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Unworthy This, Unworthy That
Forgive me in the times of each day
when I come to see my truer colors.
The less suitable ones that bring down a godly smile.
My efforts to betterment have yet to cease,
and I've nob intent on making such an appointment.
They wait like thieves and murderers,
mere inches from my soul, in wake and slumber,
outnumbering me and breathing down my aching
neck whilst I struggle to breathe
the purer air I am deprived of.
Though cognizant of my sins,
they are doubtlessly committed by a guilty
consciousness which has been undermined with a
pride that bear in deep shame as opposed
to a better way to walk.
The list will be long, as you,
as with all things, are more the perfectly aware.
I am the guilty by my own confession,
and grace is a concept that is greatly welcome
and unconditionally existent in the presence of my unworthy soul.
I know not why i write what is already known to Omnipotence
perhaps a confessional to my one and only
King who spared me the eternity of fire and ice
in a realm witho
Behold, Sweet Charity
A thief with red hands,
In confessional with God overhead,
Sits in darkness and tears.
Alone is the sinner,
A wayward soul caught
In a balancing act that
would be wished on no other.
Hell awaits, just beyond
those wooden doors,
While the demons, sit just opposite
Where a priest should be.
The dwell cramped
in hallowed ground
By the will of their purpose.
One word after another,
Build up the lies for temptation,
Straight up from depths of Oblivion,
For lies to come for a heavy heart.
The weight becomes great,
Blotting out the speech of Hell,
Birthing deaf ears to temptation.
Apologies are for sinners in search,
Seeking for absolution, retribution
and revelation against obstacles.
Grace is for the
prideful turned beggar,
homeless in the home
of a world all over.
Imprisonment so temporary
is for the apologetic beggar, by charity
is given a warm fire by Omnipotence.
The Giver whose will
is by His own testament,
Shifting only to blend
In our lack of understanding.
The Challenge of Little Devils
In the dead and dark of night, in the time
where I recall my love for dimmed light and shadow,
I have only to fear what lurks there with me.
Awareness is but the first layer past the eye,
those same eyes that once thought the bumps in
the night to be morbid tales of fiction.
All nights are nights to be made as easy times
for the luxurious hunts, as I am worn and tired
from my fighting the day behind me.
The time in which they stalked their
food had been behind the hands of clocks,
when the sun would have revealed them in an instant.
What lurks there are abominations of many breeds,
all in the same kin, and mixed in all
the tales of horror and suspense.
Never were their names lies or metaphors
for the sake of artists...those bumps and howls
of the night are older than art itself.
They roamed this world and the next, before
the time of the most average footprints on
the earth, making themselves known subtly.
I have only them to fear, but that fear is
smothered by the remaining light in t
The Memory of a Dead Man Walking
Suchlike the will of brimstone beasts,
Is the will of a dead man walking,
In each step is left the prints of carelessness.
Holding the half empty glass with a crack in the side,
stumbling around the dunes in the long wait to become
a savage before the credits roll.
A happy ending was for another tale for another man way
off back in the mirage of the desert that harbors those
dunes as he lies six feet under with a smile by rigor
mortis and a silent song in the beatless heart, there
beneath a tombstone that read,
here lies a memory.
Come Hell or high Heaven, the dead man walking
walks on without a goal or care for the world,
a bottle of dried up whiskey hanging loosely
in hand, gathering sand from the winds of that
coming storm. Illusive would have been his
laughter to sober eyes in that wasteland.
The Memory looks on as a shade beyond the grave,
staring straight at a man of woe, watching those
apathetic trails disappear. The glass fell into
the bosom of those lands beyond greener pastur
Just One More Time
Those chains, how their cheers can resonate
in wake and dream alike. My shoulders are
strained in time without a proper word.
How bound I am from the starting line of my
own naivety to my lack of bliss in
the lack of ignorance?
I am no longer blind, but climbing my
Jacob's ladder upwards from shame
where chains pull me back
In that foolish past, I was never aware
of these bloody chains that before me countless
others have worn in varied forms and guidance.
Stable ground that welcomes my feet is
above my head, just out of reach as the
seconds take my few grains of sand.
Those chains labor me, like massive serpents
of unholy iron that constrict with
all my struggling.
Take my heart and hands, for alone
I will only fall with the inevitable
results of time and temptation.
The Devil on Your Shoulder
Wrapped like a gift in sheets, playing the role
of cold turkey while sweat shakes down the flesh.
Frozen in time, forced to see life flash before
the gaping eyes as though a Pale Horse had
come alone in jest and spite.
The rapid blinks that pan the camera angles for
unsettling cinematography make for a trip to an
avant-garde Hades for the audience of one.
Those damned subliminal messages hidden
in merciless metaphors.
