The Heerdink-Stepek Cycle

No birds sing now in this landscape void of life, of love, of light. Nests dismantled, the tabernacle destroyed. Every voice lifted into one higher being straight from the page to the hand that wrote the book.

Back in place this lonely God picked himself up accepting his destiny Eyes blinded by Fate a new life never to blossom they worshipped what wasn't there lives spent stumbling around the desert looking for a Promised Land Promised much delivered only sand and terrible heat until one last time the sun closes under the sad horizon and fog becomes night becomes nothing in the end that final day done no birds sing now no tears shed.

Not a single tear left to shed on that final day in the end as the fog becomes night & our sun’s tiring iris decides to close one more time. The lonely god no longer without all the souls required for sweet nirvana. So many spent their lives worshipping what couldn’t be seen only to discover in this new life upon opening eyes after rebirth our destiny all along was to be picked back up as the many shards of a broken god & put back in place.

A good heart betrays when their love goes cold under the ground and they wish for the sound of angels' wings that no longer beat We disguise visitations for rusty old chains that bind our feet and keep us Earthbound with only broken fences left to mend Not a single cloud to spare the blue sky Not a single tear to shed away the grief hoping for all that is pure to heal so we can take flight from daytime to the night

What good does a heart do for lonely men when their love is but long under the ground & cold nights got them wishing for the sound of missing sweethearts & their affection? If only skies allowed visitation, grief’s old rusty chains would become unbound so all that’s lost could finally be found, gathering the broken pieces to mend. Except there’s not a single cloud in sight that can wash away this deep immense pain. A man is left to himself in the night hoping for something most pure to obtain & with his shattered parts now healed take flight if only the lonely god could spare rain.

We undo a sonnet line by line spending money as we write and though poverty makes us whine and growing debts ensure life's tight Our tiny children still admire something cheap, devoid of beauty we're all machines set on fire with purchasing our only duty Let's love the joy we come across and as we age let's love it more we have no time to waste on dross and shiny coins become a bore Go, find the strength for another smile and remain a child for a little while.

We undo ourselves for a bargain & never mind the money we save as it falls through holey pockets, leaving a golden path of debt behind for tiny children to admire & maybe get something cheap yet so special from one of those machines with the game where everyone’s a winner all the time. Some take the joy one can get with little while others grow to become old, not able to find the strength for a smile as their greed for shiny coins chokes them like the once curious child they used to be.

People buy wisdom at the market for sale, this week only, 10% off We undo ourselves for a bargain All our singularity, connection with all that is, was, and will be shatter in the rush to get a discount in the Whole Life Sale and what was once one becomes a New Age mosaic where every crack is visible and disjointed All of us artists, con artists with ourselves the one we con most we breathe is, saying look at my wonderful in-breath breathe out saying "I'm letting it go, look at me!" Meanwhile, in some quiet space in a nonentity town lungs do their work the heart beats its message and a beautiful percussion reaches to all parts of the universe