All That Will Be Left

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.   John 15:13

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.”   John 15:18-19

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.   1 Corinthians 13:1-13

love is not about telling

someone what they

want to hear,

not about being positive

or keeping your mouth shut,

not happy thoughts and

living in fantasy worlds

that don’t exist;

love is telling someone

what they need to hear,

whether it means they

will love you in return

or not,

love is sometimes

struggle and pain,

sometimes sorrow

and tears;

sometimes torture,

sometimes death;

the world does not understand

love such as this;

when the flesh has withered

and decayed,

when knowledge and wisdom

are gone,

when hope and faith serve no

purpose;

all that will be left

is love.

.

.

Still I Wait

nothing speaks,

nothing moves,

broken words,

surrounded by lost

worlds of stagnation,

breeding just

outside this silent door,

stripped of dignity,

smothered in sorrow,

growing shadows cast upon

the wall;

nothing is true,

nothing has value;

liars, hypocrites,

false and fake,

vain and pretentious,

self-righteous posers,

smiles and knowing looks,

full of pompous ignorance,

floating flakes of mist,

gone before dusty feet

hit the ground;

I cannot speak of

days gone by,

I can only speak of here,

I can only speak of now,

there are better places,

there are mysteries unknown,

there is more than what

is showing;

still I wait,

still I wait;

but you never come;

there is nothing left,

there is nowhere else,

the absurdity leaves

everything else behind;

still I wait,

still I wait;

but you never come.

.

.

Greater

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.   Romans 8:37

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”   Matthew 19:26

You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in  you is greater than the one who is in the world.   I John 4:4

I awake in the middle

of the dark and silent night,

helpless and afraid,

surrounded by the still and quiet depths,

overcome by the worries and cares,

reminded of an uncertain tomorrow,

fearful of all that lies beyond my control,

then You softly speak,

filling me with Your love,

overwhelming me with Your grace,

cleansing me of my sin,

restoring my soul,

reminding me that I will never

be alone;

that with You there is

no condemnation,

no rejection;

I sometimes wonder,

just where this road is leading,

but I know no matter what lies ahead,

You will see me through,

You will be by my side,

You will provide a way;

through every trial,

through every test,

You are there,

holding me up when I can

no longer stand,

providing strength,

when there is nothing left;

through You I am more

than a conqueror,

through You all things

are possible,

through You I am greater

than the world.

.

.

Mammalian Junkyards

human wreckage,

lying strewn about like

old, lost parts,

buried within this

mammalian junkyard;

who could know,

who would care;

waiting for a small glimpse

of light,

at the end of this

proverbial tunnel,

they come by the thousands,

the millions,

for just a touch,

a look,

from their multi-colored

gods,

a souvenir,

to drag back into the pits

of this life called home;

a chance to feel,

a chance to forget;

before the wrecking ball

smashes them

into pieces.

.

.

Dead Places

dead places,

hidden among rain soaked fields,

call out like long

lost friends,

searching for days gone by,

and empty roads

never traveled;

grand plans,

big ideas,

so much lost on the way,

in this desolate wilderness

called home;

it scares them to know

someone sees through

their masks,

their charades,

they grow uneasy

seeing themselves through

the eyes of another,

tossing and turning,

generating huge ocean waves

among the tranquil seas;

fools;

playing foolish games

with deadly consequences,

children lost in chaos

and hopeless jungle forests;

dead places

know.

.

.

Big Boys

up here,

where the big boys live,

everyone walks around

with stern looks on their faces,

making it hard to tell

just where the line begins

and where it ends,

so I walk around

trying to look sterner,

hoping I can figure it out

when the time comes,

and as long as I keep

my mouth shut;

no one knows

the difference.

.

.

