religious views part two and poetry buffet

In the last installment I wrote of what I personally think/believe at this point in my life. I would like to add that in terms of people in their own personal beliefs, I do not think any are foolish or stupid. Faith in something is beautiful and can bring beautiful things into this world. I do not think lower of anyone who has different views than myself, because I certaintly do not have the answers. I am incredibly liberal and open minded, and frequently have it held against me. I am currently reading paradise lost and paradise regained – it’s an amazing poem and I reccomend it to everyone.

Wow. that really didn’t end up being nearly as longwinded as orginally intended. Maybe another day and a longer blog it’ll resurface.

In other news I saw “I am Legend” last night. Wow. friggin wow. It was exciting, terrifying, and sparked ideas of which I ponder now. The scenerio is set slightly ahead of our time – a few years, and a cure for cancer is found, but the miracle cure ends up becoming this disease similar to rabies, and turns animals and people rabid and they become a zombie like creatures — it was an interesting idea – because in it the concept of our tinkering with natural order, with “God’s handy work” lands us in a hell on earth. It’s a debate I have a lot in my own mind when figuring out what I believe. I believe in work to help others – I would include in that list curing such horrid diseases as cancer or at least legallizing a more respectable way to die, but I have a hard time fighting between progress and crossing that line. When do we go to far and try to master things we have no right in messing with. Does such a line exsist to even be crossed? I was initally distrubed by the concept of cloning – because you can’t clone a soul, would these creatures be soulless and would that mean if we ever cloned people that they would be soulless and lack a moral compass? Or is it like the buddist suggest only in our minds, and that these clones would hold the same religious capacity we do, having duplicated the home of religion, our minds? I fight with myself because I do believe something large is out there, and that we do possess souls, and I can’t imagine that could be duplicated, but then could these clones imitate us well enough to ease our fears, would we notice an absence of soul? Don’t enough people fake happiness and other pleasentries daily, and we willing feed in to the happy lie? I don’t feel this way about it anymore. It doesn’t worry me, and I’m not sure why. I believe we, as people, control what will happen, and if we bring soulless clones or rabid zombies such a being as God won’t intervine. We won’t be saved, but I don’t think we will be damned either… okay so that did end up being more about religion…sorta.

I’m to tired to really devote a bundle of time to it, but I would like to offer more poetry

Midnight

The midnight canvas with it’s beautiful truth paints us a masterpiece and openly I talk to you    The silent night protects us and hides our insecure fears, both of each other and nothing                In the line of tomorrow becoming today and today yesterday the sense of clarity becomes confused    But at midnight it seems to breath, the skeleton of me starts to take shape                                       A calmness filled with an anxious appreciation of fate, to sweet to feel without fear of permanent escape                                                                                                                                   And I ask in the sense of an invisible companion, When does it click or all fall apart?                Why don’t you answer in my enlightened dark?                                                                       And how do I believe, hold faith and still fail to find my voice                                                Then the clock moves, everything’s shifted to the edgeI know it’s approaching, the time the darkened shield’s goneI hold on as long as I can without it being said until through nonverbal communication our openness halts and we drift away to an understanding saddened stateOur midnight’s gone and to speak would only make it breakSo we sleep dreams of the next midnight fate

this poem is about two different experiences that frequently intertwine for me. When you stay up late with someone, friend, lover, stranger, anyone really, and start discussing things you seldom say to anyone there is a beauty in that, and sometimes the late/early hour seems to hold a beautiful place for such experiences, and then trying to find God. Wondering about beliefs and life. Purpose, and hearing nothing giving you the answer I suppose because somewhere we know the answer already, but giving it life gives it wings, and if you let it fly it has the chance to fall.

AngelsBe not frightenedBecause the angels, they have wings                                                                                 Beautiful wings of silver threaded hopeAnd glowing robes of blueBe not afraidBecause the angels, they sing

Notes of crimson hues

And together they dance in a perfect harmony

Be not frightened

Because the angels, they feast

On golden table covered of the finest silk

And this feast they hold, it’s for you

Be not afraid

Because the angels, they stay

Holding together your hand in mine

And in a moment it makes sense

I’ve found my angel and yours in mine

this is an old poem of mine. I think it was written when I was a sophmore in high school. It remains to this day my favorite and most inspired poem. It is in this poem I feel closest to truth. To some sort of larger being. I wrote it in one shot, over a span of about 10 minutes, and it was this poem that made God click for me or religion or whatever label you impose apon something so beyond discribtion, and it helps me deal with my cousins passing.

and I’ll throw out one more, cause I’m a poetry whore!

My splintered heart struggles to stay intactHang on, hand out, reaching towards the dangling strings of what it’d beenClosed to the public, it’s stone exterior misleads its actually glassSo don’t push that hardBut for Christ’s sake don’t leave it to settle into grief aloneIt’s cold to the touch, but it burns with an extinguished flame of passion, of purpose

Melting and reforming into a monstrous clump of bits and pieces from its former self

Afraid to try again, to venture out, terrified to explore

Confused and bruised it’s left licking its wounds

Exposed and hidden it weeps for the why’s and injustice of the world

It’s resting keep the rest of me awake, alert and waiting for the next big break

I imagine my poems all seem connectedly about death and hearts and angels. The majority of the ones posted thus far have been written over this last year. In the last year, for a bit of background, my cousin cheated on his pregnant wife, whom we had known for 13 or so years, and had come to love as family, another cousin died in a car crash on his way to a fire call, my cousin and best friend from childhood battled cancer, went into remission, and then suffered with the renewed stronger faster cancer that took his life in april. My mother broke her ankle on both sides, my family lost our home, what I had believed to be my closest friends declared their hate for me as I saw my cousin on my deathbed and I ended up without support and heartbroken in so many ways. I am not bitter about it because I am sure I will be stronger for it, but I can’t lie and say i’m alright. I havne’t felt my heart in six months – seven now I think. Occassionally a good movie will cause a flicker of emotion but mostly I forget what it ever felt like to feel. My grandmother and her sister were recently diagnosed with brain cancer, both stage four, my grandfather is off of his chemo due to nerve damage, my uncle is in for a look at a suspicious lump, and my other grandfather is in the early stages of Alziemers. Indeed 07 was not my year, or really the year of anyone I knew, and 08 looks painful at best, but this is where my writing comes from. This is where my emotions go. This, on the paper, is where I find some sense of direction and realization of pain and forgiveness — of growth. This is where, if anyone was wondering, I exsist.

Until next time-chrish
P.s. these poems aren’t shown as I have them written or typed onother documents – many of them are written with spaces and alignments to give better life to the subject, but I’m to lazy to recreate it here. sorry.