Is It Well?


It is well…

Stabbing the dark as if a thing palpable/physical

Tearing through veils of cobwebs

Warm sticky trickles pooling around toes


Too unknown to tell

If all is well…


Though cringing cowering trembling

Though a confidence shaken

Become a catalyst effervescent

“Outstretched hands”

Fumbling, awkward, childlike…

Reaching searching seeking yearning hoping

Not sure of the grasp

Releasing the clasp

Shrinking back while being led safely across perilous paths

Temerity to plunge

Paralyzed at the precipice of a  life changing lunge

The gap is widening

Between the haves’ who know

And the haves’ who know not

The go-getters…

Not content with the “Given”

The ill-gotten turns to rot

The closer the further

Distance closes in on present

Collides out of time…out of place

Attached though unembraced

Back against back defenses

Truly but backs to walls and apprehensive

Pretentious preponderances of deep crying out to deep

Set aside for another day

Kept safe…

Till the next page turns to cover the last

In a short while…forgotten


It is well…

Where vapors swirl

Fogs dissipate

Sprawling vistas unfurl


It is well…

Despite holes in heads

Chips on shoulders

Tightness in chests

Bare soles on hot coals

Till the next mystical brain fart slips out while bending arthritic knees

Silently rises up into the ethers

With a whispered:

“excuse me please”

Sporadic surrounding volcanic vitriolic ejaculations will continue

to indiscriminantly ensue

Like grits or oatmeal “mush” in pots a’simmer on hot stoves

Reminiscent of symphonic puckered anuses spewing mindless hot poo

Just as methane gas seeps freely from deep below ocean beds

And icebergs begin to melt

And the “SEE” levels rise

And His…

Right in the “Now” that never passes away
“Where at”
Whether anyone else likes it
or not!
Despite the limited confines of this worldly hell
Yes … more than we may ever know
His Grace is sufficient…
Once in His Hands
We may rest assured
it is forever well
With our souls.




Peter Murphy-Indigo Eyes

“Indigo Eyes”
Peter Murphy

Fire burning in a hill
The lines are rocky rough
Red angels wait to pick remains
The cindered shoulder
Of confused men
Seperate from their awe
With grey desire
He looks out mad
His soft grey indigo eyes
Indigo eyes…

His heaven is uncovered not
A black tree blocks his way
His way is skating round a dome
(His way is in dismay)
The playmate sings
Like Orphee in some thunder world
Asking to be bathed in light
To be exemplified

With grey desire he looks out mad
His soft grey indigo eyes

Saw his past
He had dug for trust
With blind infected hands
And wondered as the hurt bit hard
Why the sacred weren’t at hand
Only when his ears were deaf
To the angels light burst waves
Only when his ears were deaf
Did life turn from fog to fog
But not evil but estranged
But not evil but estranged

Indigo eyes, Indigo eyes
Indigo eyes, Indigo eyes

With grey desire
He looks out mad
His soft grey
Indigo eyes
Indigo eyes