The Prize

in the silent darkness,

winter’s stiffness takes hold,

as yesterday’s warmth,

gives way to tomorrow’s cold;

the mist of time,

shrouds itself with a veil

of unseen sorrow,

as mighty gentle giants,

throw stones at posterity,

crumbling it to the ground,

too make room for another

concrete monument;

the children listen

to the voice

of their colored god,

and it tells them

who they are,

and where they’re going,

and how to get there,

and why it must be so;

and it helps them forget;

seven hundred feet below,

the end quietly waits

in a world all it’s own;

just like the prize

in a cracker jacks box.

.

.

On Patrol

time no longer matters,

in this land of no return,

where control of existence

is power,

even among the least of men,

if you listen,

you can hear the thunder

of the demons beating heart,

as it cries out in agony,

for a chance to unleash

its deadly putrid vile;

dreams fill the void,

crossing bridges of despair

over chasms of life,

goddess of the night,

come warm your icy soul

with the heat of lust,

generated by a thousand

beastly cries;

once there was honor,

now there is darkness,

cold, hard, empty,

power with no reason,

other than power,

death with no meaning,

other than death;

angels of light

mourn for lost lovers,

impaled by their existence

to gods who cannot hear;

sleep comes slow,

for those who lay and wait

in their coffins of pain,

as silence stalks its prey,

seeking to devour

its just rewards,

waiting for a dawn

that never comes,

cast down,

into pits of emptiness,

where cold hard reality lurks,

as eagles burst into flames,

and die screaming

their last goodbyes.

.

.

Battle Stations

down here,

in the ice cold deep,

we play a game which is supposed

to be deadly serious,

but nobody takes too seriously,

otherwise,

it could be deadly,

so we compromise,

and try to sleep it off,

but some still insist

on playing the game,

so we play,

and most of the time,

we lose,

not that we really lose,

otherwise,

we’d all be lost,

and then there would

be nobody to play the game,

and the game

has to be played,

otherwise,

it wouldn’t be a game,

it would be real,

and politicians would panic,

and press little red buttons,

out of fear of losing

something,

which only they have to fear,

because everyone else

has nothing to lose;

oh alright,

I’ll wake-up,

yes, I’ll play the game today,

hold on to your poopie suit,

but I won’t play much longer,

so use me while you can,

because soon I’ll be using you

to play the game

for me,

so I can sleep at night,

and not dream

about little red buttons;

will somebody

please cut out,

that annoying,

snickering alarm.

.

.

Never Been To Prison

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.   Luke 12:6-7

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.   Ephesians 6:12

never been to prison,

but I feel like

I’ve been behind bars

since the day I was born,

never seen the desert,

but I have been planning

the trip all my life,

now my life

is almost over,

dried up

like an abandoned well,

a gentle mist,

a fog shrouded vapor;

see it fade,

see it change,

see it rearrange;

movement becomes hard,

pain a way of life,

everything is gone,

everything is different;

everything is new;

we reap what we sow,

and I have sown the seeds

of perversion,

wallowed in the ways of lust,

fulfilled the desires of the flesh,

reveled in the excesses,

partook of the debauchery,

delighted in the thrills,

lived for the moment,

searched for forbidden fruit;

I deserve nothing;

all my life,

I have lived in worlds of fantasy,

trapped by delusions and

non-existent details,

all my life,

I have flirted with madness

and disasters beyond

mere magnitudes of mortality,

I have searched for finality,

witnessed untold destruction,

forever knowing,

continually waiting,

for moments that came

and went like liquid glass;

the night belongs to those

who have nothing else;

sadness is an art,

known by only a few,

understood by none,

without beginning or end,

without mercy or compassion,

techniques and classifications

have no hold here,

no amount of money

can buy membership here,

words can save,

words can kill;

turn around

before it is too late;

once more,

the darkness closes in,

once more,

the abyss lies ahead,

calling, beckoning, caressing;

save me Lord……………!

in the morning,

Your voice softly speaks,

telling me not to fear,

reminding me that You see

everything I do,

that not even a sparrow falls

without Your knowledge,

and that I am worth more

than many sparrows,

proving that You are real,

bringing peace

to my troubled mind,

removing the chaos and confusion,

lighting up the darkness;

thank you Lord;

help me overcome

the spiritual darkness,

help me remember

that the arrogance and hypocrisy

of others will pass,

help me turn the other cheek

when I am attacked,

silence my lips before they utter

foolish words of vanity and evil,

teach me to control this flesh,

seeking only self-fulfillment

and self-preservation,

remove anything

that is not of You,

let others see You through me;

let me be a son

of the living God;

Thank you Lord,

I cannot make it without You,

I cannot live without You,

I cannot breathe without You,

You are my King,

You are my Lord;

You are my EVERYTHING!!!!

