TRENDS

When did it become cool once again to draw dash marks over the GIFT and tell of peoples past sins? When? Why are we still trying to prepare the way with a non-Christians purity when Christ looked to the Keepers of the Law absurdly right before He died for the ungrateful shes and he's. U-SURP ME. Take my crate from my hands where I've written out my own plans and I want my will to be fanned. I've ignited fireworks of passion... costing more than your 50000 dollars 4th of July to get my egocentric high. I've had annual toasts to thank God, that unlike many I've gotten by with my purity. It's thanksgiving. And, dude. I'm very thankful

Don't Worry, He'll Show

I think if there was a light in this city
I think Christ might show

Like he did when there was a light in Bethlehem
On that stary night, giving a point of direction
to a few men
Christ came from a virgin
Indeed, to some wise men and some shephards
Christ was shown

Like he did in the storm
Sleeping in the back was the Messiah
12 wading in the boat
That they feared would be swallowed by a lake
When my God made both the lake and the storm
They didn't know, instead of just a teacher, that Messiah would show

And when it came to the garden of Gethsemane
The world bellowed in deep darkness
Everyone was blind to this
But the third day, after all that darkness
people could see
even the doubting Thomas
Because He showed up

When Stephen got stoned by the masses
And Jewish leaders were taken passes at the Young Bride
she skipped out just after the wedding
From the Euphrates to Rome where did she go
For thy Lord feared she had become a NO SHOW
The too weak left
Christ's love taken for theft

When shootings and polluting
comits of word vomit... MTV playing victory horns on Jersey's Shores
Bill boards cover the skies portraying naked girls with vogue
And you wonder why your thirteen year olds
purse is bigger than her shorts
whenever she leaves home
boys watchin your girls every step
And moms don't call it cute
If ya call your house a righteous institute
Bro, that aint Biblical

Church's tell children, "COVER YOUR EYES"
But our alternatives are slim to none
We don't train lambs to be tailers, but just gospel mission sailors
When we don't encourage our kin to see things as premissable
Light the missle that is the church
shoot it to the moon
so it can alienate some more

When the sheep act sheepish
Asking, "What have they done?"
Once again the temple cast lots
crusading more white washed stage sets
pursuing monetary prep
than taking hands reaching out in the community
one step, two step
What a bunch stoop kids

Acting like their ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS has strepped
As in God-Image playing hookie
When the test comes in our Chemistry
How do we bond Heaven on Earth
without marring the Son of God's imagery

All Christians do
is watch what you the world did
We preach preaching about sin,
Like we are casting gossip bids about political advocates
in a country every Christian already knows is steeped deep in sin

In a darkness just like this
When the morning doesn't seem close
And the sun won't come up
And they don't believe you
cause even you sometimes don't get it right
Yeah, I believe still that Christ will show
Thank God their hope is dependent on me and you
How we grow

The Whisperer

My strange, but familiar Whisperer
I'm dust
But you have whispered
whispered life into my soul

And when I went down in my death bed
And the water was sourging
Did you come with a surge of power
And reveal the crop for the harvest
When I came out of the water that 13th hour
And I could breathe the life you put
a whisper in my soul

You've come laying gifts for what you're building
Constructing Jesus on its earthly grain
Your word as pillars
Your grace, ready at the table
There's some pictures of us up on the mantel
There's a project in a room that we're going to finish together
You whispered life into my soul

I cut myself with sharp thistles and thorns
I was dying after being reborn
Forged with the fires of negativity
The foul breath urging the impetus for change
We fragile scatter the God whisper from our soul in our resistance
Birthing hunger pains

You put Images of Believers into my path
You gave Christ times 7 times 70
These people came when it wasn't asked
His image being an innocent child, a wise elder, an obedient peer
You never stopped forgiving and moving me
You whispered life into my soul

And when I've contemplated the realities
Is this even real
pouting in the doubting, and left shouting in the disputing in my disputes prowess
Someone put your word into my path
In suttle talks, as in talking down your stressed and oppressed child you brought me back
You whispered life into my soul

For the books are written and won't be broken
What was said by you will be forever told
Stretched to the corners
From Earth to Heaven
You called out
BIRTH, REBIRTH, RESURRECTION
I think the whispers taking its tole

"FOR THE LAST LINES POINT AT EVERYONE"

Christ, if there is hope,  it's you
For the whisper is there, and there, and there
Not for you to whisper, but to shine the light of the One
who is whispering, out there, and there, and there
If there's Christ, if there is hope, to the deaf and blind
The Whisperer has whispered go, my Bride, it's time

Hey listen
I also see you. I know what you once believed you seem to be missin.
I get it. I've been there.
Lay a hand over your chest, hand pressed
And ask again for the Whisperer to invest
This time tell Him to be more than just a guest with a real humble request
Then ask someone to examine you and say
"What He gives, I want that too."
Bless the Lord, how He moves

Tell THE GIRL THAT

And the voices keep telling me
Go back to your houses
Sit down in silence
but I won't
I won't do it

They keep telling me
Timid is the boy walks silently
And when is the last time you spoke up
But I trudge on
I'm a one man band
Bursting forth
WITH GREAT ADMONITION
Get behind me

The heart beckoning
For we shall trudge home
to where the heart is
WILD
It is heard
with triumph
Heard louder
than the sound of
Times square
For many feet have crossed miles
Staring at signs
telling you to buy into labels

But none have made it into
this court of intimacy
Where there is nothing of a label
No image but a person
No more material
Just spiritual

There is no more timid
I'm not frugal with what I'm buying here
This human heart
I'm coming to this conclusion of WOMAN
Beckoning with all of my might

At the doors a great war in my heart
I'm churning inside, and I wanna confide
and at not hide
But only so you would come into my life too
Is this not an invitation

RSVP
Come you, only, and see me
Together we will be
HEART
HOME
WHERE it is

Finally free
Slaves to each other
Free of ourselves
Submission to one another

Place my heart on the shelf of our interest
and we will call these portraits home
For this is where the heart is

Snapshot
Caption titled
His AND Hers
They both own the rights
Two keys intertwined
To form something beautiful
One door
made of two
yearning people

And out of the blue
If I just asked you
just asked you
not with fine words
or catch phrases
Or a packet of that
packet of sugar, to be my sugar
your name tag

Or that packet of taco bell
hot sauce
that asks my question so I don't have to
I haven't lost my voice
So let me tell what I want to
Cause for you
These won't do
I'm not timid
So don't put me in this crowd too

Wrong shelf
I'm not going to placed on your suspicion
Rather I'll move here
May people see me
when they see that warmth in your face
I'm poppin my questions girl
I'm projection a message beautiful

GONNA DO IT
At least do it
Leaving a trace
on your souls canvas
Let someone pick up that brush and try to touch
Nah, that mark is getting bigger and bigger
I'm gone
Let's pray the nex girl sees it quicker
("At least that's what my mom tells me")
NEXT GIRL, NEXT POEM

