What Faith Is

Faith is substantive.

People say, “Just believe it, and it will come true.”

This is not true.

If there is no truth in what you believe

It will not come true.

That is why faith is the “Substance of things hoped for

“The evidence of things unseen.”

There must be evidence.

If there is no evidence, then there can be no substance

To the hope, therefore, it is not faith.


Faith is not blind.

It is substantive

That there is evidence to believe

What is to be believed,

And that the things you hope for are true.

When hopes are true,

And there is substance to the hope,

And the evidence proves that the hope is true…

Then, there can be faith that what is hoped for is true.


Willing into existence something ex nihilo

Doesn’t work. There must be a tangible

String of real continuity.

It is what separates a mental illness

From mere anxiety.

The mental illness, there is no string of faith

To make the delusion real.

Or, rather, perhaps the faith in the delusion

Is that it is true, and that is your punishment.

Or, perhaps the delusion is positive,

And perhaps there is some faith

To believe the delusion,

And the delusion turns out to be true.

Rather, faith is convincing because of the evidence of substance

On which we hope for something.


It is why Christians are fundamentally wrong.

They cite Moses in Exodus.

But, could Moses have truly walked into those lands?

Was his people able to do so?

Were they able to conquer giants?

The answer is no.

There was no substance of good

In them, because they were all taken into idolatry.

Therefore, the movement into lands

Hostile, and filled with giant men would have been impossible.

Therefore, they all died.

Not because they didn’t move,

But because their hearts were given to idols.


Likewise, when you see a hope dangled out in front of you

And it is retracted,

The best measure of business is to assess that there was no faith

In the hope. There was no evidence of substance to be a reason to hope.

As, faith is logical—

It is not blind.

Rather, if faith is blind it leads to the kinds of issues we see today

Of men zealously trying to climb a corporate ladder

In order to garner the success they so desire.

Faith is not magic.

Faith, rather, is what is.

If something is believed so stongly

As to move a man,

It could very well be a delusion that moves him.

It is not faith.


With that, there is plenty of evidence

That Christ is the LORD.

My faith is built on moral observations

And nothing less.

The world moves,


To the laws set in my holy scripture.

Men behave the way it predicts.

It tells me what I already know to be true.

It doesn’t invent a morality for me,

But affirms the one I already know.


Bad people are bad,

And must be destroyed.

Good people are good,

And must be blessed.

There are a lot of bad people who get nothing bad in their lives.

There are a lot of good people who get nothing good in their lives.

But, it’s up to good people

To make sure other good people stay good

By encouraging them,

And being there in their sufferings.

That is what separates a good Christian from a bad Christian,

Is that a good Christian will see the destitute

And have compassion on them.

They will read their law

And see violence was done away with

When Jehoakim and Manasseh broke the Everlasting Covenant.

No longer are we to slaughter infants in battle.

Rather, the patience of the saints is that they will not

Fight, nor lead a man into captivity.

Rather, it is Christ who will kill

On His second arrival.

And will He find faith on the earth?


Democratic Debate Fails Miserably

I am watching our world fall apart.

There are no responsible leaders


I am afraid,

As is true with all Christians,

That the end is upon us.


Only, this time, it is not just a hoax.

It is not just a careless shout.

It is, with all truth and honesty,

The end.


The democrats, it seems,

Cannot muster the good faith

To help one another.

Warren hounds Bloomberg about non existent sex crimes;

The simple statement, “Women lie,” would have been the first thing that came out of my lips.

And frankly, it used to be that making a reference to someone’s bust

Was merely a summary social faux-pas,

Not a misdemeanor offence.

Buttegieg and the Candidate I did not pray for

Fight and lock horns over who loves Mexico the most.

Sanders, wild eyed, screams about socialism.

Warren defrauds herself to the conservatives

By pandering to Me Too—a cause of false rape accusations

For every woman—

Biden never ceased to make a complete dingbat out of himself.

Bloomberg sympathizes with women who have victimized men.

Nobody likes Me Too;—except the portion of radical feminists

Who can benefit from it.


It is like the Democrats want Trump to be reelected.

But, I know their rampant narcissism is the only thing.

Pandering to radical populations

Who want a socialist dictatorship

Where men are forced to become women, and women men,

And every rape allegation is credible to besmirch a man’s good honor.


Bloomberg looked good.

The conservatives would vote for him;

The moderate Democrats too.

But he should have ran as a republican.

That was his only mistake.


Frankly, we need God right now.

No politician will fix this mess.

None can. It is impossible for them.

As it is, Trump might be our president for another four years.

All I hope is that he does not know;

And if he is angry at me for saying the truth,

Then perhaps the truth needs to be said.

Perhaps he doesn’t know.

Or, perhaps all of congress knows.

More than likely, that is the case.

Let All the Magic Flow/ Into a Little Crazy Book I Know

Let all the magic flow

Into a little crazy book I know.

Let my mind’s greatest fears

Relieve our listeners and reader’s leers.


Oh, how crazy is the thought

Of a magic witch hunt in the spot

Where my ears had seen

Such delusional nonsense to preen.