.

.

Lead Me When I Am Blind

in the morning,

I remember a simpler time,

a sweeter life,

warm Florida mornings,

with air so pure

you could taste the promise

in every breath,

but none of it compares

with You;

who can speak of Your

wondrous glory and light?

what words can describe

the magnitude of

Your mercy and grace?

what sounds may be uttered

that reflect the majesty

of Your perfect love?

rain Your spirit down on me,

open my mind and eyes,

illuminate my soul,

let me find the words

which glorify

Your holy name;

lead me

when I am blind,

remind me

when I forget,

show me

that without You

I am lost,

without You

I can do nothing at all;

restore the joy,

remove the darkness,

heal the damage,

open my eyes,

fill me with Your love,

let me shine

with Your light;

bring me home

to You.

.

.

So Shall I

it gets harder everyday,

sometimes it feels as though

my bones are on fire,

half the time

I’m not sure if the pain is

physical, mental or spiritual;

or a combination

of all three;

I know it’s the diabetes,

it’s getting serious now,

no more fooling around,

no more slight inconvenience,

it has become the monster

all the experts said it would,

a crazed killer,

without conscious,

a psychopathic beast,

who knows neither mercy

or compassion,

devouring everything

in its path;

sometimes I just want

to get a bottle of whiskey,

take a few pills,

put some Billy Gibbons guitar

on the headphones,

make the pain melt away,

drift off into the fog,

never come back,

sometimes I just want to

make it stop,

physically, mentally

and spiritually;

so easy,

so final;

but that would be the easy way,

the path of least resistance,

the broad gate,

the road that leads to destruction;

He is worth more than that;

In the evening darkness,

I search for His light,

in the morning silence

I listen for His voice,

He is there by my side,

giving me strength

when there is none,

picking me up

when I am down,

He will not let me fail,

He will not let me give up,

He has defeated this world,

and through Him;

so shall I.

.

.

Let All The Earth Sing Praises Unto Him

great is the Lord our God,

His righteousness and justice

stand like a mighty mountain,

His mercy flows like a great

and powerful river,

His majesty shines like a rare

and beautiful jewel;

let all the earth sing praises unto Him;

for there is no other like Him,

no other who saves His people from their sins,

no other who defends the lonely and lost,

no other who shelters the fatherless and weak;

let all the earth sing praises unto Him;

in the nighttime darkness,

He is there by my side;

in the morning when I awake,

He is there holding my hand;

guiding me,

teaching me,

disciplining me,

loving me,

showing me the paths

down which I should travel,

providing the strength

to hold on just a little while longer;

let all the earth sing praises unto Him;

for He is God almighty,

the holy King of the universe,

the Master of mercy and grace,

the Creator of heaven and earth,

the Beginning and the End;

the Truth,

the Light,

the Way;

Everything;

let all the earth sing praises unto Him.

.

.

Raise Me Up

the time has begun,

today shall be the day,

now is the answer,

here in lies the way;

in the morning when I rise,

You are there,

softly speaking to my soul,

humbling my swollen ego,

making me understand

the glory and magnificence

that is Yours alone;

throughout the day,

as my tongue speaks

foolish vanities,

as my mind thinks

self-absorbed,

hate filled thoughts,

You softly remind me;

gently rebuking,

patiently teaching;

raise me up O Lord,

help me to stand,

fill me with Your Holy Spirit,

consume me with Your wondrous fire,

surround me with Your marvelous love;

reach out Your mighty hand,

cleanse my filthy garments,

heal my damaged soul,

remake me in Your holy image,

remove anything not of You;

O magnificent Lord,

Light of heaven,

King of the universe,

Savior of the world,

let every voice

sing praises unto You,

let every breath taken

glorify Your precious name.