Many man have drinched their face in deep water
To stand across the side of boat and peer into the deep
Even for a moment of faith they too have walked on water
Conquering only the things God has given domain to
The beautiful heart of women
The magnificent structures
The wide open plains
Towering mountians
Low valleys
All these men have seen and given into and
grasp in the name of God

But these things
in the storms of life
the boat shakes
and then we ask
Teacher, are you awake
When, Lord will you act
For we make out Christ to be teacher
and not Messiah

For in times of struggles
our faith is tested
The boat is pulled from shore
And we see just how deep
our faith should be
And how deep God's grace is all the more

MINE MINE MINE, MY STONE - rough start

I hate people
Slow people
Loathers
I casted the first stone

I'm tired of em
sinners
prideful winners
I picked up the first stone

I'm carry judgement
Like Santa carrying lumps of coal with names tied to em
And I got the pride to abuse em
A untied tongue flung loose to misuse em
The Defining Moment
The World Changer
That is why I picked up the first stone

I picked it up
Even though you told me I didn't have to
You said
Child
YOU DON'T JUDGE
FOR THIS WEIGHT
ISN'T LIGHT
OR TOO WEAK FOR YOU
A SINNER TO BARE
CARRY THIS
and be crushed

But I picked it up
not so you wouldn't have to
But because I truly
thought I was god too

I flung that stone at you, you and you
I hit you with my peace maker
And it's a back breaker
I was throwing for the kill
smitting your will
I threw that first stone

Cause I wanted you to be alone
Love your neighbor He says
But I truly might hate you
more and more what you do
I think I'm better you

So, take my words for what they are
Cause tonight from where you stand, I'm a shooting star
Make your last wish
Like you got some fatal disease
just don't ask me not to judge you, please
I casted the first stone
Not realizing tomorrow it's this kings turn
to be dethroned

NATIONALLY CHRISTIAN

UTTER THESE WORDS

FOR THEY ARE FROM

GENERATION TO GENERATION

to whom anyone

who searches will find them

WORD

GOD'S WORD

Not laced in hidden meaning

but made known

so that creation would know it's place of meaning

for the Father

stays close to His children

AMEN

Praise the Lord

AMEN

WHEN the light goes out

and the hope still resounds

AMEN

PRAISE GOD

When there's hurt pouring

and ripping through

And the threshold can't take too much more abuse

PRAISE THE ONE

I AM

AMEN

When we've all gone silent

due to the horrific

silence.

There's peace

Be still

Don't run

or take flight

For thy God

doesn't dwell far off

He's here

not in a temple

Praise GOD

AMEN

When the broken

and abandoned

have no home

and people are fleeing

from abomination

THERE'S HOPE

IF you can't see

and if the church, the bride

doesn't come

God annoints

not with Church budgets

but Blessings and Inheritance

The Sermon on the Mount

isn't dead

BUT IS CUT DRY TRUTH

PRAISE JEHOVAH

AMEN

IF you don't know a name to call God

See that He gives names

and He has called forth you into being

Simply being

Praise God

AMEN

When you think that there's nothing to look forward to

YOU, you Christian

Become hopeful again

Cause you need to see heaven

DEAREST FRIEND

For thine assurance

let it be found in the cross

In He who made 

a symbol of a sinners death

A Patrayal of Praise

He DEAREST

Praise God

AMEN

 

BUT NOW,

RIGHT NOW

backs to the wall

blindfolded

with scarlet letters

telling tales of the old self

over run by sin

The small foreigners
Sent out by the Lawless

have become invading giants

and everyone will recieve lashes

by which our burdens run deep

PRAISE GOD, LORD ALMIGHTY

For these people are citizens

dutiful til the end

and Patriots carry banners of MARANATHA

towards the HELM of APATHY

At the gates of our souls

We have lit torches

Calling at the KEEP of LIGHT

Saying the Sacred names

that our Fathers

could not have said

For we now walk with the Almighty

RISEN LORD

when this time comes chants of Praise

IN ALL OF OUR DAYS

HALLELUJAH TO THE HIGHEST

for our lows were not

far out of His reach

His love is far and wide

and exceeds the boundaries of our unbeliefs

We never knew to the extent of how you loved me

BUT NOW

NOW BRIDE

COME AND SEE

PRAISE GOD

AMEN

AWAKEN ME

And you cracked yourself into broken pottery

Caving into blindness

For you didn't see the mockery

In making God's image sightless

Who gave away free life for complaints

and Living Water for fine luxuries

Laid bare for...

You once fell prostrate before God

But now stripped of innocence

Let God, I AM, profess this

To THESE struggling

I AM says this

For God doesn't wish to oppress thee

But oppose the sin inside of me

Would you discredit my justice bride?

Church, would you condemn me to justify yourself?

I AM

Did I not form you?

WHo is this who won't move...?

WHo is this who obscures without knowledge

When I AM declare the means

Not to harm you,

To give you a hope and future.

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation

Tell me if you understand

Who determined it's measurements?

Surely you know!

Can you lift up your voice to the clouds,
   that^(AI) a flood of waters may cover you?
³⁵Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go
   and say to you, 'Here we are'?

And how many times

Have you looked for me

and not seen this

and said "Now I see"

Have you even given orders to the morning

Or shown dawn its place?

That it might grab earth from the edges

and shake the wicked out of it?

The earth takes shape like clay under a seal

Its features stand out like those of

a garment

in these, I AM, I MOVED

DO you remember, Church

The Young, The Growing

The new you...

Or did the New Self once again become the Old too?

And you gave, caved, became broken to...

depression, peer pressure, negativity,

business, friends, drugs, cutting, pride,

anger, distractions, fears, and disturbances,

clicks, hate, selfishness,

CHILD, I AM isn't done with this

sports, perfectionism, prosperity, noise

And I AM has become a white noise

For you made a veil of distractions

But for you

I'm not done with this yet

Church, I'm still here

You're Dad's still me

You made the decision a while ago

To be free

THEN I WILL BE INDIGNIFIED
From the inside

Something felt once before
And this grace
will not be contained
I'll be aflamed
AWAKENED LIKE NEVER BEFORE

poem for the song Awakening

I REALLY DID IT THIS TIME

I... am a son of Adam.
She is a daughter of Eve.
Evil is the Cain that we shall concieve.
I am slave
Mastered by my likes and dislikes
I prescribe and ride waves on the island called, "god is ME"
But let's be real... at least pagans pretend it's spelled lowercase  "g"
I know the uppercase so I like to pretend that's me.
Even though I didn't die for anything
But this Sunday service communion cup was handed to me freely.
I can say, "Today I bear this fruit. A token of my pledge to say that, HEY I'M OF YOU."
But my ambitions and vision of my personal GoD... says I'm just what only I think that I can only see.


