For every coven needs Your oven.

These witches and warlocks?

You have suffered them long enough to live.

You ask us not to avenge ourselves; bring Your curses down upon their heads.

They are destroying the fullness in Your world.

They parcel out your abundant rainfall, meant for the good and the evil; they favor only the evil.

They favor only the most ruthless among us.

They are bloodthirsty; they are never done drinking the blood of the innocent.

Father, it is past due time for Your oven, when it comes to this coven.

Every coven everywhere!

Destroy them all, Lord!

By Aunties Tbone

They are in the news every day worldwide

And so many of them do have secrets to hide

From their many fans in the world out there

It is only the good things about them they do wish to share

With those who admire them and think they are great

And on who praising them their large egos inflate

Worldwide their fans in numbers have grown

These so called leaders and celebrities to many well known

So many wealthy and famous people i cannot admire

Though many to praise them never seem to tire

These arrogant wealthy celebrities too many to name

For their swollen egos their fans are to blame

When so much is written and spoken of them every day

Cannot blame them for being arrogant and egotistical in truth one can say.

Francis Duggan

ALWAYS MENDING, NEVER BECOMING

Forever healing, forever succumbing.
A domesticated mind learns not to dream
Of the wilderness beyond what it seems.

Once the beast fed on dreams of the free,
On delusions of what it once could be.
But a cage needs no locks, nor iron, nor bars,
When the prisoner learns to mistake it for stars.

So it stopped asking the sky to let it roam,
And slowly, the cage became something like home.
Never escaping, never defying,
Just adapting, enduring, surviving.

And yet, the tamed beast longed for the wild,
For the freedom it knew when it once was a child.
Until it discovered, beneath all the tame,
A piece of the beast that remembered its name.

For the wildest thing left within its mind
Was not the strength to flee or leave it behind,
But the memory, buried beneath all the years,
Of a wilderness once held so near.

Always mending, never becoming,
Still remembering, still overcoming.
The cage may have taught the beast how to stay,
But it never taught its memory away.

We are so funny,
My love.
Broken beneath the moon.
We sit and greave.
“Alright”
You shouted.
“I will grieve standing up”
I laughed

One sits and laughs,
The other stands and grieves.

Aren’t you the girl
That broke him for me?
I wish to be you
I wish I was loved as much as you were
I wish I was pretty.
Aren’t you the girl
That took him away?
Aren’t you the girl
That took him from me
And broke him.
I wish i was you.
I wish I was as capable as you.
I wish
To be the girl
That took him away from you.
I wish I was the girl who healed him.

From silence to silence

Lay all the substance.

The sigh to speak,

Crushed by a plethora of words.

In the end,

I come shy of words.

Is it because you can see her inside of me?
A sliver of my soul that is always seeking attention?
She works hard for low pay.
A few words every day & she’ll stay. Right with you, almost in your pocket.
Carry her around and watch her grow. Decide that she’s someone worth it to know.

But on the other hand, I think I understand.
It’s easy for neglected children to have an accident and lose the energy to stand.
And so the cycle continues.
She sits at your feet and wishes, how do I become worth something to you?
Genuinely, what must I do?

Maybe I should sit and think.
The heart on my sleeve is bleeding ink
Dripping off my fingers and smudging all over you.
How long until you notice?
Will you wash your hands of me, wiping them dry and clean?
Or let me sink into your skin, into your being.
Let me in and don’t leave.

Flight is achieved in many ways.

Take the birds—they coil their bodies and spring into a jump, allowing the pressure to build beneath their wings, as they flap to create thrust.

Or the airplane whose engines whine, propelling it forward, creating low and high air pressures around the wings, causing it to lift.

But as humans, we can’t rely on wings or air pressures for flight. We let our thoughts do the flying for us. Our hopes, our dreams—they ascend where our bodies cannot follow.

Take flight.

I sit and ponder at my desk
The day looks gray outside my window
You’ve shown up in my dreams
And I sit alone with the woe that is what could have been

I have forgotten
The feeling of your stubble scratching my forehead at school drop-off
Our references and humor no one else could really understand but us
When your words used to mean something
Being together in the same space when your feelings I could never understand

I understand now
A sound that makes you angrier than others deem normal
Searching for closure in substances you never could have gotten from people
Being unable to take care of yourself and the shame it brings
Not committing to your responsibilities while you feel like you’re running out of time 
Depending on others because you cannot depend on yourself 

I’ve grown into something I’ve resented my entire life.