.

.

All The Days of My Life

purify me O Lord,

like gold in the refining furnace,

remove the iniquities and impurities,

make me shine like a jewel,

standing in the morning sun,

fill me with Your precious fire,

let me reflect Your glorious light,

help me to overcome this body of flesh,

so desperately dragging me back

into the filth and perversion

of the dark and lonely prison

You have freed me from;

praise Your magnificent

mercy and grace.

give me victory,

over the enemy who would destroy

all that is perfect and pure,

save me from the illusions and lies

that blind and deceive,

prepare me for the coming battle;

bring me home to You;

teach me O Lord,

Your holy and righteous ways,

lead me down mysterious paths,

mold the desires of my heart,

guide me into the center of Your will,

be my Master and my King,

let me serve You faithfully;

for all the days of my life.

.

.

In The Morning

in the morning when I awake,

You are there,

flooding my soul with hope,

removing the internal darkness,

bringing comfort and relief,

renewing my strength,

providing the joy and peace

I so desperately need;

being where You are,

is all I ask,

standing at the foot of

Your throne,

is all I desire,

for You shall provide

everything I need,

You shall wipe away

every tear;

what words can describe

Your mighty glory?

what thoughts can compare

with Your magnificent truth?

You who made the heavens,

You who command the seas,

You who control the winds,

You who know the hearts

of every man;

I fall down in humility and awe,

at the feet of Your wondrous presence;

let every breath

be breathed for You,

let every lip

praise Your holy name;

O mighty Lord,

let me worship You

forever.

.

.

this too shall pass

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass;

like a river it flows,

on and on,

from here to there,

over before it ever

had a chance

to begin,

in the morning

you were gone,

never to return,

your taste still fresh,

your touch

lingering

on the wind,

your smell like

lilacs on a warm

spring day;

the last breath is breathed,

memories slowly die,

laughter gives way to silence,

the final journey awaits,

the empty darkness looms

ahead;

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass.

.

.

soon enough

love,

death,

hate,

war;

soon enough,

soon enough;

shadows fall upon

hidden fields,

covering invisible wounds,

followed by morning

inconsistencies,

somewhere lies

middle ground,

fresh and innocent,

untested and true,

struggling among

the forgotten debris,

running from unknown

memories,

lost within all

the other dirty details;

soon enough,

soon enough;

you think you know,

but you do not,

you never can,

you never will,

there is so much more,

so much beyond

all that you can see,

so much more

than you can ever know,

quiet moments,

late night visits,

fallen kingdoms,

far away dreams;

soon enough,

soon enough.

.

.

Suburbia

out in the fields,

the slaughterhouse seems

far away,

dreams still live,

the future open and free,

tomorrow certain and secure,

little do they know;

the cattle truck is on the way;

the circle is closing,

and you wonder,

is this the best there is?

or more importantly;

is this all there is?

as if it ever mattered

one way or the other,

yet still you wonder,

and you forget,

and you remember,

over and over again;

everything changes,

everything remains the same;

the days become harder,

movement nonexistent,

just a little farther,

only a little longer,

holding on with what

little there is,

living for letting go,

waiting for the last breath,

pretending it matters,

wishing it didn't;

knowing it never will;

in central suburbia,

the waves wash quietly

upon forgotten shores,

nothing is ever what it seems,

no one is ever who they say,

looking down from sacred ground,

privileged and blessed,

safe and secure,

flags flying high,

apple pies cooling

on kitchen counters;

‘those’ people are ruining the country,

‘those’ people don’t belong here;

and all I ever wanted was You.

.

.

betting on the muse - Charles Bukowski

Jimmy Foxx died an alcoholic

in a skidrow hotel

room.

