i bLEed DaRk - Poems About Pain Life Heavy Metal and Jesus Christ Read online

  Then our closing days here may be fair

  But with our essence we beg, keep us not

  In the Hall of the Funeral Stare

  "His Blood Covers the Lot"

  Somewhere there's a child rapist

  Who, unbeknownst to himself, laughs while his victims are screamin'

  Resting a cold shotgun barrel to his chin

  Detesting himself, sickened by his own personal demon

  Somewhere there's a bitter, liberal extremist

  Finalizing diabolical plans for an animal-testing lab

  She's got two abortions to her credit

  A bomb strapped to her chest as she hails a cab

  Somewhere there's a Black Metal band

  Whose songs call my Lord a whore and a liar

  Wearing corpse paint and covered in pig's blood

  Singing about the "glories" of Hell's fire

  Somewhere there's a demented mother of four

  Using a ruler to craft her crippling red and black lines

  She's gotta make the 4:30 a.m. flight to Boston

  So she can display her freedom-spitting "God loves dead soldiers!" signs

  Somewhere the local Baptist church has been set aflame

  In the parking lot, a giggling trio of teens

  Not knowing the pastor's wife is inside, praying for their souls

  Horrified when they catch her last blood-curdling screams

  Jesus died for them all

  And His blood covers the lot...

  Whether I like it or not

  “Horror Cries Behind…”

  What horror cries behind my mask?

  Molested by a neighbor boy

  (an act of which almost destroyed)

  A father who was there, but not

  (though his forgiveness has been wrought)

  A double life of sin and prayer

  (the likes of which began to tear

  My lonely spirit right in half

  Although I would pretend to laugh)

  Depression, anger, loneliness

  Perverse deception, bitterness

  Dependent personality

  (which nearly got the best of me

  In a suicide attempt

  But Jesus wasn’t finished yet)

  A temper that was so defiled

  I almost lost my wife and child

  I’ve also had back surgeries

  (my back and legs hurt constantly)

  But through it all I’m still alive

  And still can feel that inner drive

  To study and to teach as well

  Life is Heaven, life is Hell

  Life is what you make it, right?

  So live it like it ends tonight

  But tell me (now that my soul lies bare)…

  What horror cries behind your mask?

  “i bLEed DaRk”

  Yes, I confess: my hardcore sagas of war pour forth from a tortured core

  So please don’t moan in shock and woe…I know where this conversation goes

  I’m predisposed to the decomposed, while your pros are composed of roses and bows

  Brother Larry and Sister Mary Sunshine whine and dine on divine rhymes

  But I was born of a fated bloodline…my spine misaligned, resolved to decline

  Somewhere along the line I resigned my mind to a more ghostly design

  From sinister regions I whisper tales of dark legions, heavy metal demons

  And all those damned Hell-dwellers…screamin’

  When pressed to dress for success, I confess:

  I pull my motorcycle vest a little tighter ‘round my chest

  And obsess

  I’ve tried in vain to explain, but now refrain, complaining NOT of my crippling pain

  (Which, by the way, can drive a man insane)

  Yet it’s on these rugged waters I embark

  When it comes to my art, I cry from the heart

  i bLEed DaRk

  “Dear Savior, revive the accused! Strangle untruths by a sanctified noose

  Let my tales amuse and confuse those who choose a nefarious ruse

  May the flight appear black as night!

  As long as the white-hot, blood-red light of Christ shines through, and leads to You”

  Controversial skew

  Admonishment accrued

  All of this hullabaloo?

  Eh, it’s nothing new

  Life’s a deranged amusement park in need of a lightning spark

  Chosen to be set apart, I’m a seething burn mark…i bLEed cOLd aNd DaRk

  I suppose I could apologize

  From my “crypt” arise

  Improvise…disguise

  But to profess such would be lies

  For it is you, not I, who sees through blinded eyes

  So, if an admission of guilt is what you seek, I’m afraid the outlook is bleak

  If you charge that my art is too dark, as slivers of charred oak bark

  My discourse too scarred, too avant-garde, my words too hard

  Please, don’t scribble a note to e-mail me later

  Just take it up with my Creator. I’m not a traitor, I’m merely the translator

  “I Can’t See You”

  Our family has seen its share of abuse; both my daughter and my wife were, at one time, married to abusive men, addicted to the chemical or drink of their choice. We blanketed both ladies in prayer, assisting when needed, and eventually they broke free from the abuse that had them shackled for so long. This poem is the cry of my heart for all the women and children living with a monster today. We hear ya, and so does the Lord. Don’t give up!

  I can’t see you

  Cowering in the corner of the room

  Like some woodland creature, aghast

  Hiding from your own harbinger of doom

  I can’t see you

  Crushed and battered past a ramshackle door

  Bleeding from the mouth and from the soul

  Wanting to die, but wanting to live even more

  No, I can’t see you

  But our Creator-God in Heaven can

  You shiver in horror, drenched in cold sweat

  But even in your agony, you recall

  Times when you should’ve been slain, yet

  Alive you stand!

  This monster in your life tortures you

  Because of the anguish which burns them inside

  They act outside the realm of God’s will

  No; this dreaded half-life is not in His design

  Afraid to stay alive

  But too scared to die, right?

  Please know that I am praying for you

  Just as your beast will never stop

  Raging against their monster, dark as coal

  I will never cease praying for serenity

  And for you to gain the strength to break free and regain control

  The enemy of good wants to destroy you

  But today is the day you defeat him!

  If it takes a day, a month or a decade

  Today is the day you decide to win!

  The time has come to change

  For both of us, perhaps

  You’ve gotta rage against the night

  Simply because this is not right

  If I can’t get to you, I pray someone will

  Before your body or spirit is killed

  Violence has no place in the home

  So carry Heaven’s light in your soul

  Then rage at the night, against the beast

  Until the day you’re finally released

  We should seek charming rhyme in every moment in time

  Please know that, while some wound and tear,

  I’ll stand beside you in prayer

  And remember, the Lord is there

  You’ll make it through this, I swear

  Yet, in some tragedy we can find no rhyme or reason

  This is the fabled “dark night of the soul"

  But joy, my friend, comes on swift
wings

  In the morning

  “I Know That Look”

  Nobody’s perfect, especially us fathers. Sometimes we are dealing with our own childhood issues while trying to guide our sons and daughters into adulthood. This is no easy feat, even for a well-adjusted parent, but we must keep trying to better ourselves, for our family’s sake.

  God help me, I know that look

  The expression on my child’s face which says,

  “Dad, you really hurt my feelings”

  I wore the same mask many times growing up

  Never knowing how imperfect and scared my father must’ve felt

  Like I feel

  Never knowing how difficult his childhood was, his adulthood is

  Like mine

  I was much harder on him than I should have been, I see that now

  It didn’t hit me until I was a father, how difficult it is

  How much pressure you feel to always have the right answer

  The pressure of always doing the right thing

  And always knowing what to say, and the perfect time to say it

  It’s impossible to live up to those kinds of expectations

  But unlike so many, who have a warped sense of what a ‘man’ should be

  I shall not be ashamed to apologize to my wife or my children

  Humility is a balm of sorts

  Soothing hurt feelings with ice cream and tickle fights

  Imagine if your dad would have said to you

  “I’m sorry, I was wrong – do you forgive me?”

  What kind of amazing bridge would it have built inside you?

  Between the two of you?

  But then the question…What happens next?

  God help me, I know that look

  The look which says, “YOU, dad…YOU are my hero.

  YOU are the one who builds my self-confidence

  Brick by brick, encouragement by encouragement

  YOU are the one who builds my self-esteem

  Brick by brick, compliment by compliment

  YOU are the one who helps me define God

  Brick by brick, prayer by prayer

  YOU are the one who helps me define the word ‘man’

  Brick by brick, action by action”

  Dear Lord, my family means more to me than life

  Help me to be the man they need me to be today!

  God help me, I know that look

  The one I know God has when I pray

  That look which says, “It’s ok to be human

  Mistakes will happen; but you must learn from them

  Wake up each morning with a blind determination

  To be the man you were born to be

  And never be afraid to say ‘I’m sorry’

  Never be afraid to laugh at yourself

  Never be afraid to cry with your children

  Never be afraid to hold your hug a little tighter, a little longer

  Never be afraid to follow

  Never be afraid to lead

  Never be afraid to step out in faith

  Never be afraid to make mistakes

  Never be afraid to clean your wounds in front of your wife

  Never be afraid to be her man

  Never be afraid to be silly with your kids

  Never be afraid of the consequences of a well thought-out decision

  Never be afraid to put work away to shoot hoops with your son

  Never be afraid of childish remarks from other so-called ‘men’

  Never be afraid to pray with your family

  Never be afraid to lead by example

  Never be afraid to…

  Well, never be afraid”

  So I shall rise from my slumber this day

  And try

  For my wife

  For my children

  I have determined in my heart to fulfill my destiny of love and laughter

  Of encouragement, strength and tears

  I have determined to be a father

  God help me, I know that look

  That elegant look which simply says:

  “I love you, daddy”

  "In Response to Gandhi”

 

  I like your Hindu God.

  I do not like your murderous Hindu followers.

  Your murderous Hindu followers are so unlike your Hindu God.

 

  Oh, and by the way:

  I refuse to answer for 10,000 years of disillusioned, so-called Christians

 

  On Judgment Day I shall only answer for me

 

  Do not blame me and my fellow brethren for the past (and regrettable) actions of others

  We are but simple, God-fearing folk

  Trying to live life in the best manner we see fit

 

  However, should you need a friend,

  I'd be happy to buy you a slice of pizza and lend an ear

  "It's Time"

  A reclamation decomposed

  As bullet-riddled spirit foes

  Are dashing madly to and fro

  And tellin' life, "Just bill me"

  I'm way beyond just tired, man

  A heart chock-full of contraband

  And soul, as firm as shifting sand,

  Keeps tellin' God, "Just kill me"

  I'm thin with animated pain

  Can't see the Son for all the rain

  A mutiny of the profane

  Yet I just keep on fighting

  My life is at the half-time show

  Yet I have no more thought control

  Than when I was 16 years old

  And sin looked so inviting

  Can purity arrest the night

  As shadows hide far outta sight

  And low-crawl back to what is right

  To snuff carnality?

  Alive my body stands a chance

  All should desire pure romance

  And yet the wounded midnight dance

  Awakens that old me

  It's time

  “Leatherheart:

  A Tribute to Uncle Jim”

  By Rob Weddle

  I have two uncles who not only stand as living examples of good-hearted, godly men, but who both served in the Armed Forces in Vietnam; Jim Wright (pictured above, in basic training), Marine, and Bill Stroud, Army. Both seen action, but for some reason I had felt compelled to write a poem for Uncle Jim for a couple of years before actually doing it. I wrote a poem for Bill, as well, which is in this book (“Gentleman Will”), but it concentrates more on him as a man, and his easy-going spirit, and mentions Vietnam only in passing. For Jim, I felt in my heart that his war experience should be the crux of the poem. It was the last two lines of this poem which hit me one morning about 4:30, and kept playing over and over in my head until I got up and wrote them down. I spent several days writing and rewriting this poem until it was just the way I wanted. My wife and I framed it, and presented it to Jim and his wife, Sue, who cried as she read it. Jim is one of my absolute favorite people on the planet, and who, even when I was a kid, treated me with respect. This poem seemed the absolute least I could do after the sacrifices he made (and, emotionally, continues to make) for this country.

  The nightmare scenes which you have dreamed I cannot comprehend

  It must have felt to you that wretched war would never end

  Losing friends too young to make amends with death’s grim hand

  You led boys into a war we still don’t understand

  But knee-deep in the blood and guts you couldn’t shed a tear

  You marched into the foreign dark without a spark of fear

  To some it’s just a number: “Nearly 60,000 dead”

  Yet Vietnam left ghosts who struggle on inside your head

  Some hearts are slush and mud, tossed about in angry weather

  But yours beats fierce, encased within a skeleton of leather

  A spirit which was toughened in your unforgiving war

  Many have
been traumatized by less than you’ve endured

  But deep within this leather heart there’s more than warring phantoms

  This man who laughs at hardship weeps at patriotic anthems

  And though you kept your sanity as those around you died

  Is that the distant gaze which sometimes hides behind your eyes?

  Those haunted recollections will be laid to rest one day

  When death turns leather into wings and your soul flies away

  Many years from now your final battle will be over

  And I will shed a tear for you, God’s leather-hearted soldier

  Your family and your country are forever in your debt

  So here’s to you: the toughest S.O.B. I’ve ever met

  “Lost”

  Life disemboweled 97.3% of my passion

  Leaving me a hollowed-out shell of my former glory

  Jesus, when did my dreams die?

  Titles M – N

  "Mask"

  By Trey Weddle, written at age 12

  Trey had not read my poem earlier in the book, originally titled, “Horror Cries Behind the Mask,” when he wrote this one. I told him we probably shouldn’t have two poems with the word “mask” in it, and asked him to think about changing the title. He pondered it a few minutes, and then said, “Dad, it’s gotta be ‘mask.’ I can’t think of anything else that makes sense.” Thus, I dropped the “mask” from the title of my poem, shortening it to, “Horror Cries Behind…” As noted later about another one of Trey’s poems, I’m not entirely certain who he wrote this for, figuring he will tell me one day if he so chooses.

 

  You hide your face in a mask of anger

  But you don't know how much good you have inside your heart

  We will help you find it

  God will help you find the good in you