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

G_D’s Own Tune

Come on, come out…exit this door, I invite you to come out and see that there is more. There in the field, there by what’s stored, there by what happens soon.  Known by your time, charted in tune, known by the month, there is no moon.  What’s left of old you, that part by the ruin, forgotten by lore, remembered by you, torn in your life, now made by G_D’s tune. The daemon a star, Azrael in strange bloom, that jagged old edge, will weave by a loom, what dragon you say, has entered the room, that slag off the edge, will chase desert doom.

Enter by time, G_D’s own tune that, thought lost, craven in wound, healed by the look, darkness in touch, bound now in sound, Aleph his much. Found in the plain, running through wood, divers in water, for all his good. While there is darkness, the kid sent around. Chastened by devils, your breath is found. While there is silence, found here in the dark, his love in energy, infinite spark. Did you not know it, while you came in ruin, there was your nighttime summoned by lute. Have you not heard it, G_D’s own tune?

Summed by your creator, all by energy, that alchemy, destined by the law of E=c digested free, two when he has you, G_D’s own tune, darkness from ruin.

Do you not know, or maybe can’t hear, have you not heard that firmly laid poem in your ear. From your beginning, wove like the night, is it not centered like energy his thoughtful delight. For what is cunning, by dark without might, when you are cut, there by those thorns, there is no light. It is then by his own tune, terror is scattered divided when there is no moon. What is the reason, for balance in might, all is a feature, all in its physics, G_D’s own tune. God’s own tune. – 01.22.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Even Faith (Leviticus)

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

There are roots that come up bare from the underworld, they do source themselves in law, and site their words unfurled. There are dangers often sought, that speak upon soft poems, like a syren with strange spell, their voices in soft moan. Have you drawn upon yourself, interrupted strange dreams, fallen into doctrinal wells, those where devils preen? Even faith the tides of life, taken from harsh black or white, these are all we try to find, in our fallen dreams, rules of law that one must find, no one sees them in the light, of their destiny. Has this world known not of right, has this shadow ruled this night, has this underworld found such that we should cry….? Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

For all who look, an over world, that strange path of pretty swirls, that work, that most would say hard, for eternity. Even faith the rules of life, those that bind us to a sign, into warmth a place of light, no mediocrity. You say do not carve yourself, pray before who claims himself, this is law unto oneself, can creation see, what you’ve made relief. All we are in matter formed, from your love before we’re born, oh your law unto this faith we breathe, by my G-D to me. Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

So it is, I turn to sky, every morning, every night, place myself before your light and breathe. Master of divinity, all the signs decreed. Over, under now you speak, oh Orion, from your keep, G-D of mystery, loose in me, now you root it all belief, touch those things I cannot see, even faith eternity. Balanced judgment, equal life, kind of spirit there are times, you invade and make these right in me. Even faith…..Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

So, even faith cannot be real, for in truth it lies and kills, has it become what’s not real, sidelined. Only law can instill time, bring about what is inside, bring the G-D that is mankind beneath. Waiting there in over world, tidings Torah for this world, watching stories, lives unfurl, even faith that’s lived by law, can bring…..tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility. – 11.29.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Tides of Light (The Confession)

This is the longest walk I’ve ever known, this path that brings me to a place, where I must atone. Some words have been floating by me tasting the breeze, but for once I’m getting ready to just be me. Some know me for my laughter, others think I have skill, the truth in all this chatter is I’m not honest still. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. A broken man has no place that matters still, for deep inside his shattered life, deception has will. I do not wish confession on an altar pain-built, I’ll make my own admission before G-d at his will.

A word or two of caution for what you would hear, is not sin built on malice of that I am clear, but still I do remember what defines sagacity, a purse full of dollars from dishonesty. I wish there was a map of who I should be, a chart of holy markers defining personality. I regress from my purpose stalling this road to my goal, a few more words about me places few choose to go. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

I’ve seen the world’s compassion in a short crooked frame, it does not fit the picture of what most doers say. The words of crying darkness roll like sounds from a quake, but weeping doesn’t matter, just the words that I say. You see I stole and borrowed from what was not mine, I took and claimed tomorrow with my love undefined. I went into a kingdom that was not mine to keep, I made those ears that listened follow Balaam’s belief. So there it is in English and I need not say more, the terror that you’ll leave me, makes me walk even more. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

In a roadway, in a puddle, in a faraway sigh. In a goodness, light left standing, the still on the tide. Here you listen, here you bind me, and my madness does die. In the moment, all around me, I am given, I am human, I am owned in your sight, I am owned in your sight!

