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.