I... am a son of Abraham.
I lust open wide with incest
But if I see an abortion sign, truly I would protest.
But how many times to a feeling or urge have I regressed.
No, I haven't had sex.
Not with another woman
Not to make an offspring
But I'm faithless enough to let sex urges spring
Spring from my conceptions
And pretend to make misconceptions...
that maybe God didn't see the screw up.
Yeah, I really screwed.
Yes, well, this time I really did.
HONESTLY
But shhhhhh that's only for the concience to know.
Yeah, but I REALLY DID.

I... am a son of David
But not like David
Just of the royal priesthood
A fine line of Soloman unto Rehoboam.
My royalty makes everyone sucumb
You sucumb to this
This wish
This whining
This overall of  complaining
I wrote songs that contradict the book Psalms
Prayers drawn out long
about needs and wants
 Fine dressed royalty.
No tithing necessary.
Cause my religious aptitude comes with blessing and accessories.
On the package written in bold PRINT "FAITH'S NOT IN INCLUDED"
I buy mine with acts of kindness and a heap of piety.
My selfrighteous bigotry has protruded.

MOVEMENT

The great fragment of mind.
Hopefulness.Hopeful in the ONE WHO SAVES.
Turn over the Lifeless Graves.
ARISE NEW SELF. GOODBYE OLD SELF.
ARISE CHILD.
GOODBYE COMPLACENT WANDERER.
HELLO TRAVELER.
GOODBYE FAITHLESS.
HELLO GENUINE.
TENDER HEARTED.
Goodbye Quiet.
Hello bold.
Goodbye to the cold, a movement has provided warmth.
A soul moving towards goals.
I'm a movement. I'm sacrifice. I'm a voice in the wilderness. I'm a temple of action. I'm a moved heart. I profess and I'm a non-proffitt giver. I'm peacekeeper, not a redeemer, but we'll be moved and made whole by the resurrection til the very end.

I'm ascending because I'm done with descending. I'm done falling down in anything but reverence. I will not turn to be blind. When... I've been sought out, reconstructed, loved, appealed to, placed upon, poured into by grace. I've been reconstructed not for my ownself, but to glorify.

Do you hear it? DO you hear it? -There's a voice calling out in the wilderness... prepare a way for the Lord. This is the temple, this is the church and we through our movement and actions have become an opening for other. We will be a part of the baptism, preaching, and teaching of our sisters and brother. Cause I am the voice. I am movement.
BEHOLD, THE BEAUTIFUL FEET THAT MOVE.

THE LAST SUPPER

Inside the upper room of a one house they checked in. The Son of God and three men. Filled in around a table rather than nice pew rows. AND THE SON said: Take this... eat in rememberance of me. In rememberance of what? To what could you possibly mean? TO twelve sitting around a table that in the garden will get up and flee... Is this truly to show YOU... how you are forgiving?

Calling Young Sinners, Come Home

          White noise for promiscuous girls and boys. New toys made the sky rocketing of the pick pocketing brought to you by such and such fads. Call collect so that marketing can collect while you collect your new sense of identity and worth so that you can find a false identity, hoping that in four years when you finally reach early adulthood you might meet and become the real you. The presumptuous immoral compass... we put labels saying not for those 12 and under as if that which is not beneficial is a game to play with. But hey, you can legally become an alcoholic when you turn 21. And when you’re eighteen legally have as much sex that you can to deem kinky and as excessive fun. But really if you aren't caught Hollywood and golden globe nominees treat such touchy subjects as a playful strip tease that you, the general audience, can indulge in. No one's knees have to bow to moral and angelic decrees. We've kicked our next generation’s knees down to where they can feast the delicacy of infestations, pig slops of disease. Feasting upon what drives our culture in which the media prostitute sits her unGodly womb upon. That which fifty years ago was frowned upon. We are rolling around up and down in our dung pile of happiness... as if our own cheap occupancies can satisfy and quench such a royal and eternal vacancy. And such a God was mocked, defied, crucified. Pierced in the side. A prince then wrapped in cheap linen in a rich man’s tomb. Clothing for a dead man left in perfect order as evidence of a resurrection. And yet as we're inspecting we are still holding unto the earthly garbs of the evidence of a resurrection. We wear the cheap linen even though in our own guilt we bleed. We bleed out in our subconscious. We are soaked in things of a spiritual battle indwelling that some would call faulty apparitions or a blind, conceited, depleted hoax... but I tell you, this... this is no joke. Inspect. Inspect and interject in my indecency. Cause from far away you truly thought I was me. But really what I preach is only what I tell you to be. I'm the teenage day dreamer. Youth, which I think is stuck in a standstill. Look at me. I got all the time to kill. BUT!!! IF YOU TOOK THE TIME TO FIND ANY FAULT ANY CRIME!!! You'd see that I have lied... that it's not after I was baptized that I had resurrected all these things. Those old ways! I've just turned the page to new days. BUT!!! Please if you would just look at this... touch this with compassion that I got a glimpse of from some scripture that painted my salvations picture... If I saw the Christ in you that was calling me home... Maybe, finally I would stop this promiscuous roam... If you calmed the current in this black hole...  And made adventures for a citizen’s soul. Then maybe, just maybe I would finally learn which way to go.

Pale Skinned Infant

I'm an infant of pale white skin. Bones scattered and thin. As if my own flesh and bones had no reason to move. This world being the big blind canvas. Shaded in a dark blue. Left looking for that which through my humanity I have been called into existence in a cracked, broken stance.
I'm the frail stance, saved by Mercy Hands over the killing of some merciless men. Body covered with telephone ads. Ads coated to the skin like a paper mache. Body tied by the coating of such a mache. Only the lips left to move... enough to call out this way.
WHERE'S THE FAMILY... that we once had... should have had... I thought I was born from a mom and a dad. But that ole abortion clinic made a one spouse a hopeful cynic cause boy you where no twinkle in that daddy's eye. And though God's made a miracle of you, the autism has still made you, by mother’s arms, casted aside. The cutting of the umbilical cord of this son... a proclamation, a celebration of the family... it's a shame it won't ever be done.
If only those bandages could speak... if only those telephones ads could really speak... if one unborn child could show the will to love and to hold and to feel. I wonder. I wonder if the stirring of the womb... if it would have ever been stilled. If we saw the dreams of an unborn before the curtain was torn and the injection was poured into the already living form. Abortions are not the answer to carelessness, lust, or rape-date-porn.
Telephone ads make for nice gauzes and pads. But the addresses of numbers tell of hopeful lawyers and practicians that I wish for my own sake could petitioned a better deal. And the rest are these: Those careless practicizing the American ideal that you can have what you want. Sex is the fast food train of society. Brown paper bags holding leftover burger scraps. Our new morality using dirty rags to cover up the 3 to 22 ounce life-stripped meat bags. The end result bringing two things shame and being sad.
And if we don't like the way that feels pop a morning after pill. The 21 century steal that won't change the way your stomach projects or the morning sickness you really don't wanna detect.
The 21 century abolitionists think they have saved young women from bondage and slavery, rather than having them take on the responsibility of pregnancy God gave thee.
I don't think the case for the woman carrying some extra baggage around for nine months will cause my mental structure to heal... or the dead to be able to taste, touch, and feel what life must really offer.
I am getting a taste of the life I thought I was to live.... because when I was casted and molded I was already confounding the laws of nature... that soul would be put in a single cell XY chromosome. Smaller than your doting of that i on that piece of paper as you signed that waver.
That new generation having a dependency even before the start of infancy. And yet because of a clinic souls live in fear of being put into a genocide... where the dependence on a physically mature shell is all they have to hide. But the fetus is too unformed to kick... isn't capable to yell. So how do you let them know that you confide in them before they rectify such a earth based hell?
Please someone... open up a census. Look at the names missing. Do you really get the idea? Are you sensing what I'm sensing? Or look at the empty desk seats in a school and then look at people like me who's protectors became fools. Our desires can become weapons, and hands unGodly tools.
I'm sorry I wasn't in the plan but it could have panned. What happened when on those supposed guardian wings of parenting that folly would rip a tear into understanding instead one shedding one single tear on selfish planning?
But please don't assume I think we should lock up the mothers of church's sisters and brothers. It's our societies teaching on morality that is on the decline. I'm just trying to spread some Godly wisdom. That maybe you too would see that when it comes to the responsibility of caring for the unborn he's and she's that from the genetic code at conception has already been planned 9 months before infancy. I hope you take the situation more delicately, that you are nursing the next generation. That your womb and your seeds create a place for the sacred, holistic plantation. Sins do not carry unto offspring. Only the consequences the choices bring.

