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

Daughter by Father (“השם is your shepherd”)

Father and Daughter








Daughter of cuts and asylums that hold no dreams or dares.  Grey marrow that throws no shadows, by word you breathe and summon twisted cares.  Machinations of thunder, strange discourse bewitched by a jaded age, there are no answers here.  In prophecy of Yisrael your life was won in a post-adamic age, I will not surrender you here.  Your cranial utterances embrace no syllables, your wild eyes no crime.  Between gestures and blindness I hold you in my hand you will know your Father’s time.

“השם is your shepherd”

Spartan, in a bloodless age, challenged by a wayward ark!  Hereby full display this outrage born without pure spark.  Child other heavens cry, for jubilation is within contention.  This sudden strife!  Sheol will know its walls fall and in my heart, I release your fury.  Though this ground shake, I am stone, I will not be moved.  This spine taste no tissue, it creates no art.  In light and rhythm, I did fashion what you cannot bear, and while these dark knights behold the storm, you will know your Father’s care.

“השם is your shepherd”

Misplaced daughter of years and deluded schemes!  Visual design haunted by modern elusive ineffective dreams.  Infant reflection by revelation fact in distance between us beholds the storm.  Drawings by razor, character the answer between lashings sleeping in torture where you are torn.  In magic, I hold you, daughter by father, loved before you were born.  Designed by light music, artistic decree, rain it is pouring while angels cry.  In worlds that birth interest, while snakes dance in glass, your father will sing love songs your daemons will be at rest.

“השם is your shepherd”

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