As I read Augustine's word on Suicide
I read a poet who is half wise.
Impressions made, impressions won
No advice do I give him, or he might shun
His brilliant poesy's way, with airy
Words, and rhymes so fay.
"Condemned to live," the poet feels
And I see Christians everywhere do right now reel.
Augustine's words in the City of God,
Rung true, as this timely message carefully trod
A hopeful vision, when now Rome has awoke,
The plays, the sorrows, the festivals invoke
The gods of a new world, of spirits and vibes
They do make me muse upon suicide.
Yet, this poet he came, and said, "You are condemned to live,"
And a hopeful message he gave, to help me win.

Like a Gestalt or Paradigm shift
The volta changes the muse.
It is interested in one thing,
And carries its tone,
Then in meter or theme
It changes, shifting direction
Highlighting so many nuances.
The volta is even in this poem,
Can you find it?
It is not so difficult as you may think.

The Muslim says that that their god can
Bless you, and rain wealth upon you.
That he will never judge you but
Cleanse you of your sins, like Jesus.
How though? How can he? He cannot.
The light measure of being cleansed
Feels freeing, and satisfying
Yet does Muhammad's idol take
Sin away through strokes? Or does his
God transform you? Not like silver
Are we purified, but rather 
Transformed through Christ's blood. Muhammad's
God cannot transform you, he can
Only beat you. He can only 
Try you. And even that, he can't
Do, for he was never alive.
He cannot wash you of your sin.
Only Christ's blood is able to.

Come find me! I saw the nigh perfect ides
Of the woman upon the screen, and thought
Only of being unfaithful to you,
Whoever you are, I call you Amaris.
I do not know you, but imagine you
And seeing the red of her breasts shamed me
For the only pair of breasts I wish to 
See are yours. I do not know you. Come,  come
Come find me! So I am not a lustful 
Wight. I will give up talents of silver 
And gold, so long as I have you. Come, come
Find me, before I am miserable for 
Life, and cannot but despair, yes, every
Broken moment of my life. Come find me.

My, how we argue for hours
On cruel Laws in the Old Testament.
"How brutal; how unfair."
Yes... they are, because you are.
We could never get to the New
For you would hate it all the same
As it tells you to forgive,
And be a light in this world.
For you do not like the light,
Therefore, you get judged by the Old.
And I'm okay with that.

Every person is a song, with chorus, refrain and verse.
Listen to them repeat their things; listen to them first.
Muse upon them for many hours, and listen carefully.
Muse upon them without sour, and listen joyfully.
Pore over their poetry over and over, and do not put it down.
Listen to every syllable, and listen to every sound.
If you do not like the melody, listen anyway.
For kindness is a skill so rare, but you may find out all are fay.

I talk to her today, in the Sunday's crowd
She does not know how to listen, and speaks so very loud.
She does not hear me compliment, but knows only one thing;
She says what's on her mind, and her thoughts are so very slim.
My dad talks to my uncle, and on and on he goes
About the same old story, the only things he knows.
Yet, both were good people, both had inner light.
There is such depth to people, so try not to always fight.
They are tired and small, and oh so strange
They only know few things...
Listen to them carefully,
But do not speak as kings.
For people have such honesty,
They do not know so much.
Speak what is a light and airy thing
And listen more than talk.

Today, I deconstructed my faith.
I saw a man picking through garbage
And thought he must be making art.
I talked to a man who was Polyamorous.
I see gays are married, my parents are divorced.
Every woman you'd marry, divorce is always on the tip of her mind.
If you have love, it must be abusive, but only by consent.
People go around, and form relationships
And in twenty year's time they are no more.
And what's worse, they say it's always been this way
So no time in the past were there ever what I truly wanted;
The world can't let you have it.
And your wife might accuse you of rape.

No... it's not faith in Jesus I deconstructed.
Just Love.
Jesus is the only Love I ever knew...
And that love is my final hope.

I don't know if love exists--
Instead I see gays and adulterers.
They say they love, but it is only feelings.
I truly hate this world, and it is your fault.
I cannot truly say whether love is just a fairy tale.
So... there is nothing left in this world for me to want.
Just your broken promises, and your foul desires.

- It's not about you, or you. But someone I met on the internet.