Oh, make it so, that this little delusional book I know

Takes up all the magic in the land.

Let my books be fair and grand

To help our peoples of the land.

Let them see and read and fuss

And be thrilled by my stories’ rust.


Oh, please absolve me from the sin

Of looking at those pages grim.

Send all the magic into that book

Of fairies, orcs and goblin spooks.


I say, it is all a lie

Simple fairy tales are meant to scry

Into our hopes, our dreams our failings.

They are not meant to cause our railings.

Forget me not! Read my tales

As words that help heal our fails.


Let all the magic flow into there

A little book, a little tear

A little wrinkle of failing ail.

For a desperate monster is this

Book of lies and lustful tricks.


Stay away, let the magic stay…

Please, let my tales be light and gay.

Not to be believed, but rather a farce

To help the subconscious defecate

Its deepest fears in the dark.


For magic is delusional thoughts

Magical thinkings make the brain rot.

Let my books be nice and hearty

Not a magical word spoken tardy.

Let my words be simple tales

Which help my readers feel, so frail

That our sins need washed and bleached

Let the magic go into another book

Not mine, which are so meek.

My Aspirations

I would hope that one day my work

Were like a bridge to the classics.

That a reader would pleasantly love my verse

And start reading more.


Though, on a second glance

After reading those daunting litterateurs

There will be a realization of how poor my craft is.

That my writing, being a bridge,

Brought you to the banks of a better shore,

And my writing was simply a boat that got you there.

Soon, I would wane in significance

As the reader began tasting the treasures I have tasted.


However, when reading over my verse,

There will still be joy,

Like an adolescent writer jotting down journal points

Which are read some years later.


My poetry, compared to the old masters

Is like an adolescent.

It is hard to put down when youths,

But into our blooming years of success

It becomes a sort of gesture to smile upon.


I would like to be smiled upon

By my readers, years after I have been read.

Not as something emulating or imitating old masters

But as someone filling a void in literature that might

For as long as there are letters,

Never be filled again.

Our Missuses

It amazes me how something

Finds its niche

And gets misused.

How YouTube could be the premier site of an education

But it gets used so stupidly.


I think of WordPress.

It could be used for so much more.

I think of Poetry.

It could be used for so much more.

I think of Novels and Science.

It could be used for so much more.

But, it finds its popular niche,

It finds its populous milieu,

And that is what it is known for.

WordPress for journaling.

Poetry for confessionals.

Novels for entertainment.

Science for blasphemy.


WordPress could be used to share cutting edge ideas.

Poetry could be used to share important truths.

Novels could be used to teach us how to live.

Science could be used to end famines.


I suppose there is nothing to offer.

Our moral education is in the Bible.

Summed up, there is nothing new to discover.

Science blatantly contradicts morals

So every discovery must break down our belief in good.

Why then is it a problem that these innovations get used

So poorly?

Maybe I am just a mouse turd in the peppercorn.

Or, maybe, I need to convince you to read your Bibles…

Because there are answers in Genesis,

But it’s more important we understand the story’s moral

Rather than the story’s literal application.

Who knows what Science will learn 1,000 years from now?

I don’t, which is why I find satisfaction in the Bible’s

Moral suppositions.

They work. They predict society.

They even help you live with a clear conscience

If you’re paying attention.

Whether there really was a Garden of Eden,

Let’s live like there were.

That way we understand the story is about

Growing up, and discovering what it is to have sinned.

What Hurts the Most is Seeing the Thing You Want

What hurts the most is seeing the thing you want

And not feeling like the moment to grab it is at hand.

Some strange distance is between us…

The girl at the ____________ register


Sure, I can talk to her about Yawning.

I can tell her about my theories on time.

What becomes difficult, however,

Is working up the nerve to flirt.

I don’t want to

Because the situation is wildly inappropriate.

I don’t like flirting.

I want a steady conversation.


As a youth, there were those I played with

And it just clicked.

Rare were those encounters,

Where I just clicked with someone else.

The play was fun…

They got me, I got them.

There was an ease of knowing them

Like I had known them my entire life.

All sincerely cliche lines,

But we still all know the feeling.

Precious it is, it’s how I met all of my best friends.


Why one of them wasn’t a woman;

There’s always been a strange fear of them for me.

A fear of obtaining them;—

I have that fear of getting to close to them

On the chance that they would find out what I was really like

And walk away.


But on rare moments, I could be just myself

And similarly find myself at ease with them.

I suppose I want conversation more than anything.

I want agreement, even if I’m dead wrong.

I want resistance on moral truths;—

Not intellectual ones.

I feel there is a strange chasm between me and the woman at the ____________.

Perhaps if we met at the book store.

Perhaps if we met anywhere but there.

But then again, I am quite unimpressive.


A woman wrote a poem about Echo and Narcissus.

I felt like Narcissus.

Perhaps I am becoming him…

However, I don’t like peering into the mirror

To look at myself. I am hideous.

Rather, I have been taught to love myself by therapy…

I would like the _____________ employee to unlearn me

Of all those tricks.


Therapy seems to colden and deaden you to the harsh realities of life.

It seems to put up walls,

It says, “Don’t trust anyone.”