Truly, a Good Friday

Last night I attended a Good Friday service. Often when I go to a special service or a holiday service at a Church I'm expecting something... Usually you look for a guest speaker, a narrative set, a skit, a adament speaker, props, amazing (special) worship music (all modern and dressed out). Most churches try to put on their (humanities) best to capture the attention of the world.
Last night I came into this Good Friday service with certian expectations only to have them smashed and shattered into tiny little pieces. I love it. Lately, I've been disappointed with the overall of the church trying to keep up with the rest of the world. This whole concept of being relevant, well because "An unconditional God isn't relevant enough." I loved it. I feel like too much of the church is built up with humanities expectations for how to be enticing to people that we limit the relationship of God... I can't feel God when I'm at church or being the church.... because I'm expecting this experience. I'm out to eat and want to be entertained. I'm only there for an experience. I'm really getting tired of church trying to feed me an experience. I want to relate, fellowship, commune, and grow... I want to live. Last night I went to a Good Friday service that didn't meet my expectations and I absolutely loved it.
I sat down and was greeted with scripture... just scripture. Certain members of the congregation got up and they read the story. Some extra scripture was read outside of the Gospels... but I actually had to listen to connect it... it wasn't forcefeed with some gripping analogy relating it to facebook or how Jesus is like a cellphone. It was the Good News and nothing less and nothing more. At first I wasn't sure what to think about it. There was not too many people even there... probably because it didn't meet standards. But what are standards to someone who has been saved... "Is grace not enough that we can not just sit in church and take in scripture alone?" Then I opened up to it... I dropped my stupid expectations and just listened to the story of someone who died for me. My sins. We sang some hymns, and yes, with an organ. A total turnoff to some... I dropped my stupid guard and listened to what I was singing and I allowed myself to give into God's expectations.I loved it. A great service and just what I was lookiing for.
"Man's expectations only try to limit God. God's expectations will free humanity of their inabilities."
God's expectations require more than just being relevant, modern, and looking like the world... scripture is just scripture.... It's funny cause when people have read a book they criticise the mess out of movie... and  yet we make the church look like this huge motion picture cause we are afraid the book isn't enough...

The Preacher and His Trophy Wife

You… you’ve blossomed. Knowledgeable.  You say that you don’t talk eloquent in front of new believers/unbelievers. Careful in craft. You’re unbelievable. So exquisite. A new taste. God’s gift to mankind. I’m glad I got to meet you, you rare find. Churched, perched, preacher. Hey you, are you so comfortable that you’re the only one digging deeper. Full of hope. So dope. Thank God you came. The talent of every other follower you place – deface, criticize, prophesy , reprimand. Cause you’re legacy is bigger, higher, straight from… oh wait, you are GOD’S HANDS.

The pride of every man. Asserted, converted. You had a rough past too, yet you think you got life down better. You’re unique, a beautifully flawed treasure. It’s funny cause I thought humility was to make a man humble, not to make many stumble… and the ideology has been crumbled. Tunnel vision…Dimly lit You think you are so better fit for the lime light.

You run the race. Set pace. Dust flying all over thy face. You’re so good at dusting, to your own path you stay trusting. You, stupid, unconscious… perfection. But dude, you say your so dirty, Oh, so unworthy. I see you and think of Pharisees... misplaced, wordy, verbeeeeee.

I like your actions. With each one you gain so much interaction. Rather satisfaction. List of achievements so tall, your humility yet to be seen. Joyous. Triumphant. Sound the horns. I’ve think there’s more humility in a man looking at cheap porn behind closed doors. But please, do not think of me, that I’m trying to even the score. Sin is sin. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Message. Yeah, we do need to conceive truth. You are the voice who has the real choice. You talents and skills. So high above me. So high. When you listen to speakers speak and preachers preach you sigh. Righteousness. There are hard working men battling and raging, being worn thin and you think you have it better than them. There are servants of men and you think you have more talent buried in.

Stop proclaiming what you do. Stop posting about your truths. The right and left hand should not know what the others do. Young gun. Bible bearing piety. I eye thee. You’re so unaware you get so many blank stares as you put that “please like my comment or post underneath my fames” status up there. Many a man will pat you on the back. Good vibes you might rack. But God’s judgment on His leaders you will have stacked. God’s glory is not your trophy wife. It's ageless, holy, and sacred. We are dying, fickle, and unwise.

All of this. God detests. He detests this.