Beau Jack ended up shining

shoes,

just where he

began.

there are dozens, hundreds

more, maybe

thousands more.

being an athlete grown old

is one of the cruelest of

fates,

to be replaced by others,

to no longer hear the

cheers and the

plaudits,

to no longer be

recognized,

just to be an old man

like other old

men.

to almost not believe it

yourself,

to check the scrapbook

with the yellowing

pages.

there you are,

smiling;

there you are,

victorious;

there you are,

young.

the crowd has other

heroes,

the crowd never dies,

never grows old

but the crowd often

forgets.

now the telephone

doesn’t ring,

the young girls are

gone,

the party is

over.

this is why I chose

to be a

writer.

if you’re worth just

half-a-damn

you can keep your

hustle going

until the last minute

of the last

day.

you can keep

getting better instead

of worse,

you can still keep

hitting them over the

wall.

through darkness, war,

good and bad

luck

you keep it going,

hitting them out,

the flashing lightning

of the

word,

beating life at life,

and death too late to

truly win

against

you.

- Charles Bukowski (Hank)

.

.

Out Here

out here,

it never ends;

this longing,

this desire,

this hunger;

this all consuming

consumption;

it defines who you are,

it determines

what you become,

it takes you places

you never knew existed;

most never come this far,

the journey too long,

one more trip

never made;

out here the ribbons

fly out the door,

the parades pass on by,

time remains right

where you left it,

safe and secure,

in shelters of unmarked

horizons;

out here no one

knows your name,

leaving you cold

and numb,

alone and afraid,

empty and drained,

friends come and go,

night time shadows

fade away into nooks

and crannies of far-away

dreams;

out here only the dust

remains.

.

.

Game Show Hosts

sometimes I think

I am living life one frame at a time,

and I wonder,

how can I continue to be functional,

when I have ceased to function,

is this reality,

or just a full length feature film,

waiting to happen?

weekdays off are the best,

when the kids are away at school

or work,

leaving the door open

for my wife and I,

to violate all forms of

common decency and be;

very loud about it;

later on,

watching the price is right,

I wonder,

is Bob doing the new girl?

he must be in incredible shape,

she would kill most men half his age,

but then game show hosts

aren’t most men;

channel surfing,

I listen to Ken Starr, the independent counsel,

being described as either a savior,

or the anti-christ,

depending on who is doing the talking;

republican or democrat;

I flip back to the price is right;

game show hosts

are much more interesting.

.

.

Drama

she sits on the edge,

comfortably away from the fire,

out of the battle zone,

throwing round house punches

and cheap shots,

hitting below the belt

whenever possible,

protecting her cynicism

at all cost;

resting secure in cloaks of MFAs

and sheets of academic nonsense,

staring down her preconceived nose,

at anything outside her ‘reformed’ mind,

jaded by the master,

poisoned at a very early age;

she lost more than just

a childhood.

.

.

Sand Creek

Sand Creek;

the truth dances like a ghost,

a mighty wind whispering

through the silence of the night;

who will hear the voices?

who will right the wrong?

it is hard to love,

when so much injustice abounds,

hard to forgive, when innocent blood

runs across stolen ground,

dirty little secrets hidden in time,

deep dark memories of which

no one speaks;

you can never escape the past;

it follows you like a shadow,

softly surrounding you like a glove,

slowly blending into who you are,

silently determining what you become;

all the treachery and cowardice revealed,

the self-made bravado and

false heroics silently exposed,

sons of murderers,

daughters of liars and thieves,

descendants of swine,

a little lower than dogs,

somewhat less than human;

without honor,

without dignity,

without hope;

their homes built upon

hypocrisy and greed,

their tongues filled with

misconceptions and lies,

their legacy stands like a wavering

deck of cards,

waiting to crash down

upon their guilt-ridden heads;

Sand Creek remembers.

.

.

