The Light has Returned (Sestina)


Beyond the pinpoint of midnight there is a light.
And within that dollop of a spark there is heat,
The flames jockeying for position on a red wick.
From a hand protrudes a slender white candle
That connects to the silhouetted body of a man
There, some unknown messenger of long lost hope.

Like Noah’s dove, he has returned holding hope.
Grasping securely onto the remains of a guiding light
Wax slides onto his fingers as he raises the bright candle,
Incandescence illuminates the hands of this man
Coalescing gently over his skin, it purges liquid heat.
A wavering glow, desperate sparks cling to the wick.

A filament pyre, colors of fire race through the wick,
Cycles of autumn re-imagine the vision of hope
And will long sought deliverance be found in this man?
Has he come that we may walk in his marvelous light?
We in darkness have dreamed of knowing heat,
But until now have had no way to light our candles.

A great and reviving jubilation exudes from the candle
An ever-changing aura of flames frolic on the wick.
The winter of darkness has been overcome by heat.
And with that warmth comes an even superior hope,
As our eyes swell with promise at this newfound light
And it draws deliberately nearer in the arms of this man.

But why would he be mindful of another man?
Who are we that he would care for our extinguished candles?
Why would he come to crown us in his light?
Yet he beckons, that we would come near to his wick.
He promises to generously share this flare of hope,
And we will be renewed by the heritage of its heat.

Carrying the fire, our own bodies will emanate his heat
Selflessly given to us by this figure much more than a man.
And from his coming, we will walk forward in hope,
Abiding in the sight afforded to us by his candle
With his offering we are captivated by the golden wick
That we may forever return with him to the city of lights.

With the consuming heat that radiates from this man
We have understood that he is our only hope and as his candle
Has lit our wicks to burning, he declares, “I am the light!”

Three Remain


I – The Work of Faith

Yes. I have seen the cosmos.
The drudgery of crafting constellations
The slightest sleight of hand
Tipping moons and meteors into orbit.
Mundane as discarded fingernails.
But do not worry,
This monotony prepares a place for you.
Believe I am returning.

II – The Patience of Hope

Does my busywork fail to marvel you?
Messengers will speak my witness.
The solution is promised, but are you listening?
Mirrors cannot be convicted of perjury,
But their sentencing is always transparent.
See where the intercessor must stand?
Hold on.
I am sending one greater.

III – The Labor of Love

But of all these things, do you love me?
The ocean is vast, and waiting.
Let us set sail, and cast our nets to the other side.
Breath deep.
Drown, won’t you, in this ocean I have made for you?
I have tasted the sands upon the shore of hell
It was while you were yet cursed, I died for you.
I have returned.

I am.

reasons to believe


you can fight against the urge to die but
you’ll only ever find that 100% eventually give in
to scratch said itch and

if this is all there is to life the
hope you have will fail you soon as you realize
these are bad betting odds

and then you re-evaluate your hope

because life really ends up being just about one thing – its just a question of how long until you finally own up to what you already know


giving up i
purchase a new gaming system on the way home
stop by the liquor store and pick up a bottle (or eleven)
order pizza and return home to rip my clothes from my body
stripped to my boxers i stand before
the monster screen i’ve earned through years of
something like hard labor
and burn new callouses in my thumbs
and cataracts in my eyes
passing two hours four hours ten hours – more
i drink and i drink
i play and i play
i order food and order more food
i indulge in any and everything i can possibly
afford in an effort to squander my savings
before my eyes close for rest
seeking comfort and hope and joy in a hopeless world
red eyed and naked
i forsake the cleanliness of my couch for the convenience
of not visiting the bathroom
and press on and press on and press on

lying sick and pre-hung over (quite drunk still
if you will)
i open my eyes and cry myself back to sleep
knowing i must return to the thing
the only thing
which brings meaning to my life
wishing i could abandon it and hope for something
perhaps different

suit and tie
replace fecal matter and i
showered climb
into my honda civic
and return to my hopeless world

Why wave the white flag now ?


You have pined up all your hopes on me

you have nailed me to the cross

Do you actually think that I will resurrect for you?

On my way out, you cheerfully threw at me your

“Work Hard” pet phrase.

Hell, I have aged at the touch of you

my joints hurts in the open air

my back responds to well to the gravity’s pull

only this snow so white on the ground

keeps me from hurrying to the devil’s mouth

1 Peter 3:15


tally up your sins
just press them against your hand and look
the places you’ve shot and killed
poured over in blood
washed them “clean” with words of

short by ten thousand, a million, more
thick snow could not cover the black
you’ve made
press them against your hand and feel
madness at your things gone right
and accident – nay

i knew exactly what it was i done

and exactly where i find my hope