Demons behind the curtains, sending in paper
airplanes with scribbled teasing and temptation,
awaiting their gift to open itself and become
a savory meal that would only blend with
the memories of what once was.
A husk once called man will sit, quivering alone
in the room of his own induced Hell, while those
demons cackle and drool from every angle as the
hallucinatory short films escalate into
the award-winning nightmares.
They call for him to come out and play,
with voices like friends and tones like killers.
Strength wraps the blanket tighter, absorbing
the sweat of th
Serenaded are the vultures past the
silence of calm demeanor,
where only leaves fall in a quiet Autumn.
The gusts of haunted winds run through a
chilled air that even ghosts choose to
evade in the darkest hours.
No Sunlight had touched the soils below
in any matter of time,
though it had given first light to growth.
Though that canopy cannot keep away the
howls and screams of undead scavengers
which only muffled the sounds of better
birds who sang for the sun.
Third eyes were stitched shut and feet
were bound by illusive chains. How little
the closed treasure chest could ever hold,
where when opened it would have overflowed,
blotting out the haunted sounds and using
the limited light within darkness.
The vultures search only to find with eyeless
sockets, the lively canopy of those growing woods.
Time and all of space could never have grazed those
soils, however wet or dry. Whatever was let in was
by the canopy that guards and shelters.
There were paths in those woods, where many feet h
The Oldest Trick in the Book
The recurring theme of malinger and tomfoolery
pushes an envelope packed with counterfeit
bills across a desk made by the hands of hungry children.
So blatant a sin as to lie to a land of suspecting
psyches is that of a rape to every thought crossing
the pathways of synapses and morality.
The clueless neckties were never clueless,
as free will is the truest catalyst to the monsters
beneath the skin of miracles, like cannon fire in an orphanage.
Deception is a talent practiced while mastered by Hell,
and surely the envelope holds origins from places of evil?
Bills, from mangled trees, grow into newer roots of evil.
Rot can be proven and believed in any walk of life
in and across the world. A thing like evil is illusive
but worth the hunt. Thus end this cycle before it expands.
It is old and respected only by the evil and the ignorant,
the breeds who are related in sin. Let never a single demon win,
and take only the challenges that ring bells in Heaven.
The Fate in Miracles
Do her eyes love what they see?
Do they dilate and tear up with the loving devotion?
If they could, the makeup would run and
she would care little as she ran faster, towards him.
No pace is fast enough for her racing heart
that beats a million strong to bombard the soul.
How she has missed the arms that wrap her like
a present, that sport the hands that wipe the tears.
Not an eternity would suffice for her hearts
desire that only matches his for the woman he embraces.
He stops only to unwrap a gift from God and
kiss the lips that Heaven gave perfection to.
His eyes were tired, mixed with her tears,
while sparks of life came in every breath of relief.
Miraculous was a name for this reunion that was
to outweigh every obstacle of the Hell gone through.
There was no question now that God did in fact
smile from a throne, upon Heavenly joy.
A devil on the shoulder had lost its voice and
become only a whisper in the presence of an angel.
Broken ChordMy heart alone is a instrument in God's temple
Playing songs of worship for hours and hours
But then the chord breaks and music cannot be played
Have to get the chord fixed, but too sad to fix it right now
That one broken chord; curled and twisted
Can I ever play music right now?
The tragedies of this world makes it seem impossible to play
Then nothing but tears roll down for there is no songs playing
The broken chord that used to play many songs
The broken chord that used to play songs of worship for hours and hours
My heart broken and nothing but songs of tragedy plays
Songs of brief tragedy plays in the haunting silence
Tears roll down my eyes and wonder if I will ever play songs again
But in the grace and love of my God
In all the things He can do
He takes the broken chord and just smiles at it
There's nothing He cannot do
The chord maybe plucked and no more music can be played
But the Lord himself plays His songs on a broken chord
Song of worship reenters my heart from a broken ch
RemoteThe pond eye
drunk with Oklahoma rain
comatose in the yolk
of a centrifuge
is my third
Egrets perch high in sycamores
like leaning lashes.
sickly black oaks
and hold mass at feeder ducts.
