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