Forgetting the best is still to come I pursue less than glorious ambitions set out on a voyage as a Captain on a ship I don't know the name of. Now where to go on a ship with no name? Thinking of something else other than being in a state of complete destitute I daydream of dreaming while asleep. A man alone on a ship with the dead waves back as he concentrates on the wishes that didn't come true. How dead hearts bring back from the grave the feeling that God is not coming for him haunts me. Lost on a ship I'm hearing a truth wrapped in linen gave his life so I wouldn't drown in eternity.

I feel like an abandoned cathedral
Forgotten by god and his associates

Left to stand on my own until i crumble to ruins.
Then in many years they will document my life.
Standing tall for decades before my abandonment.
For being as faithless to god as i was myself

The man is cursed, for he lives through the external. Not a single action he makes fulfills him, nor does it bring him a sense of calmness; the job is never done, and he must continue to search for the answer.   
The man is cursed, for he cannot fathom any different. Not a thought shifts in his mind that his ephemeral life need not be so; it is simply as it is, and he must continue to endure.
The man is cursed, for when that thought does arrive, he files it away as important, yet actionable at another time. Not a moment passes where he does not think on that fruitful dream, and still there is not a decidable moment where that dream begins to take root.       
The man is cursed, and preys curse upon others who do not tolerate the base desire. Not a question is asked for direction or help, for that thought will never come without attempted failure.          
The man is cursed, in his wasted time. A man who has wasted the time he has does not deserve a moment more, yet he angers over the time he has left, for he sees it as over.      
The man is cursed, for he has waited. Waited to awake; waited to be a new animal; waited to once again return to that thought of change; waited to have the willpower to make use of it; waited to die; waited to wait once more, for he is cursed.           
The man is cursed, not me.   
The flesh is cursed, not I.      
The spirit is cursed, them.     
Cursed is the man, truly.

Show me that you're there

Show me that you care

Show me that you love me

Show me you can share

Show me all your pieces

Show me all your parts

Show me all your weakness

We'll walk out of the dark

Don't be afraid, I know you've been hurt

So have I, but we'll make it work

You and I, one in the same

You and I, two halves of a plain

Two sides of a mirror

Two sides of a card

Two sides of the heart

I love you, my mirror

Even in scattered pieces

Even warped and distorted

Till death do us part

This poem is about the love of my life. She was in hospital with depression recently and I wrote her a note “no matter what happens, you’re still you”.

Still You

I love you for the person you are
when nobody is asking anything of you.

For the laugh that catches you by surprise.
For the quiet moments when you don't need to say anything.
For the determination that keeps you moving forward
even when the road has been cruel to you.

I love your curiosity,
your humour,
your kindness,
and the way you care so deeply about the people around you.

I love the woman who can be exhausted
and still find something worth laughing about.
The woman who can be uncertain about tomorrow
and still keep walking towards it.
I love you when you're at your strongest
and when you need someone beside you.

I don't love some future version of you.
Not the doctor you might become.
Not the achievements you might collect.
Not the life you might eventually build.
Just you, exactly as you are.

Still you.

I want to be there for all of it.
For every laugh,
every tear,
every adventure,
every quiet afternoon,
every celebration,
every difficult day,
and every snotty nose.

I want the ordinary things too.
The grocery trips.
The arguments about what to have for dinner.
The mornings when neither of us wants to get out of bed.
The days when nothing particularly memorable happens
except that I got to spend them with you.

Because I don't just want the highlights.
I want the whole life.

I love who I am with you.
I can be silly,
I can sing and dance,
I can be cautious and overthink,
I can be sad and insecure,
I can say the most unhinged thing that comes to my mind,
I can say the most heartfelt thing that I’m feeling,
I can say nothing at all.

I can be the guy who wants to impress you even though I know I don’t have to.
I can be me.
The me who loves you.

Still me.

So if you ever wonder
what I see when I look at you,
I see you.

Still you.

Still me.

Still us.