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


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


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

My (A Psalm of What we know not)


Graphic courtesy of Weaving Grace

My heart seethes, my texture turns into a rough and challenging sand, my shadow becomes another image of man. My danger challenges, my kiss leaps and catches sorrow where it lands. My distance stretches, and catches suicide, where daggers play, my eyes catch the deadly doctrine in the palm of your hand. My age is worthless, my time is your skin, and forever I am the interest of your anxious need to watch equality swagger drunken in a spiritual wind. My womb is open, my alphabet of relief, my Aleph to your fallen need to know why your love smells like roses and genesis to me.

My breath conceives, my air, a tumor that grows, and overtakes your softer need to touch the earth. My movement, my blood underneath your broken skin, a moment you know not, sheltered whispers I place upon your cracked and barren lips. My craven balance, my scent upon your brain, a footprint a Yod in mind from where all law begins. My oh my how you know not, my nature, my gift, my flame that touches bone the sound of Samech, endless divinity, that defies your end. My face that mourns not, a language long before you thought, forgot. My stars, my earth, my ethereal wonder in all of you.

My Tzadik, my faith shimmer of righteous shine, my sun before morning and my moon blood red before the blessed rise. My Zion, my tangled freedom set in Tav the impression of stone where nations die. My lonely fate, my rush in changing statute just to hold you with me. My Vav from end, my beginning in dreams that utilize the earth, my love for you, my light on and on, my expression, my Hei, my action in thought, fore thought in psalm music played, my you while letters seek the day. – 06/06/2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Crooked Tree (Something for Nothing)


All rights to Image Michael Bennati

Under the sun near the crooked tree, I came to find a discipline that would set me free. It seemed a cold labor on a frozen fact would be the text book reasoning for what I lacked. What about the sunshine, and who made my breath, what about the rigors of a spiritual attack? Is smiling on a social network all of who I should be, telling all my victories of G_D in me? Is pounding in illusion ecological false facts, a time bomb of delusion on a new age attack. All about the outer shell while inner lacks. All I want is something and reality intact, well something for nothing and your grace is free, a simple line of lineage on a crooked tree.

Omen of a summer when I thought I’d died, looking ever skyward my whole life a lie. There were little children who counted on me, a simple deadly father who was lost at sea. I saw a moving shadow that laughed at my dreams. I fantasized a flame filled coven by some fallen leaves. What was all so simple in all I lacked, inward fallen symptom when I could not turn back. You spawned something for nothing by a crooked tree, enchanted simple love in beauty you in me. You’re something for nothing for the things that I lack. I will not follow deadwood on a stolen tree, I’ll fly raptured like eternal, indifferent, laughing, something for nothing, living Torah all together spirit, a simple line of lineage on a crooked tree.

Years of watching strangers lie and scheme, days of knowing that your faith was free. There are winds that shake me and try to deceive, those frozen ever chosen by a covered tree. You have given something as far as I can see, you have judged the living by a crooked tree. I will follow footsteps that have helped me grow, something for nothing, in the great space, wide open, something for nothing living by a crooked tree.

Crooked tree theology is not lost on me, a wind that blows in winter till it bends belief. Shallow is the timber that is straight on sight, cut and used for purpose, covered in a shelter, of a primed dead night. Crooked is your love born on great delight. Great and full of favor in a full mooned light. Something for nothing while you bend me, something for nothing that sets me free. דָּנִיֵּאל 05.22.2014

SIX


Photo Courtesy of Panoramio

You summoned me six fold white art for an ark, and belabored me questions of favor. The blessing of passion, divining a core, a cost of the treasure of labor. Why mass me together and feel with my heart, why guess at your creations endeavor. The stillness around me instinctual law, the call that still echoes forever. Historical pathways, an altar for kisses, a cut on a rose when I’m tender. Affective deflection what is, or is hidden, your spirits of senses forbidden. You’ve spoken of tortures that break into wounds of tender young lovers lost in a swoon, beauty worth stolen under the moon, and still do they not find my pleasure.

Six times you struck me, and asked for a sense, a body to warm you with love as a gift, while interest is building on life as a breath, a common affection with G-D in your wound. What curse of emotion, religion as farce, to say loves a feeling, that’s felt in your heart, a stranger seduction that cuts when it’s done, allegiance to feeling, not owing to none. Six times did you travel, and fail in your mind, and still you did not find love an answer, division of grace, a grief of black lace, a flame, a psalm lost in shame, by the talons of raptors.