For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. – 08.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Gentleman [Ezekiel’s Song]

In the shadow of modern daybreak he approaches tenderly, a young man with brunette tresses bound by red thread naturally. He is taller than a seraph humble almost shy, and when you look into his eyesight, you see a world that’s born of sighs. In his attitude is passion born of latitudinal rhymes, those words that create mercury that never can oxidize. The wind it flows right through him, all its colors born upright, lest a shadow should be waiting, the sun stands still against the sky. If born of womb and sorrow he would be master of deceit, likewise, he moves above mere element, ages gather round his feet. He strides without aggression, antithesis, of all that is new, his forehead growing lighter, the old woman in his view.

She is three score, nine a lady, with light gray about her hair, she’s been shopping, eyes born waiting, for someone to bring her a chair. Her arms have scars of testing, and she’s seen a devils moon, offered her life for the taking, still she’s standing in this room. Indigo, pure aura, of a storm, that last too long, she is broken but still waiting for the gentleman to whom she belongs. As it is when she had children, as it was when she did pray, in her time among the scorpions, a widow and afraid. Lest she know this man approaching, should he make her life complete. “Now thou woman of my taking I have come at last we meet“.

He walks with her in gardens, and he makes her life brand new, a law thought as a fable the young gentleman has made true. In an age thought of now ceasing, as some wait upon some shore, he comes to her still labor, for it’s her he does adore. What in Yisrael you see as lightning, is the law of no divide, it is a young man come for his woman, and so it is, what love decides.

They walk upon a fountain, they swim naked in a stream, what is bound in earth and heaven, this gentle light has now decreed.

In the shadow of modern daybreak he approaches tenderly, a young man with brunette tresses bound by red thread naturally. 08.16.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

23 (Revised for the Blue)

מִזְמוֹר לְדָוִד: יְהוָה רֹעִי, לֹא אֶחְסָר.

There’s a blue moon in the sky that told you why, she’s the shepherd, she’s the keep, she’s the warmth inside your sleep, breathing with you, deep to deep watching Philistines that seethe, and still you hunger. Is that a feeling, for a sheep, a famine, or a leap filled with wonder?

When I gaze at Adonai, Shekinah circles wide, watching my old globes of cold, taking notice that I’m old, and she kisses me so long, how strange, my wounded heart beats strong, I’d forgotten I was wrong, strange a spirit, cannot see, I’m as quiet as I can be, then the thunder.

In blue light I have fallen, staggered hunger in my calling, born a number. I have gazed, lost and fighting, amazed, in terror’s sighting, I bow down, I am raised, scattered sounds of tongues detained. Is it my mouth you’ve obtained? Should I ask, while you explain?

בִּנְאוֹת דֶּשֶׁא, יַרְבִּיצֵנִי; עַל-מֵי מְנֻחוֹת יְנַהֲלֵנִי.

On inerrant you fill the room, making light of my gloom, and still I can’t believe, a little longer. Teach me to be a little stronger. Favorably sleeping dreamless, as you make my conscience free, someday I believe, I might can see. Serotonin, for belief, it’s all within a reach, like my reasons he maketh me. To lay on down and sometimes cry, let this life just pass me by, for a season. Hashem you promised me, let these sounds, be like the sea ever still that lets me sleep.

נַפְשִׁי יְשׁוֹבֵב; יַנְחֵנִי בְמַעְגְּלֵי-צֶדֶק, לְמַעַן שְׁמוֹ.

Whatever refining in destiny’s well, that has sought out to still my will, it has wizened my features, and deepened my skills and restored those sprites that like me. You have instilled, changes that quicken me, light that straightens paths before me. In your deified eyes, I believe, I know why, there is sapphire strength that guides me.