God is Relevant alone

 you've labeled irrelevant, confined, told that you are not needed. Faith has declined. The church has, by stupid standards, climbed. We stand on our own steeple... we above the world and it's people. We create fake art and are falling apart. Critics, slandering our pages, but we consider ourselves washed with blood, that we can play in the mud. We try to leave a mark, but we just make mud bubbles, a little thud. My God, is your message not relevant enough for this generation? Is your message not enough to create a salvation senesation? ARe you not relevant? Biblical scholars call you ageless, timeless, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, all powerfull, and UNCHANGING... If you are as you were.... then why do we fill the need to lable you as artificial, that we must paint you with reiteration. Add the substance take a new course... as if salvation wasn't relevant enough...Why must we take another human beings creation labled "secular" and then change it's message with a gospel dressing and ask for God's blessings? Why must we steal art and tear it's first meaning apart to become relevant? isn't God the point? But we don't know where to start? Cold art, reiteration, carve out of thick slabs of stone... but we don't stand on you alone... WE JUST CARVE OUT THE BRIME... But I was callous hands this time. I want to toil in the being God made me... If I am Christian then what I make should it only be sacrificial to the ONe? I alone am to say that name when the branding has already been done? So why steal art in the name of fun as if God should be shuned? Have we forsaken something? Do we mirror a mear image that we are incapable of casting an establishing kingdom's vision... that the WOrd be the WORD and stand alone... I mean I'm all for opening the door and using what the world has created... not to be a gated community or anything... But I'm frustrated thinking that this idea of taking other people's art and putting our "own" twist on it makes us relevant, truth, a light, some safe haven plight... I'm not about casting a safe atmosphere but casting out... sending a vision... is that not what the gospel is about? What is unnecessary, tressapassing on the toes of those we are called to save? We make ignorant pleas so that men would believe but should we criticize what we concieve and be willing to negate what we have programed behind our crippled, thick, overbearing walls? To be left into speach alone that every knee shall bow before this throne. I'm confused... utterly confused. I don't call what our hopes are at being relevant, modern era culture a replica of who made this temple a home... I won't do it. ANd maybe I'm thinking too critical... But I'd rather think too critical then to tie my hands to the world view of being relevant towards using the critically acclaimed. I'm sorry relevant church... but when it comes to you or the world... to both I'd rather be viewed in shame

REVAMPED FINAL: MY GOD THE CONQUEROR

MY GOD THE CONQUEROR!!! Give me sword and shield!!! Lend me your strength to vanquish my enemies and foes!!! Put them down… six feet beneath my toes!!! LISTEN TO MY BARBARIC POETRY AND PROSE… HAHAHAHAHA….ha

Kinda sounds dumb doesn’t it… Then why do we feel like this is the main type of love the Father has to show? Leaders of tomorrow… we are “way with words” prodigal. Screaming behind the curtains our majestic processions “we are the blind leading the blind!” Prayer, fast acting. Watch hard life retracting. In these prayers “Confide.” If we pray hard enough I’m certain this awkwardness, my laziness, and death will subside. I promise.

It’s like we try to PUNCH OUT brail into wind sails. A secret encoding of tall tails, colliding into our journey… fail. We damage our journeys sail with a message tarnished like a storm torn into. I feel better when I can just tell God when to pull me through.  

Stand still… hope. In my prayers I’m all about a narrow minded scope… ya dig? I’m fickle in my approach like an unproducing fig. Cause when times get near and tough I get pretty distraught and I’ve had enough.

I like to pull out my fair dosage of truth, and passion… that anxiety has left me not to ration. It’s funny cause um… cause when stress comes into motion it’s like I try to put true prayer into motion. And then afterwards I stop taking passes of true being that for those few moments of trial I thought I was seeking.

I take peeks and second glances, past this.  MY GOD CONQUEROR… Yeah, I like to feel good. Some sales pitch I got from my boyhood. It stood shrouded in a fine mist and I couldn’t resist. Who wouldn’t want open access to a God who died to serve this?

Genie in a bottle… I think next time when I pull you out I’ll go full throttle… I’m only in idle when I don’t need anything. But when I get banged I openly call on you the mighty, but otherwise take the back seat behind me. You’re truth, as some might say, has been stretched really hard to even appear in the slightest to be THE selling card. So please, until I call stand clear.

There a certain variables I define life with… living that is and it’s these; happiness, satisfaction, guaranteed. And I think your high standard is decreed for those that feed off the filth of society. They just kinda struggle as I eye thee. I find their practices weak at best, and don’t put my theory to the test cause unless I struggle I’m not praying to THAT GOD. I worship GOD THE CONQUEROR.

Carta Vedetta

CARTA VENDETTA

12/1/10

I invite to a visitation in which kill off the ideals

Of each generation

Extermination

Young ones

Old ones

Middle ones

Weak ones

Bold ones

Molded ones

You think it matters

That you climbed ladders

Teetering

Tottering

Are your systems

And proclamations

To go forth in a dark world

Your plan has no light

You’ve labeled as not bright

So here I am

Putting cognition

To adequate suspicion

Let me rub some dirt

On top of the dirt in your eyes

I tell you clearly

You aim so high

For yourself

But when have you ever seen the skies

You thinking looking at stats

Make excellent facts

In front suites and ties

I tell you

I despise

Despise that you get better recognized for these things

Corporate media

Blunders that whimper victory

They play the death song

On the fourth and fifth

The symphony

You’re weak

And I to you I hold no sympathy

No I’m not a Communist

Or a politician

I’m not a terrorist

Don’t you dare raise your finger in suspicion?

Where is your vision?

X Generation

A new millennia

Look at what you’ve accomplished

You’ve feasted on plates of stocks

And credit cards

New systems of exchange

New wars

Faster cars and plans

Producing tight wads

With their pants so full

The guys in suites

Have become pocket pickers

Of old dying couples

And little widows

Looking out their windows

Wishing their loved ones

Would just come back home

And we said

Well done

You protagonists

You mountain climbers

You of the passing age

You’ve branded your insignia on a new page

Well done

And then next generation comes

And says

We can fix everything

Make it work

Put a new look on it

We’re tired of their system

They had no vision

No understanding

Proper health

Takes proper planning

But when does health sit on a pedestal

Get off your soap box

You’re making yourselves into fouls

Do you not see it?

Pride, lust, greed, anger

You’re all in danger

Of making the same mistake

It isn’t in for corporate sake

There’s enough good people

But all good people have gods

The incest

Broken gods

That robed so many joyful years

For the sad people

When do we mend hearts?

When in these sequences do we decide to part?

