D, and yet he hides, there among the sandstone, and conifer, the pinon and deep shadows. My frown turned into a debt, my childhood scars, no one knows about, those frights, and glass defenses shattered by life. I cast them into that pool of sand, and it turns into black, while demons dance all along my back, my white, white back. And ruins they come, throwing their stones everywhere around, and it seems they place themselves on the meadow where I might never find my way back. Holy, holy I cry, turning to see there in the wild place, the far end of the black, the stones form around me tight, a place I might find. A path to breath in light.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to stop what was black, to resurrect a magic of right. You see my fears, have made the one of the world something, lost to my sight. And it was cold, frozen beyond anything, close to what I had ever been told it would be. And the wind blew from left to right, from left to right, for all that is known, he is not, for he is foreign, hidden in a sea of compassion and darkness, waiting at the far end of the black, in light.

And he called me Daniel in the park of the Cherokee, his dances were waves of light, I Am, I Am, he gave me with liquid rays, that touch, that kisses me, at the far end of the black, at the farthest end of the black!

“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*. – 08.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*The Chronicles of Mihai – Daniel Swearingen
* Far end of Black – J.R. Richards

Ruins


There oh Ruach fulfill in me, springtime of a destiny,

Rain in ruins, and what’s now green,

There my shadows build a hall of kings,

A hall of kings.

And Ruach fills my ruins with glory.

The train of his robe fills my shadows with glory.

Are we not candles in melancholy black, falling like ashes while no one looks back? Neurons in transit, a darkness of attack, ruins in corners hidden, a high so many lack. Falling like poets on a dusty road, writing to edges where nobody goes, and ruins and pieces, these parts that give back, oh those lonely byways, light that pain attracts. Have you built a cabin, one that leaks in rain, wood that is your story that celebrates your pain? Ruins on dusty highways, pictures looking back, an issue of our century, genius of our tack. Ruins, I’ve seen them bloody, shells of men in pain, and a glory of what’s hidden, in the writer’s rain. For when the brow is furrowed, worried, sights unseen, that ruin of all depression is where G-D’s light is seen.

Tested in great fury, scratches on your back, those who do not worry are those who should look back. For their sits an angel, dark temper in his sleeves, watching special failures, to see those who do not leave. When in all dark passion, when in charm you lack, G-D will kiss your blindness your ruins he will take back. For lonely is a fullness, shadow is a rite, unto you who do not see straight, is a way for light. Come now build your character in ruins that are unseen, gold in tested fire of anchors staid by kings. Ruins that call a people, where only ghost still sing, rising in your fortune, turn around and see.

Settle with the liar, those who hold you back, those who pretend that ruins are things that you lack. Go beyond the picture, those definitions seen, descriptions of your weakness, those teachers that cannot see. Delve into your darkness, pastels that turn to black, commandeer your shadows, your G-D he wants you back. It is now here in all Ruach, that breath that shakes the sun, your night that’s held you’re willing, and the light that brings you back. Your ruins they are spirit, a conscious of your past, a forward of your person fulfilled you should look back, your light is shadows past, your light is shadows past, your light is shadows past.

There oh Ruach fulfill in me, springtime of a destiny,

Rain in ruins, and what’s now green,

There my shadows build a hall of kings,

A hall of kings.

And Ruach fills my ruins with glory.

The train of his robe fills my shadows with glory.

Ruach – A Hebrew word meaning “wind” or “spirit“. In its prophetic form as Ruach HaKodesh it is derived from the Talmud equating Divine Inspiration (Ruach haKodesh), and a Divine Voice as the word used to refer to the Spirit of God, or Holy Spirit, in the Tanakh. For me Ruach that most holy of holy’s resides in the ruins of my soul. 07.16.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Shoshanna’s Psalm

Shoshanna,

Let us go a ride into a life of season, clinging to a psalm of delight, sail upon a cloud of olive eyed spirit, overly the keys of a sighing night. There are tides that I will move within a desert, bring forth a bed summon there upon my thighs. Kisses when the sky falls, and begs for legion, I will bare your shoulders, a thousand wishes by my sight. Let a witch bend your spine, and daze your spirit, turn your fallow skin, on a Judean night, set a seal of oil upon your eyelids, thrust you ever gentle till, the seal is made tight. There are falling sons of seventy nations, a span of jealous lights of heavens far high. They would die bled dry on a daemons altar, watching morning rise to be with you tonight.