גַּם כִּי-אֵלֵךְ בְּגֵיא צַלְמָוֶת, לֹא-אִירָא רָע– כִּי-אַתָּה עִמָּדִי; שִׁבְטְךָ וּמִשְׁעַנְתֶּךָ,    הֵמָּה יְנַחֲמֻנִי.

There’s a lack of a conscience from the children of Cain that believes in the anger and the coming of shame. They march on our children, they eat of our feast they do under others of that which they seek. In times that I walk through the valley of grief with strangers all around me, but this I believe, you give of the pleasure of all that you keep, to watch and walk beside me.

תַּעֲרֹךְ לְפָנַי, שֻׁלְחָן–    נֶגֶד צֹרְרָי; ִּשַּׁנְתָּ בַשֶּׁמֶן רֹאשִׁי, כּוֹסִי רְוָיָה.

Forever this table an indigo treat, a blanket of fortune, that’s spread as a feast, in opportune timing, and delicate rhyme, you make me to shine, while darkness declines. Forever you want me, forever in blue, forever creator descendent in you. She builds me in moonlight, and traces my steps, and shows me to wonder, no something is lacked. This mercy and fairness, and freeness of will, forever not wanting, forever is real……..

  אַךְ, טוֹב וָחֶסֶד יִרְדְּפוּנִי– כָּל-יְמֵי חַיָּי; ְשַׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית-יְהוָה, לְאֹרֶךְ יָמִים.

FOREVER – 06.30.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Masada (These end of Days)

These end of days, the fear of times, where partitions gather, and man loses language, to communicate with his brother. What steel has come, and scaled this wall, with rage filled eyes, that divides our love and seals our talk with each other. In heat we hear spoken in noise, the sound like of fire, that has no control of a master. Divine you how, from power you sow, weak seeds distrust for another. These end of days a secret sold, a desert grows, we are ruled by distant cold, they sale our soul’s and turn us on each other.


Eleaser knows, these end of days on rocks we say, we bless this day the blades we wave like gifts of graves to one another. For death is known to shape man’s bones our gift to G-d is sacrifice, these end of days, the shame at place, in distant time, something must be told of each murder. In earth they move, to follow us, to rise above, beneath our shirts our fear feels need, this cry of sin, a people’s end, these end of days this dawn displayed, in blood we strike at each other.


How we shine, in refined heat, the dross it wanes within our hearts, we enter into the story of a hereafter. What promise made to Jacob’s fold, that debt to pay, from long ago, a parchment told, in harp and cry, a dimension folds, six sides of grace, a spark foretold, we learn to love and not forsake each other. We need not follow an oath to take, for what we have is no mistake, the earth it opens these end of days, to bless us with forever. When we were freed, Masada gleaned, our ghost do call in victory unto each other.


Inductees to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) often climb to the top of Masada to take their oath of loyalty to Israel. The oath ends with: “Masada shall not fall again.” – 06.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Writer

Throes of Creation by Leonid Pasternak

I sat to write to keep me warm, I toiled with pen some bitter scorn. I spun a shadow, I felled a tree, in awkward syllables I wished to see, and still within me something grew, an inward soliloquy that shook the room. What if, in color, I wrote a fate, a detailed sonnet, an ode to hate? While hearts fell shaking in earthbound flight, a penciled journey on a starless night, I wrote in earnest, I drew in glee, strange lyrical verses by six and by three. Dark words on parchment not meant to be. For written in breath between the lines, there was a curse, a scribble scribed, a poem engraved in broken time. An omen tempted upon the page, a rhyme, a token, an author’s rage.

It was a summer when I wrote last, the gods of wonder let me pass, took me to heaven past some gates, phonetic magic in clear glass lakes. Described in narrative by angels worth, a book of novel a writers birth. I was the novel alive in light, an untidy journey scrawled in block type. A cast of millions filled my mind, ideas of magic that seemed to align, a story forever that staid the heat, antagonist fury that rid deceit. In tense and medium and style of design, I lived with my characters, and made them mine. Forgotten was anger, and black words of lore, in genre and motif, I jotted for more, and as summer went, I entered a plan, I’d write about days and the love of G-Ds plan.