What We Have Become

This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy. Without natural affection, truce breakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good. Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. I Timothy 3:1-5

it’s easy to mock now;

no more barriers,

no more inhibitions.

godlessness the avant-garde,

cool, hip, chic;

truth irrelevant;

poetry has become an abstraction,

a train wrecked shambles,

a self-indulgent journey into

self-imposed decadence,

its only purpose

masturbation of the mind;

without rhyme,

but more importantly,

without reason;

snotty, excitable little twits

so full of themselves they can barely walk,

let alone write about things they understand

even less;

fluffy little balls of bullshit,

stuck in the diarrhea of their words,

political correction and self-satisfaction

going hand in hand;

a religion for the masses;

everyone is a poet today,

everyone a self-made god,

everyone is okay and getting better,

everyone is capable of greatness,

everyone a master of their own fate;

it is our culture,

it is our society,

it is our psychology,

it is our national anthem;

it is what we have become.

.

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Babylon

After this I saw another angel coming down from heaven. He had great authority, and the earth was illuminated by his splendor. With a mighty voice he shouted: “Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great! She has become a home for demons and a haunt for every unclean and detestable bird. For all the nations have drunk the maddening wine of her adulteries. The kings of earth committed adultery with her, and the merchants of earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries.” Then I heard another voice from heaven say: Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues, for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes. Give back to her as she has given; pay her back double for what she has done. Mix her a double portion from her own cup. Give her as much torture and grief as the glory and luxury she gave herself. In her heart she boasts, ‘I sit as a queen; I am not a widow, and I will never mourn.’ Therefore in one day her plagues will overtake her: death, mourning and famine. She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord God who judges her. “When the kings of the earth who committed adultery with her and shared her luxury see the smoke of her burning, they will weep and mourn over her. Terrified at her torment, they will stand far off and cry: ‘Woe! Woe, O great city, O Babylon, city of power! In one hour your doom has come!’ Revelations 18:1-10

O Babylon;

land of opulence and luxury,

kingdom of self-indulgence and lust,

home of instant gratification and decadence,

you use until there is nothing left to use,

you take until there is nothing left to take,

you lie dying in the filth of your own greed,

where is your pleasure now?

O Babylon;

trampling on the backs of those who have less,

stealing from those without the resources to fight back,

killing under the guise of righteousness and the greater good,

how long can the hypocrisy  remain hidden?

how long can you pretend

the misery and suffering doesn’t exist?

how long O Babylon?

O Babylon;

surrounded by wealth and excess,

your children grow restless and bored,

turning to technology and machines,

ashamed of a legacy stained with innocent blood,

unable to reconcile the truth

in the name of liberty and justice for all.

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haves and have-nots/a vision

“And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”   Luke 18:7-8

it’s easy to turn your back

when you’re one of the haves;

have a job,

have a home,

have money,

have food;

have affordable health care;

believing the lies,

giving into the fears,

buying into the stereotypes;

they’re all lazy,

they’re all immoral,

they’re all looking

for a free lunch;

they all get what they

deserve;

so afraid

they might take

something that belongs

to you,

some of your hard earned

treasure,

all the things

you sweated and slaved for,

all the idols you fall down before

and worship;

all the things you sold

your soul for;

the have-nots of the world

are beginning to rise,

they’re not going away quietly

anymore,

they’re tired of the abuse,

they’re no longer content

with the crumbs,

there are things

bigger than themselves;

things worth dying for.//

the children of men hold their breath,

a final sigh before the meltdown,

a silent pause within the maelstrom,

hearts fail from fear,

meeting in secret places,

waiting for what is to come;

like a thief in the night

it sweeps them away;

trees smolder and smoke,

bursting into flames as

tires begin to steam,

their rubber melting

to the highway surface;

no where to run,

no where to hide;

like abandoned wells

their water runs dry,

they sit withering in the sun,

wandering through the wilderness,

lost and alone;

the day is here,

the time is now;

Your mercy endures

to the end,

but who shall hear the message?

who shall accept the grace?

when the Son of Man returns

will he find faith?

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