Shoshanna,

Bespoken by this summons of a Magen coven, essence of a psalm, that takes us through a life. Would I come to you where the sea is weeping, show me rings of light, while questions learn of why, under open sky, less it pass us by. Shoshanna is a rhyme that consumes reason, shifting in my craft, I cry out take my flight…and then she sees, I’m not a mighty witch, I’m only me.

For honest thought, for spirit that would bring a lady what he’s not, a sudden inspiration from some galaxy, a G-D like change that interacts with me, and purifies my magic, and I’m caught, and spins the coals of life into her fold, and she believes and touches me.

Blessed be, he that interacts, and brings her soul intact too me, a song, a thought of magic strong, between Shoshanna and me, and all the world does turn, for deficient light has ceased, a witch on his knees, and in his place of strength a psalm. What is me, when every thrilling spell is gone, and its two come to one, and it’s special like a private night song. Shoshanna’s Psalm. – 02.24.2015 – דניאל

Daniel Swearingen – Shoshanna’s Psalm

Games Someone Plays (Isaiah’s Chorus)


Wonderful, that tip of your mind, that part the rebel blind, thinking you can change the world, watching leftist dance in swirls. Do you not know, that change is a constant see, what you deem change for some, will be your frivolity. For indeed time is change, prepare yourself to see a new way, for all your cultural wars, will end up at your door. That hooded monk, the one with thesis that he wrote when he was drunk. Those points of liberation, come down to libation, he and all those since, those before with weapons spent, they change the world they say, oh nothing little rebel changes anyway. Blame the one you hate, you’re not full of love when you forsake, that one with which you disagree, they’re not so stupid, you’re the one who can’t see. This world has a day, war, creation all the same its foundation stoked in games someone plays.

Time immortal rolls, you think you bring the change when bells toll, those aren’t chimes you see, that is time laughing in glee. If you’re the left of sight, do you really think it’s, your eternal berth to change the world, to take from creations breath, and make things right. All is time you see, fallen before infinity, and rationale is rife, with faulty virtue, that, can collapse before destiny’s sight.

Oh little elitist games, those times at the Hamptons planning everyone’s day, those runs to Hollywood, to get your fine attention from those already ruined. This world has a day, war, creation all the same its foundation stoked in games someone plays.

Why trust the tongue, it utters nonsense at every sum, it turns the night to day, when only G_D can let breathe stay. Man will issue change, the nobody rules the honored of this day.

Constant in this day, change is meant for men who play, oh persistent when he stays, a lover, spirit, that does not change anyway, and still your blessing wanted, your magic summoned, your body wanton, before all encompassed, change is issued stay. This world has a day, war, creation all the same its foundation stoked in games someone plays.

Bloodstains, washed away, spirit by cloud fire by night, it stays. A shelter for the ones betrayed, a bosom for the ones who have been betrayed, a garden constant for the slaves of change. A world be known where there is no change, a constant tone where all can play, won’t you hang up your weapon and come play. – 02.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


I Said, He Said

A healthy planet I said.

Frank’s Red Hot Cayenne Pepper Sauce he said.

Ying than yang I said.

Judgment than compassion he said.

The full moon is bright I said.

The beggars eyes are light he said.

It is a cute puppy I said.

You are blessed with breath and children he said.

The blessing of music I said.

Led Zeppelin, he said.

War and bitterness I said.

All is vanity he said.

To know virtue I said.

There is hunger he said.

To fly like a bird I said.

747, he said.

To know peace I said.

Is there one honest man, he said.

To see your face I said.

Meet your neighbor, he said.

My faith is weak I said.

Reality is not of the spirit he said.

So many in need I said.

A sadness to talk of he said.

So many rebels I said.

They become tyrants he said.

To love myself then others, I said.

Narcissism, he said.

To find the true path I said.

It forks many times he said.

To make it to heaven I said.

You live in Colorado, he said.

To have prayers answered I said.

To not ask he said.

To study and teach I said.

To do in silence, he said.

To not worry, I said.

Tomorrow I made too, he said.

To be left alone I said.

Six feet under, with garlic, he said.

I want to care for others I said.

I want you to not care what others think, he said.

To walk in Torah, I said.

To live Torah, he said.

To take care of my body as your temple, I said.

Again, Frank’s Red Hot Cayenne Pepper Sauce he said.

To live my days for you, I said.

To live, he said. – 02.01.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל