Take me somewhere nice and some

I don't have anything in the whole world to boast about, but I do have someone who bled out for me...and he is alive again

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSDPShtGBWU

Buddha's vacancy

With a held jaw and eye sockets of coal
a hammer and a rifle.
look the hands are both of the hardened type.

He trades a blow with a soft palm
and calls his father buddha
with no pain and no cares

But his palm is not soft enough to be pierced
and his no-care is a hard heart.
He does not wait for death or fear it
because he is dead.

With a master's patience and an empty grave
an embrace and a healing.
look the hands are both of the wounded type.

Transcontinental Concern

The distance is continental
Our arms just three feet long

In decent times
I would let you know

But the fear is on
The fear is on your voice
and on the telephone lines.

FIN

Note: I am not sure this one really works as a poem.  It's a song I wrote, but now that I read it without the music I think it's more a song than a poem.

Promptus

Doesn't my heart strain for my friends
as we pull on our clothes each morning?

Don't I love them,
want to see them?

Is it sole love that pushes us,
out the door, with the speed we tread.

Are we blind then,
do we see then?

Could my bones be steel and my face of diamond,
I would cut a path for you.
Clear the sound for you, smash the screens for you,
break the engines for you, until all is quiet and you can hear.

One clear voice filled with blood and compassion.

World Champion

You are on the train that says
"I am not running out of rope."

Because of these things they're yours
no eye lines, no cell seen dying.

You soak them in yourself
of a false permanence.

Still, you, them, and me are always dying
With dust falling from us each step.
An inch from Where the Earth crests and ends
Where we all go and divert
Where the shadow consumes some
and for others merely passes.

You shine for a mere convincing second before you die.
There is no quaint Jesus here, only a real live God.