In six beats a rhythm, a time of true might, a place of instinct formed before night, a constant that keeps now forever. A point, a plot by six times forever, a love of law written in charm, by craft, by skill in sound before dawn by ether. A touch, a start, indefinite shine that lifts me from my knee, and breaks me now a man, not so clever. A puzzle, a gift, six times a seal, a star, that open heart, now wrapped forever. –דָּנִיֵּאל – 05.03.2014

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STAND (Earthquakes for Tomorrow)


Loneliness is memory, misplaced upon by sorrow, used by some daemon, to take you from my hand. Shallow is the mystic, built on faded feelings, depression of the failure, a place you did not stand. Delegated feelings, begotten by some history, an instant of reflective, chosen when you’re sad. Concern built on illogic, misshapen isolation, a curse of antiquity, a curse upon your land. When you feel dejected, invaded by no virtue, rejected by the living, alone in disrepair, perceive yourself taken, perception of my thunder, receive an essence speaking, I will, reveal, I AM! Yesterday by mourning, anxiety for tomorrow, a present place of mercy, that ever place to stand. Stillness is a marvel, an instant tender healing, a circle of repeating, reflection when you stand. I’ll rise you like a phoenix, replace your hate with wonder, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand.

I don’t want to be bad, I rather not be scary, I’d prefer you to see me as I am. It’s true there are times when truth gets crazy, but I’ll pledge to be as honest as I can. There are places you are going, you’ll need me to understand, that’s okay, you’re just a little shaky, I’ll carry you to safety, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. Present words stay constant, their sturdy structure persistent, not nearby, there, or future, just current here I am. Change I built on endless, continued in the boundless, perpetual, when unceasing, an elemental hand. This is love unknowing, spirit built on present, a verb that you can count on, not a description built on sand. Come and face the monster, the essence of the rumble, I made within you magic, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/28/2014

 


Sweetened Day (I Want to Dance With You)

 


I want to dance with you on a sweetened day, when the lines are still perfect, and your hair is gray. I want to open up the womb of time, and let those past shadows melt away, and when you glance at me and my breath just fades, know the testing of my thunder is the sound of your fears running so far away.

I want to bathe your body in a living rhyme that knows not of your sickness, or your wasted time. I tested dialectic on what you might claim, is your bloodied cuts of heartbreak, on your arms of shame, and when that moon of justice turns its head away. I will hold you in compassion on a sweetened day.

I want to birth your worries on a field of grace, when the details of dark anger seem too much to face. I instigated pattern, when you chose this way, and your stumbles ever awkward, are stillborn into wonder. Your fear will know love’s knowledge, on this sweetened day.

I want to burn your guilt, with laughter, on this sweetened day. When I turn in wind before you, and my words they light auroras, emanated law before you, living Torah, chosen weakness. In your failure, adoration, all above my own creation, genetic glory of grand elation.

I want to dance with you on a sweetened day, let you stride in sapphire and touch my face. I want to summon light forever, dry your eyes in my hereafter. For in my creation, of atom and rhyme, perfected reason of destiny’s time, to watch you breathing so unashamed, has made my day grow longer, a sun forever stronger. I turn to take you with me cross the hope of man with love for me, on this sweetened day. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/26/2014

White Robe (A True Story)


They wear a white robe in virtual euphoria, telling their secrets in all of its Gloria. I know a woman in trinity rapture, worships her kingdom in fashion forever. Plastic blood gods, forgiven here after, afraid of the old world, immune in her stature. Her kingdom in antithesis story, assumes a white robe that decrees a false glory. She stands now in licentious magic, dealing a false card, taken from shadows, written on dead skin, two thousand years, of sin forgiven, how?

I know a man that wears a white robe, speaks to the angels, reaches for kingdoms, tells of the unborn, begging as tears flow, his eyes go inward, psychosis given, his sin is living now. Roman, covered by secrets, parchment and leather, canon of ritual, taken from old ways, how? He speaks of his love for one G-D accessed, by blood god possessed, shame of the ages, come now to save us, how?

It is a strange way, declaring its favor, outsourced sorcery, torturous wisdom, blood on a strange wood, nephilim stranger, born of a woman, mystery unspoken, how? They enter underground from various places, wearing a white robe, clothed in their virtue, talking as warriors, crimson to do good, how? In G-D’s love they place their judge of hereafter, take from the old way, say it’s a new way, lost in black vision, preaching in one way lost in a three way, how?

Real life, dollar loud saviors, watching in crimson possession by business, pornography vision, how? Warfare, witches in heaven, balance is given, light turns his face, torn from the shadow, now, the true story, now. Ark of the living, hidden from Esau, how? They wear a white robe, stolen from glory, a destiny hidden, an alien forgiven, how? They seek a real light, Shekinah of Yisrael, Solomon’s protocol, the well of G-Ds wonders, sound of the holy, how? They wear a white robe, plastered in diamonds, numbering the beast, counting the minutes, numerals of knowledge, how?

This is a safe place, with white robes forbidden, where love is not hidden, blood is not needed, life is still heeded here. There is forever one from beginning the ark of unending, a balance defending know how. There is no new way, when constant is flowing, sapphire is glowing, sphere of pure light is clear. Endless, in cyclical union, compassionate fusion, no cover, forgiveness, a judgment of reason, now. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/13/2014

Bathsheba the Morning After (Pull Me Under)


My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.

 

David (מַּלְכוּת)
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014