With the old ways

 In make new days

That shine brighter than before

This our vendetta

Our love to share and pour

You and Me... We Could Both Exist

Don't judge or preoccupy yourselves with people who are different or overly expressive or genuine. Don't mock or bash them just because they are easier to diagnose as insane. Your mask is your cage. Just try to get at their level of living and maybe you too can live a little. It's not okay to not like what God gave you. I personally like this gift. there's no reason to bash or be too rash about who other's are. God made, gave them. Accepts them. Don't consider another to ever be less when the creator made them equally blessed. It's not that you are living more or that you fall in line with anything. You think you are, you've just created a barrier between you and the masses. You make masks that if you looked in the mirrors you would scare yourselves. Take passes at existing. Put on some glasses and see clearly. If you know God then fear Thee. He knows. We put on crowns of premature adolescence. Often at best. Don't try to even contest this. Just please, best this. Someone hurts when they see, because through the lesser, you've labeled believe. The awkward masses take passes by slanderers and mouthing dictators running the classes. Put on some glasses. You blinded fouls. You think you're colossal. God's Son came and died, and made your high society a fossil. Show genuine, generously... or at least don't bash those who openly feed off of true living and giving. Break down your sinful boundaries. Wash off your marks. Your fakeness is worth nothing more than a drunkard's art. Pitiful. If you had something better I think it would look more like open hearted, that's where God started. I mean, He created imperfected you didn't He... or did you make yourself explicitly, imperfectly. Don't try to repaint thee, repaint what I'm sayin. I'm not strayin from ideology or theology. I'm just stating don't judge those who are openly living. Just accept that God made them with beautiful love. At least they are true to what they do. NO!!!! DON'T AT LEAST!!! DON'T EVEN SAY THOSE TWO WORDS!!! THEY JUST AS MUCH HURT!!! YOU"RE STILL LOOKING AT REAL PEOPLE AS THOUGH THEY ARE DIRT!!! That's cheap at best. Put your false ideals to rest. Your true form has crumbled. You shed yourself off every single time cause your afraid to put the fake you on the line, though when the real you is worth more than a dime. Let's change for the better. I think that it's time. Time to shine. Did not Christ put his life on the line such as this. Genuine bliss. Judas might have betrayed him with a kiss. But your words cut Christ apart when you insist. One body should, through imperfections persist.

THe Eden Estate

My God formed this… vast, expanse. Many a man looked up at night… stuck in a trance.  He is bigger than me and you, and showers us with grace through and through. My God… He created the world. Heaven and Earth… Momentary birth created by the breathing from ONE. From the smallest creatures, to the giant stars. And God said “This, This is good.”

And God created humans. He created man. He breathed life into man and formed him from the ground with His own hands. The master craftsman ran through his hands, beautiful plan. And He said “This, This too is good.” And He said, It’s not good for man to be alone.” Ribs like clay, the forming of woman from the body of man. Two God made, His likeness. Two innocent and shameless creatures in the garden. Blameless without sin to pardon.  And they walked and talked with the God almighty. The NAME.

Needing nothing… but wanting something. In their own choosing, obedience was losing they took a bite of the tree they couldn’t eat from freely. Felt shame, discomfort… the bitter distaste of sour disgrace. They, themselves were to blame. God came. Asked what they did. Fanned sins flame. Lied to their creator. God banished them from the garden, but promised a savior. Years later God sent His Son.

 In the fullness of time my God sent His is Son. In the fullness of time Christ put it all on the line. Died on a tree. An undeserving rescue. Filled disgrace and gave worth having been displaced. Do you see a eternal words peeping?  If to eternity your walk will be keeping? Watching… watching

But recognize dear child of mine. We’ve done this before. Our garden for us was no more. Our ship capsized. Our blemishes quickly recognized. If you are going to turn… If backs shall break and souls turn may they turn to the name of the one who saves. May they turn to the one who gave redemption. We were not made to conquer our own object of affection or be more than what we were in that garden.  

The fruit spoils truth. Makes a façade. As the Father breaks the rod, so our obedience unravels the dirt and all the hurt. If you reach to obtain, you will be tamed. If you reach to gain… you will be broken, smashed, sent spiraling… you can’t soar from plans. From such hands. THOSE PLANS! THEY ADORE! Broken, lying to yourself. Begging once again. Seek me out… ONCE MORE…

The Bitter Sinner

I’m too constricted by the flesh to hear your call. I’m too restricted by my world to hear you God at all. I’m stuck in this. My world is so small and I try to build myself up so tall. Man, it feels so good.

Pitch black is what I'm seein as my vision decays. I’m walking astray every day. Lingering around everywhere, trying not to steer your way. I can’t even see you there. There’s forces that I’m becoming aware of, that are pushing me down into damnation and I’m struggling to pull my own self above, out of this dastardly cantation.

Can someone please throw me a rope? Or a ladder? I mean, come on. Throw me something. Stop my tumbling. My virtues are crumbling. I feel myself mumbling cause I feel like sometimes, sometimes in the midst of confessing my own crimes I’m talking openly to nobody.

I keep tellin the masses  “Life has no free passes. Man, I’m struggling.” But all the while I’m smothering my own self, practicing my gluttony behind hidden doors. And what’s sad is that in this temple of the tried and simple you keep sending your love for me up through the floor boards of my shattered soul. You’re trying desperately for me to be made whole.

 Nobody is hearing my sins. And nobody takes the time to find and fix the hands of the perverted men. The broken. The lost. Those in a rut. The sinner. The corrupt. I keep taking communion but I’m never filling my Graces cup. Truly, if you look at me you’d say, “Wow, that’s guys filthy stuck.

Does God see me not practicing my piety right now? Or is he busy asking how? “How did this guy get so low when I just wanted to see him grow?  I continue though to reap what I sow.

I’m so bruised and kind of confused. Who was it that’s supposed to be coming for me and to save me? Please come down and remain with me. I don’t seem so sane anymore. My motives and purity are left sagging on the floor. I can’t carry my burdens any more. Man, clinicly I don’t know what it is I’m here for.

I’m alive but not well. I’m here but it’s as if I’ve fallin off the map. I’ve come undone from your gracious grip, and Lord… this nobody just wants to quit. It’s really difficult to be something more than a sinner.

My demons have me in firm grips. Pull me out of this situation. Send me a spirit that can guide me and use this corpse for plantation. Plant me unto good soil. My pain and toil weren’t made with your purpose to spoil. Make me new that I can see clearly and only steer towards you. Be my all in all cause if I try to stop sinning alone I’m going to fall.

Focus my eyes to your words and your truths. Focus me only, souly to you. To that old, rugged cross. Life and the choices we make are worth more than a simple coin toss. I consider this life all but lost. Help me, a sinner.

2/8/11

"to trot"

I really like the phrase "to trot." To me it's more than just some understanding of "okay, I'm moving a little." It's more like "okay, no more of this. This depravity or mundane. Let's get moving. I am looking up now and hopeful. Breaking not just out of a pit, but out of the shell of my inner hell. I mean, let's be real, I'm alive. Someone thought my life was a steal." Truly, I love "to trot."

-Just a thought... When I have time I'm probably gonna write a poem about what this phrase fully means to me... until then this will do to look at from time to time

Receiving at the Reception

I’ve wondered often what I would say to you when the time comes. I probably won’t even have phrases, sentences or words. You know, I’m probably just gonna lay there moaning, almost dead like cause I really don’t think I have it in me to connect to you in person.

Or maybe I won’t shut up at all. Maybe I’ll get on your nerves like I’ve done to people, at times. I don’t really know, so hopefully this argument is really inconclusive to what our banquet is gonna be like or anything we have together.

I don’t even think I’m gonna able to talk at my own wedding. I really don’t think I’ll have it in me. I think I’m just gonna shed tears in silence at the beauty standing there next to me saying our vows. And even that relationship, playing a beautiful tune, is only til death do us part.