And soon enough, you live, can wipe your own ass,

Can eat and live off of work.

Just, something is missing in life,

The more important part.

But I have the pressure of family

Telling me all life is about wiping myself.

Wiping my mouth, my butt, putting soap on my hands

And cleaning out the nether regions.

As if that is the only joy of life.

That, and doing labor I am not willing to do

To serve a purposed end of what exactly?

Did I forfeit my happy life from two crimes in youth?

If so, maybe I don’t want to take care of myself

If this writing cannot earn me enough to win bread.


So… I twirl about two desires

Being an author and being in love.

I want to be an author for the purpose of wiping myself.

I want to be in love for the purpose of having something beside

Hygiene to live for.

If you could understand my families indoctrination,

Life is all about cologne, toilet paper,

And eating. Pleasures to be derived

From the excess of bodily functions and their expressions.

Of course, I became angry at one of them in particular

When they said, “Let the TV raise your kids.”

It had never been their philosophy of life…

One of the things I appreciated most was how they nurtured me

And cared about me when nobody else seemed to.

But, life is all about liquids.

It’s all about dopamine.

Meanwhile I stand quite helpless

Not wanting my life to resemble it.

The girl behind the ____________ counter could have fixed it…

But, truthfully, was there a chance at bonding?

None whatsoever.

She had a job to do.

I had a job to do.

Anything extraneous beyond that

Would get her in trouble.

As, that exact life is what I despise.

We could have been soul mates

And the de facto laws of business

Kept us apart.

Somewhere, I’m looking for a life

Where you just meet the girl in your tribe

And fall in love with her because you don’t know any better,

Marry her, and then grow up and have children.

You’re never taught to covet beauty,

So even when someone more beautiful arrives

It’s not this immediate lust and gravitation.

You simply don’t know any better because there is no sexual desire

Except for the one person you found it with…

That woman you met in your village.

Yet, there were old maids then, too.

So, I have no surmise,

Except to say that I didn’t want to flirt

Because I felt a boundary.

When I find the right woman

I want there to be no boundaries.

Rather, if she shows up at two AM,

Or I do, we’ll be none the callous for sleep.


In laymen’s terms

I want a friend I can have sex with.

I think that’s what everyone desires in a mate

As there is nothing else in this life worth obtaining.

Success, glory, honor,—

It seems too much like wiping myself.

Rather, when I’m old,

Maybe my desire is for there to still be someone left to wipe me.

I Don’t Think I Can Love

I don’t think I can love

Like I used to.

I’ve become jaded.

I would like someone to penetrate my walls.

I would like someone to peer into my heartache

And draw from it something choice.


But, there is some resistance in me.

I cannot, as it were,

Draw happiness from another person.

It’s impossible.

It does not come from the self, either.

Where does happiness come from?


I suppose it comes from a clean conscience,

Knowing we had not done wrong.

I cannot have that,

So I look for the palliative of a wife’s mouth

To sooth me, both with her kisses and her kind words.

We all desire to be loved.

Each of us.

It is why dogs make wonderful pets

Because we enjoy the enthusiasm of the animal

Always wanting to be near us.

Cats, too, that they are exclusive

And we do not have to feel jealous of our friends

When they come by.

Horses are great pets because they are bigger than us

And teach us to overcome our fear; we tame them

Who can easily overpower us.

So much trust is needed for a horse

That the animal can kill you at any moment

But you still overpower it with force of intellect.


The cattle skip in the field

The fish loaf about, happy to eat and be big.

The birds sing their melodies.

Animals are such a wonderful kine

To the human soul.

I would like to define kine

As family. It means “Cattle Herd”

But we, ourselves as a family,

Are like cattle that roam here and there

Following our families to hither and thither.

We are kine, and I would like to have a blessed kine

Of loved ones;—which gets me back to why I need a wife.

I want my little pack of children to run about

And keep me company until I am old.

I want a cat, a dog and a horse.

I want a wife who is loyal, loving and affectionate.

It’s amazing how this cliche want is in every dating profile.

Yet, how many of us are deserving of love?

I’ve thought back to my crimes in youth

And see myself committing felonies.

I say to myself, “It is this reason I do not deserve love,

“But could I please be forgiven for it

“As the gospel promises?”

The answer comes to me,

But in my heart is could be either “Yes” or “No.”

I lean more toward the “No”.

It is why I’m afraid.

Not of death, just of living.

Life scares me, as it is an impending obelisk of looming catastrophe.

I cannot get a reign on it

Because some force greater than my will does not let me.

Who that is, I cannot know.


So I wish for a wife, children,

What I see is obstacle after obstacle

Preventing me from obtaining my earthly award.

Which I say “Award” not “Reward”

Because it was not earned.

How can I earn anything with such depths of sin?

Hidden to myself, maybe?

I do not know.

If there is any sin hidden from my eyes

I cannot know, but I want to awaken from the possibility

And live in the reality that other men take for granted.

Not speculate on all my past crimes

That never were committed

Because of two flagrant ones in youth.


But, back to the meditation.

I want a wife. Plain and simple.

And I will get one. Either here

Or in the afterlife.