Ticket to Ride


She said to me,

Your tradition says you follow, think without your mind, place yourself into the furnace, suffer and be kind. Rebel only in civil ways, do not mark a cheek. It’s not so far a distance between self-ego and being weak. You seem to say it’s all about you with heaven to gain. You say you, want to make it through, masochistically blue, to the opposite flame. Why indeed it’s true how humble of you, perhaps simple not to realize when love is by your side. Your walk, you say has all the marks of someone saved and blind, not at all interested in that you have a ticket to ride. You say change is nonexistent in the straight path that you climb, and therefore your covered, even as it bends your spine. Well if that’s your chosen strategy, to suffer through this life, I beg of you, know it’s true, love is by your side and it can be, your ticket to ride.

Perhaps you might consider not following but walking side by side, may be fill your spirit with that ticket to ride, and don’t think of being a victim, nothing wrong with pride, raise yourself and know your virtue true, choose where you would fly. There barely is a reason, to not take your path in stride, open all your veils of disappointment, take your ticket to ride.

She said to me,

You think that loves elusive, you say it’s hard to find, maybe that’s true for a follower, when that loves right by your side. You intimate your so frightened of reality and life, your waiting on the hereafter to take you up that hill. Love can go on before you, but I say it’s with you still. Of all the worlds you’re not afraid of, why choose to fear the one where you live, that’s the one where breath is certain, that’s real faith to give.

Now maybe heaven’s a future, filled with gifts and myth, maybe when you draw your final breath, you’ll smile at what is. But why wait on the spirit, to move you when you’re still? Look to your side, maybe decide. Your ticket to ride needs, to be fulfilled.

She said to me – 03.29.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

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