So really what do I, a mere man really have to offer at your feet? What am I gonna say because of the freedom you graciously gave, I won’t even have any tears to portray. That portrayal will be gone cause I left it with the old body when I’m finally free. Cause that is the way I’ll been finally derailed to you and your beauty. Thrusted to your side, unlike the last time I’m not stabbing you to see if you’re dead. I’m that purified soul grabbing you, happy that in my faith and hopes get to find you alive and well.

I wish I could walk with you right now. I’m walking with you, but I MEAN WALKING WITH YOU!!! And yeah, sure I’m on a narrow path, but I want it to be you and me going everywhere like it’s supposed be before I made all this with my crookedness and disobedience. I wanna portray obedience and have you hold me boldly. Not you hold me boldly as I stand an ugly man. Can we… can we now… where is it?

I’ve been lookin forward to our uniting without fighting… I really am. I’ve bottling up everything in anticipation to actually see you lookin at me cause I wanna see you lookin at me and I wanna see clearly. Cause on earth I’m from dirt, stay with dirt, wanna part away from dirt.

You’ve washed more than just my feet to see you in the right seat. You’ve washed more than my feet to hear all of your feats for moments untold.

So, yeah I really don’t know what I’m gonna say. I’m not gonna cry. When I see you I wanna patray something though cause I’m don’t want to be one of those guys who just sits idly by. Not in front of my God. Not gonna carry on that. I’d rather just grab you, but I’m sure I won’t even be able to do that either  cause your presence is seemingly larger than me and at times I find myself in awe of your majesty.

So when I see your majesty I don’t know if I’ll be able to move. If at our uniting, or at the banquet I’ll be able to groove. I really don’t know.  I just want you to know that I hope there is something TO you that I can willingly, abundantly, lovingly show.

Well yeah, BIRD IS THE WORD

I don't know what time I really actually collapsed to towards my pillow, in the afternoon, but let me try to presume. My face hit that cushion, and my eyes folded back. I was out and laid unto the sack. My consciousness packed. My unconscious in tact. Let's go all "SLEEP ALONG" and just lay back.

It's a reallllll niiiiicce and allllll sweelllll. La la la la la la, I can hear birds chirping. Their beautiful songs are worth hearing past the noon daay sky. I'm presuming and performing a sense that when I'm usually tense the activities of ...these beautiful creatures flying by will move me and make me less tried. And when they aren't here I just look all like "DANG SANG RANGLE MANGLE!!! LET'S ALL JUST PUMP OUR FISTS AT THIS HERE AND GET FRIZZLED!!! MY EMOTIONS ARE ALL BAKED AND SIZZZLED!!!!" I wanted to hear you from the perch of the chimney sweep with your words pleasantly keeping.... peep.... peep... peep. My eyes are seeking what it is you will truly do next. I watch as you feed your young ones from your... nest and lay your... lost full of zest.

 I like to thank for the moments such as these. That come up every spring. Singing songs and ringing in the joy of life. The year seems something that's emotional in the changing of the seasons. The cold to hot temperatures rising moving us ...to love warmth and chilly perceptions. The extremes creating tension as we brave the element through tough climate. AND IT SOUNDS A LOT LIKE AN EMOTIONAL ROLLACOASTER... ROLLA ON DOWN TO DEPRESSION... CLASS IS IN SESSION. Sit down and overcome. There will be tough. rugged moments in my life in every season, but praise be your majesty. THe God who does no wrong. The God who does me no wrong. The one whom these beautiful birds sing their song of celebration that need not a drop of time for translation. The pivitul sensation. Believe me when they sing I too will sing along. I too will sing in on their beautiful songs.

SLOW DOWN LIVING

Slow time. Slow wants. Slow appreciation. Slow memories. Slow things cherished. Slow love. Slow portions. Slow hour glass. Everything fades with pleasure.

Slow down these easy little moments that I wanna call my home. That fades with every little pleasure. To make a story everything I’ve ever given or done has to be weathered and torn together to paint a picture and deliver a testimony.

And all the while I’m building up this life, gaining satisfaction, but little to no traction. It’s easy to live in simplicity than live in humility even I can’t slow down moments and time. I wish it would be simple to slow down time. But time is has no alliance with sinners.

I keep saying “I’ll just worry later. Later is the matter at hand. I have time to be a better man, a better lover, a better brother, a better someday father, a better boyfriend, a fiancé, a better husband, leader, minister, missionary, mentor.”

And one day I’ll be so fixed. I’ll be so correct. I’ll even be able to write a book about it, that is my turn around. I’ll write about my story cause people will perceive it to be interesting to see how explicitly I became me. How I became the man with the plan to be. The fruit bearer. The initiative taker. The abundant care giver. The one who’s life makes up the most interesting man in the world.

Yes, the most interesting man in the world cause throughout my life I keep making a set of goals to manage the holes left by the purpose given reality. Cause for this dreamer life was too plump and beautiful not to buy. The apple stuck like a twig in the blind man’s eye.

So slow time. Slow purpose. Slow the picture, cause I’m too busy living something bigger. I’m traveler. I’m explorer. I’m adventurer. I’m sight seeker. I’m old. I’m remembering. I’m envying the old me. I’m left with nothing. I’m left with memories and things. I can’t take any to the grave. I’m dead.

What is the horoscope that these eyes are looking unto? What was the lie this heart was sold into? When did simple living become so bold that I allowed myself to die tangled by sins foothold? Am I deranged or is it too late to change? Is there just something, some type of currency I could lay at your feet? Even if I deplete all of me, it wouldn’t be worthy enough to place in front of your Almighty seat.

I feel so dead before thee… could you send someone to mediate for me. I’m lost struggling. A lot of mistakes I’ve made in this past. I thought the building up would last. I just made my own grave to rest. Could you place a forgiving touch on this chest? Could you forgive all of the wrong that’s laying waste from beyond my own flesh? Could you help ME?

SELF INCLINATIONS

I like to believe in just what is. There are plenty of good things in this world. I like a lot of those things. I have a loving family. Good friends. Going to probably get married to an amazing wife. But what's purpose. I've struggled with loneliness, lust, accountability at times. And I know all of these three thingss "family, friends, spouse." I've listed have purpose, but I think for spiritual leaders we put too much weight on such things. I think we don't look to our own baptism as THE turning point, but rather a stepping stone. When does life change really accur? Is it a wife that keeps a grown man from pornography? Is it good friends that keep us going? Then why do married men continue to look at pornogrpahy and why do people still say they are lonely when they have active lifestyles in the midst of a financially sound job and a huge bank statement? One's with a loving family who continually live for them? Bro's for their bro's? When did we put so much weight on worldly cures? When did they become so important they should be guaranteed? When did we become so fearful of not having them, then we are of not having GOd? When did we start to put so much faith that God will provide these things, rather than God just simply providing God? If tomorrow, or even the next year if all GOd did was walk with you and you had nothing else do you think you could deal with that? Do you think you would still give in just as you've been doing or that you'd be strengthened just by His presence? What if it meant leaving a family, holding off on a marriage, and leaving the friends you "ride" for? I think for the spiritual leaders of tomorrow there needs to be more of JUST GOD and less of anything else when it comes to the storms of life. Let the WORD be the soundest thing we have and let the wilderness, and fasting have it's place once again. An isolated existance can be bad. But the solatary with the only intimate relational constant, that being God, is not. When has it ever been okay to say we will continue to struggle and stumble until God gives us more worldly things. Or that God allows us to thrive "BETTER" under such conditions. Why is this the norm? Why are we taught to value such things to be cures for our remedie of the mundaine? Why can't God be God, and that be good enough? Do such views go against the value of the cross? Was not death beaten? Redemption and atonement is enough. There is the ONLY HOPE that really matters. There is the TRUE YOKE.

