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The Sand Between My Toes

The following writings are copyrighted All Rights Reserved; Hazel Hoyle

covered in stains

Where do heaven’s bright angels go

when the world so far below

has fallen into the pits of fire.

The series of anguish.

The restless desires.

the crazed, lonely slayers of sanity

drifting through life at the speed of

sound as sirens scream and red voltage pulsates

through electric air.

Even the moon was red the other night

It shone a clear path upon the water.

Beckoned us to walk.

Like we could. Indeed we might.

Reflections of electric red voltage

or bloodshot eye ducts tears run dry.

Pools of empty.

Shades of silence screaming at my soiled conscience

about moments of pleasure followed by lifetimes

of pain and guilt and hatred for myself.

My lowly loathing earthly flesh.

surrounded by temptations. Surrounded by the fright. The evil overcomes me. Again.

My glory hides behind their eyes.

The angels who visit those not sleeping. (slipping)

Shelter those who are weeping

not for themselves, but for they, the world, the plight. The very sight

of it all.

if only briefly, could they weep for me?

my stains.

my stains.

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Tranquillity

Just me again and my thoughts.

Me, my thoughts and the waves pressing

forward. Reminding me of God’s peace.

My thoughts are a rancid storm of tropical wind, hurricane speed. Destruction in the air. Turmoil settling all around.

But the peaceful waves gently pressing to the shore and back and again to the shore.

The tranquillity of my mind rests there. Somewhere beyond the water’s break.

Unknown hidden restless yet calm. Where does my peace lie. Where

will the waves cover my thoughts for enduring longevity.

I stare out at it - a hint of sun’s warmth Residual; afar. Against a starlit sky. But it touches me slightly. Whets my desire To be one with the waves. One with the sun.

Oh, where, do I find the waves that will cover me? Endlessly. Tranquillity

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Slave Gods

And there he was asking for some bread. Starving really. Starved. Death in living skin. No semblance of life. Other than breath in his lungs - as he inhales the poison.

Just one more time, one more time For a moment it lives For a moment it dies And then the search again begins.

Just one more time, one last time They will die for this – they do; they have Offerings of souls to the slave Gods of crack pipes The heroine addicts. The Downtown Eastside.

Flash back to days of mother’s final rage Screaming Rejection young girls blamed daddy’s lustful assaults

The girl had to go, she had to go – she’s a liar. Yet guilt is still stabbing through mother’s knowing womb. She reaches for the bottle and pours it deeply she drinks it in, swallows it down.

And there she was asking for some bread. Starving really. Starved. Death in living skin. No semblance of life. Other than hope of a fix - as she lays down for the dollar.

Just one more time, one more time. For a moment it lives For a moment it dies And then the search again begins.

Just one more time, one last time They will die for this – they do; they have Offerings of souls to the slave Gods of whoreThe Sand Between My Toes

The following writings are copyrighted All Rights Reserved; Hazel Hoyle

covered in stains

Where do heaven’s bright angels go

when the world so far below

has fallen into the pits of fire.

The series of anguish.

The restless desires.

the crazed, lonely slayers of sanity

drifting through life at the speed of

sound as sirens scream and red voltage pulsates

through electric air.

Even the moon was red the other night

It shone a clear path upon the water.

Beckoned us to walk.

Like we could. Indeed we might.

Reflections of electric red voltage

or bloodshot eye ducts tears run dry.

Pools of empty.

Shades of silence screaming at my soiled conscience

about moments of pleasure followed by lifetimes

of pain and guilt and hatred for myself.

My lowly loathing earthly flesh.

surrounded by temptations. Surrounded by the fright. The evil overcomes me. Again.

My glory hides behind their eyes.

The angels who visit those not sleeping. (slipping)

Shelter those who are weeping

not for themselves, but for they, the world, the plight. The very sight

of it all.

if only briefly, could they weep for me?

my stains.

my stains.

Table of Contents

order now

Tranquillity

Just me again and my thoughts.

Me, my thoughts and the waves pressing

forward. Reminding me of God’s peace.

My thoughts are a rancid storm of tropical wind, hurricane speed. Destruction in the air. Turmoil settling all around.

But the peaceful waves gently pressing to the shore and back and again to the shore.

The tranquillity of my mind rests there. Somewhere beyond the water’s break.

Unknown hidden restless yet calm. Where does my peace lie. Where

will the waves cover my thoughts for enduring longevity.

I stare out at it - a hint of sun’s warmth Residual; afar. Against a starlit sky. But it touches me slightly. Whets my desire To be one with the waves. One with the sun.

Oh, where, do I find the waves that will cover me? Endlessly. Tranquillity

Table of Contents

order now

Slave Gods

And there he was asking for some bread. Starving really. Starved. Death in living skin. No semblance of life. Other than breath in his lungs - as he inhales the poison.

Just one more time, one more time For a moment it lives For a moment it dies And then the search again begins.

Just one more time, one last time They will die for this – they do; they have Offerings of souls to the slave Gods of crack pipes The heroine addicts. The Downtown Eastside.

Flash back to days of mother’s final rage Screaming Rejection young girls blamed daddy’s lustful assaults

The girl had to go, she had to go – she’s a liar. Yet guilt is still stabbing through mother’s knowing womb. She reaches for the bottle and pours it deeply she drinks it in, swallows it down.

And there she was asking for some bread. Starving really. Starved. Death in living skin. No semblance of life. Other than hope of a fix - as she lays down for the dollar.

Just one more time, one more time. For a moment it lives For a moment it dies And then the search again begins.

Just one more time, one last time They will die for this – they do; they have Offerings of souls to the slave Gods of whoredomdom The heroine addicts. The Downtown Eastside.

When will they find rest Dear Father. Surely you weep at the sight.

Just one more time, one last time. They hope of a Lord - who will free them Deliverance of souls from the slave Gods of torments The heroine addicts. The Downtown Eastside.

tempted

Captivate Captivated by the waving oceans in your eyes

A secret spiritual sensation Awakens me to longing I cry out to Jesus – remove my sin Purge my flesh, Lord

Not my will, but thine be done.

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For the Perfect Gift: The Sand Between My Toes