The Faithful

For so long they've hid
in their towers
behind their walls.

They were like a club
exclusive to middle class
exclusive to hymnal bigotry.

For so long they plagued me,
logic questioned their motivation.
Why and how could humility be
so ingrained in what we see
when we look at them?

Then one day, I became one of them
the faithful few who walk in the light
and try to love everyone we meet.

Little did I know how Metallica was
still my theme song, holier than thou.
My heart song was to see the lost saved,
not realized how lost I still was... chasing
striving to become someone new,
not seeing God created me.

So the faithful have been a family
they are not who I thought I saw
on the television, the distorted reality.

Jesus is love, and so is the Church,
so long as it's not poisoned with bigotry.

Let my brothers and sisters rise up in love,
and not judge, but dine with sinners in humility.

Self

Sometimes I hate myself

but usually I try to love myself

because I'm supposed to.

Jesus said to love thy neighbor

as yourself, but if I hate everything

about me, how the hell do I love them?

I thought I heard something at 23

a call on my life that I wanted, and was there...

but in a way that I just couldn't seem to see.

I chased the mic and the stage for years,

completely abandoning my love of words.

I thought everything about me was bad.

I hated myself, everything about me was evil.

So I destroyed as much of my own work as I

could find... persecuted myself, alienated myself.

Words come to mind... bigot being chief among them.

But at the time, it was innocent,

I was only doing what I thought was right.

But still... it was all about me from the beginning.

The adrenaline rush of preaching to strangers

replaced the nicotine and alcohol.

All these years later, finding balance

finding humility

I find my humanity.

My created value.

My God-given gifting.

With dying to self and obedient self-sacrifice,

I find Jesus stops the knife more than we think.

I'm Back

The higher my peaks

The lower my valleys.

It’s easy to be the holy man on top of the mountain

But in the streets aren’t we all sinners?

Don’t we all have things that catch us up

And guilt us into starting all over?

The Devil knocks us from pro’s to beginners.

At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

The truth is that only you’ve got the power

To knock yourself to the ground or

Pick yourself back up and

Start climbing the tower

That you just fell from.

The higher our peaks

The lower our valleys.

I’ve lived my life from peak to peak,

A roller coaster of emotion and a

Constant reminder of my failure to be consistent.

I’ve done my best to keep up. Oxy can’t stop the pain.

A nose-full of Adderal couldn’t stop

My eyes from closing or keep me sane.

From spiritual authority over demons to

Not being sure if I’m awake or dreaming.

The higher my peaks

The lower my valleys.

A passion reignited, words bubbling to the surface

For the first time in years I am inspired

For the first time in years I have purpose.

Until I can thrive in the valley,

I don’t deserve the mountaintop.

I'm back.

Resurected and Changed

When the writer stops writing,

 He falls to pieces.

He wonders about life, what has become of him

Where he is going.

He stops to question the abyss

Before diving in.

Mediocrity will not be accepted

in his mind, not in the literary sense.

For the rest of his days, all his heart desires

Is to type his soul out

His loved one beside him.

The world questions this, however.

It dares ask “Why?”

Life seeps in with its claws

Dark with blood.

The machine called “Leviathan”

Demands he “grow up”

Demands he “get a real job”

Demands he kill his passion.

The flame never dies

Within the soul of a writer.

Like a Pheonix from the flames,

The writer can never stop writing.

Rise

Officially on the road for Spooky Empire. I've got to admit, it is both exciting and terrifying going to my first convention. On the positive side, I am going with no expectations. There is a very low chance of being disappointed. On the other side of the spectrum, there are no expectations. I have no idea what is going to happen, who I am going to meet, when exactly I'm going to be speaking or what I'm going to say. I suppose that is all part of the adventure. On a completely different note, I hope you enjoy the brand new poem posted below. I look foward to Spooky tomorrow, I'll try to let you all know how it was on the first day pending the energy level on my tanks by the time I return to the hotel.
- James O. Cannon

Rise

Finding the words laced with poison and throwing them away

is just a part of who I am, what I do day to day.

Use words to strengthen, build up, and try to say

there are others out there who care about you, but hey

don't take it from me, for it is spoken from the mouth of they

who are your enemies and wish nothing more than to lay

siege upon your soul and your flesh they wish to flay.

When you feel the call, stand and fight with me as a lights ray,

for it can only be done through one, only be done one way.

The way of peace, love, freedom, and daring not betray

the trust of brothers. This unto you I say.

Horrors of the Night

Good evening/morning/afternoon (whatever best suits you for where you live and what time you happen to be reading). Halloween is approaching and the dark note of my poetry is definitely showing. I usually have a "take it as it is" policy with my poetry and writing, meaning I won't break it down for you. That simply means you are welcome to interpret my poetry however you wish. If you like to view it as a story, fantastic! If you see the political messages or take away something else, that's great too! Now, there is a comments section below, so if you feel like you want to share how you felt about the poem (any of them actually). Also, if you want to talk about it, feel free to ask or email me.

- James O. Cannon

Horrors of the Night

Seeping into reality are the horrors of the night

Monsters, villains, ghosts, zombies, all sorts of plight

Death, destruction, deception, they're all coming to the light

the lies we've all been told are surfacing, so the wrongs can be made right

so all of those who haven't opened your eyes, awaken and join the fight

for we are being made fools of while we sleep and must try with all our might

to rise against the odds and answer the call to rise and bring within our sight

the truth of the realization that we are meant to reach a greater height.

Join with me, brothers and sisters and keep at bey the horrors of the night.

Burn

Hello everyone. I hope you all enjoyed yesterdays addition to the blog. Today I want to share the below poem, Burn. It has a more political note than I usually keep in my poetry, but I felt that it went with the new rhyme scheme I'm trying out. I hope you enjoy and come back for more!
- James O. Cannon

Burn

Burn the world with your scornful eyes

Kill the people with your blatant lies

Starve the hungry with your budget size

Dehydrate the thirsty with your unholy ties.

Corporate murder under government eyes

Covering it all up with expensive, intricate lies.

Keeping the people in check with our militant size,

Silencing the quiet with your dark, faceless ties.

The poor prophets gone missing under assassin eyes,

Covered up with emptied medicine bottles and media lies,

All put together with your criminal networks size

and sealed for ever with your selfish, loveless ties.