YEP YEP... I've been there

Up in the land of make believe there's a kid named Eve who's got a disease. She laid barren with of these arrends that are running her thought process dry. She's needs to be drenched in the rie of something new. A new shade from this blackish blue. A new shoe to fit into.

Someone give this woman a SHOVE!!! Push her to squash her bugs and we will have bug soup tonight. Taste it! The paint paste taste delicately is alright. Let's not fight about it. Woman, let's just do it. Change your stars and your life. Your tired of staying here right?

Well in order to change a life you gotta take in dat bug juice. It's not gonna be easy to take it in. But see the bad things therein. You break free in order to find joy. For the ploy you gotta lose, give in.

Get lost old ways. Get lost old days. Ladies not stuffing her face of old days. The bug juice remedy. Stuff it down now. Empty the cup. The remaching, match making stuff. The strutted thing that we all snagged a piece of. We can all grow to love. We can all grow to love this remedy.

Taste it and you'll see. Try some. Try some. I dare you. Are you chicken? Just try a bit. I'll make a believer out of you yet? I'll make you believe. Throw the guts on the wall. Make a splash, it's only something really small. Throw it on the wall. You'll still know the real you after all.

I'm trying I'm tryin

So I've been practicing my stuff and I think I'm starting to figure out how to present it. The way I was doing it was just too shaky and made a lot of nerves and stuff. Pushing for too much emotion. But it's a poem. So yeah, I think I'm starting to figure out how I'm supposed to do this.

The Dooo Date 1/8/2011

I’m not thoroughly equipped. I’m not thoroughly equipped to deal with this. I’m not old enough. I’m not bold enough. I’m certainly not eligible enough.

I got no supporting cast. The days where I felt comfort have long since past.  My own betrayal stabbed everything and killed all that I thought would last. Am I accountable? Am I held up to this? Is this your last wish before you call your servant home?

Just wondering. I’ve been thinking about what it is I’m here for what it is you got in store for this page, in this chapter, of this tale… that isn’t tall at all. My existence is pretty minute and small. Did I mention that I’m not capable? That I’m the "Cain" to your plans. I’m robbing from a man. Someone with real plans. Someone who is more "Able" than I truly am.

I hear whispers from people’s prayers and how they pray for their own stories delivery. The clever disguise as they look at my politely with their eyes. I think people’s expectations and standards for people are purely corruptive and political.

Who doesn’t envy the man with many talents? God’s a jealous God, but underneath everyone’s façade is a fixated, frustrated thin shell. They don’t know idolatry can cut loose utter hell. And people with big talents are purely exposed by others for political gain.

 And everyone else wants to be for them and under them. If you are neither, well you’re nothing. Get with societies plans and on their page. People of today and tomorrow. Planners set the stage. So kiss up. This is all too political.

And I’m not trying to bash. I’m not trying to be too rash and be hardened to being petty. I’m petty enough on my own. I asure you that I too deal with all of life’s idolatrous groans. So please, let me be the first to drop my stone and leave this conscious effort alone.

After all who am I? I’m not eager enough to walk out the door, but boy, like everyone else I can implore. Let me drop some coins in the wishing well of everything. Everything vanishing with me feeling caged. I think its funny how coins rust with age. Let me share with you some memories. I have lots of em.

Let me write a book. Nothing too big or too amazing. I’m just star gazing. I can’t reach that far or become one. Do you notice me yet? Do you get that I might have something left?

I’m not seeing it. I think it takes a lot of faith to believe. If you can’t get up and move, age will walk all over you. Show me purpose. Something ever grander then the splendor in my eyes that I’ve been led to chastise. Show me real purpose that can sparkle.

No more trying to gage my worth, my talent, my power, my presence. No more trying to gage anything. Cause if I just live today it’ll be enough. Cause with my near sighted clarity, clouded up with all sorts of idolatrous stuff... that’s all I’m seeing.

So yeah, just today. Just these fond memories. Just this restless delivery. Not anything of mine, but everything, everything of yours. Can I rely, God, on just that? If I could be "purely" political, and be sold on no more sellouts and dropouts, no more big leagues. No more tall tales. If I could just cast them away I think, I think I would be set on believing in the you by what you do. Living truly and wholly because it’s what you wanted. God, I got to be for living you. When I do, I will be pleasantly surprised by how you manage, with little ole me, in how you pull through.

So may these eyes not look to the other man’s stories. So may this mind stop its unsound imploring. May my heart with joy start soaring. May my love start pouring. Start living. Start giving. Start being what being is really truly utterly about.

A Thought On The Spot

my love is not even my own to choose to give, but it's in this pouring that I live, latching on to something bigger than myself. To remain in my Father's love, that I must obey the commands to give love to my neighbor.

Joy is only complete when remained in the Father. It isn't given by a spouse, a friend, a mentor, or family, alcohol, drugs, roller coasters, a double rainbow, a real life Transformer, being able to fly,and/ sex. It's given by God. Happines...s, like everything else in this worlds is fleeting. Like a light bulb, it burns out. It's a single moment that can't define who you really are. Joy is something bigger. It's unfading and unchanging, upon it's creation by the Father. Joy is also freely given. You just have to meet your end of the command. It's the ultimate oppertunity. It's the thrill and chil. The ultimate bargain for the wise and not the simple. The living and not the dead. The giving and the seeking. It's not just passionate, but it's compassionate. It's sacrificial living and loving with sincerity. The substantial plea, and the clarity people try to do anything for. It's the blessing given to the giving. It's the resounding of the saving grace for those who use their lives to deliver the good news. Happiness isn't a transitional package in an unnatural world. We lost that. Don't fight for what's not here, but left at our own despense. Not in suffering. Not right now. Joy is the real identity, unbroken reality because of a sacrifice, once dead and now alive. The chains are gone. So grab unto the Father and hold on. Hold on loved ones. Hold restless. The chains are gone. The pain will soon subside. Don't grad what you can. Make yourself known to the plans. Take the stand. Hold on. The time is near. Don't fear the unfulfillment. Your joy will be complete. Just please. Drop the waste at your feet and hold on.