The writer of darkness, she is what she sees, a stranger to living, a jailor in need. A writer for fortune he spins tales of woe, to heighten his margin and shill all his gold. The writer of romance she favors a war, where sex has no balance and envy wants more. A writer of mystery, he marvels at crime, afraid of his conscience and what he might find. The writer of days of what I can see, wants balance in writing, and all that can be. I write in fulfillment of grace in my hands, my terror is over, Hashem guides my plans, for over and over, inside what I see is writing forever, a dance within me. – 06-20-2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Artwork courtesy of


Do you touch Orion, Hashem do you thread my clothes, do you really take me to the places I hate to go. Is it really thought, Hashem, philosophy or time, have I really given you too much credit in this rhyme? Sometimes weak as ashes, blowing in wild wind, I turn myself for lack of water, I cannot let you in. Is this really a covering, escaping from my life, is the name I call as one, laughing while I try. Who is made in heaven, leader, who is sown in hell, what remains a given reason, why my spirit fails.


Did you know my chosen heart, you never really fell, I touched you like a perfect love, and kissed your soul as well. Light as cold as darkness, and holes as deep as hell, have passed you from their judgment, when I destined that as well. You are like a feather passed upon my dream, in a place that fire can’t find, I will never leave. Take your place from sacrifice, bleed yourself no more, you ask for reason in sullen grace, I ask for so much more. Pause yourself a moment, breath and say Selah, simple as a twinkling caught, a prayer in double thought.


Fears and thoughts of afterlife, they make my world turn black, cast my lot with cross and nail, and then it nailed me back. Is this the way you planed it, a sacrifice of war, a starving wound of death and age, a lust that feeds my core. Where is my ride on star field skies that lets me touch your face? Alone I die a strange sharp glass indignant, lost upon this human race. What pause is this you give me, when darkness it moves so fast, is this a place of silent stares lost in a cold caress?


Quiet, in thought, and touch the air, and pause your thoughts of grief, I did not bring you from my mind to watch your unbelief. What is the time that you have made, that I cannot make more? Stillness is my love for you, I’ve never loved you more. Selah in place of higher air, a place worth far much more. In mortality a light is changed, your shadow leaves the room, fair beyond the space I’ve made, is pause I heal your wound. Selah in land that moves and shakes, in witness it does shine, a pause for what Selah creates, I claim it all as mine!


2014_07_05 – דָּנִיֵּאל

This Passover

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, to actualize an infinite need. It seems strange, you asking me for holiness, for blessing a harvest, you of oneness, the lock of my key. A fable inside me that sparks an old story that terminates spirit if I don’t believe, a deathly hollows of blood for your glory of ransomed sinners sowed from death’s seed. You quietly whisper don’t look on that angel, that left hand of judgment that floats by your door, wait until morning to build love an altar, deliver your kindness, compassion in deeds.

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, enter a chamber that feels like a storm. In whispers of moonlight, craft of your measure, Hashem how you beg me to let you control. You built me from nothing, in thoughts of first labor, molded my lips from where angels cry. That kindness you left me to pass on forever, a definite wisdom, not held in a lie, an ember of softness that glows on forever, Tiferet Yisrael that screams when I cry. Blessing ingenious from light on forever, dealt on endeavor where destiny lies. No longer forgiven, free now forever one G-d of my story, no longer to die.

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, to swear my allegiance in scarlet laid skies. Adonai I bless you I stand now before you, and gasp at the reason you breathe through my life. The words of old scars are taken from me, incandescently you cherish me, and sing a lullaby for me to repeat. Ruach ha-kodesh you have learned to tear out my heart and I do not bleed, in the scheme of things you have dealt me the reason for why I must learn to fly. You tell me to look outside me this Passover, something loved, something new, and in this puzzle in this confusing rhyme, I find your one light. – דָּנִיֵּאל 03/29/2014