Turtles dart beneath the pupil
as cows come blundering
into the inner blue
of a vast
StrongLifting all the weights in the world and train to a pulp
Thinking the world can rest in the palm of my hands
Not giving a care in the world
Bench pressing the world and pouring out sweat
Studying all day and all night
Hitting those books and jogging the miles in knowledge
The world is in the palm of my hand
Sweating out with the strength of moving walls
But as the pressure gets too much; there is always aching
The strength that make one stronger than oak starts to fade
Crawling on your knees when the pressure gets too much
The pressure is unbearable and you can’t do anymore
But my God gives me faith that can move mountains
My God has no limits to His own strength
My God releases the pressure and puts it on Himself
My God has no limits
My God is stronger than the roots of the mighty oak
My God is stronger than the volcanic rocks
My God is stronger than metal chains that binds me together
My God is stronger than any superhero in 30 pages
My God is stronger even on that day on Calva
Jesus' FaithThe good and faithful servant
is the one
who trusts Him
is always waiting
for their Master~
for the Masters Voice
I’m living for the Lord
I’m dying for the Lord
I’ll suffer for the Lord
Because He said:
”My God and your God,
My Father and your Father””*
Jesus adopted us into the Family of God
Jesus, our Brother
He did it all for us
He loved God perfectly,
loving us perfectly
and dying to save
Like we deserved to die for our sins
and He took our place on the cross
He took our place in our death
Jesus died for us!
Do you get it?
He really did
“Now even though you die
You will live”**
Just like Jesus did
Just like Jesus did
Cause He had the perfect trust
Christ had the perfect FAITH
God the Father whom the Son came out of His bosom
HE WAS GOD
The ONE GOD
1599 Geneva Bible (GNV)
16 Jesus s
What Does One Say?
What does one say when someone
What does one say when someone
believes only 40% of the Bible?
What does one say when someone
does not even believe in Jesus
& say they never sin?
What does one say when someone
will not listen to you
no matter how compelling you can be?
What does one say when someone
doesn’t care about an after life,
only about today,
What does one say when that someone
is a very old and dear friend?
A friend that has no faith?
What does one say when faced with a dilemma?
Push too hard (I can get l
Is more of a choice
Than a feeling
It is hard
Fear and doubts
Try to smother it
And to cover it
It takes a choice
Not to listen
To those fears
And to those doubts
It is hard
It is worth it
It frees you
From those fears and doubts
There is the ultimate hope
In something more than this world
That is true and faithful
That loves no matter what
Who is there all the time
It is that hope
That keeps me going
Day in and day out
And I would not
Have it any
Blessings in the StormThrough the shadow
Of the storm
There is light to be seen
Even though it is raining
The light can be seen
Behind the clouds
As this storm continues
I feel Your love
I know that
You still care
About my family,
About my dreams
Big or small
You shower me
That I never thought possible
Or in a way that was not expected
There in none like You
You are my Love, my Lord
And my Savior
You are my Daddy
And I am Your princess
And I know You love me
More than I can love You
You gave me
Life, love, and light
There is none that equals You
You have given me
Dreams to explore
A talent to show Your love to others
And hope to keep me
Faith to stand the valleys and mountains
Hope to keep moving forward
Love, the greatest of these, to give to others
Like You have given me
How to Build a Soul1 Know that you are lost
victim to a world of chaos
[don't allow yourself to resign]
2 Close your eyes
put aside lies born of senses
[explore virtues of being blind]
3 With deep breaths, calm
the turbulence inside
[stirred from workings of mankind]
4 Detach yourself
discover a new perspective
[nothing is real save the mind]
5 Circumvent your desire,
anger, pain, and happiness
[take note and leave it behind]
UnityWe are unique
Each and everyone
But we still are the same
We have different
Skin colors, eye colors,
Hair colors, speech,
Body style, and many others
No matter what
We look like
There is something
That brings us together
Something that unites us
A goal that is the same
And the same direction
That something is Jesus,
Who we have choosen
To be our savior
For all eternity
We have Him in common
No matter our backgrounds
Or our personal views
On the world
We all are different
But we all work towards
The same goal
To show His love
And to tell others about Him
It isn’t easy to keep
Because of fleshly desires
And start to stray
We stray because
We look at others
Through our eyes
And not God’s
We justify our prejudices
To make ourselves better
But it causes problems
Which breaks the unity that we strive towards
We need to walk our path
With humbleness and meekness
And loving one another
We cannot love one another
Until we learn to love
A Walk With the Poet- Canto 2- The Ink of Exile
From behind me came voice and word...
Both new, and friendly to my ears.
In a sense did I now feel safe presence.
"A descendant of Cerberus was he...
So vile are those beasts.
Though shall you fear not, as you are protected."
I turned to find, through a doorway
bursting through with light in abundance...
The poet of Florence, in form of spirit.
Dressed the white and red of his portraits.
With upon his head, a crown of leaves,
Whose veins were black with ink.
"Poet before me, I beseech from thee, answers,
For once I had many, and now I have none!
Assist me, as I lost more than ever."
My head hung in shame,
like some criminal on the gallows...
I knew not the true reasons for my shame.
"I have many times prayed,
and my faith have I kept!
But once more, I am adrift...
Like a ship is my being, lost at sea...
My body, the temple...crumbling with erosions.
My soul fears the twists and turns of time."
"Hold thy tongue," he commanded, "And worry not!
Sent to you is the guide before thee,
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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