Awakening

I was not sure when she left,

I was awakened by a light shaking

of my arm;

“Good morning, Mr. Alexsandar,

I am Doctor Popescu. How are you

doing today?”

“Fine, I think”

“Good, good, let’s take those bandages off

so we can get a look at your eyes.”

I felt his hands on my head as he

slowly unwound the gauze,

the light began to seep in,

slowly at first,

then overwhelmingly,

I winced,

I could see shapes and shadows

but could not make out

individual details,

“Ah, very good, very good,

the blisters are healing quite

nicely. Tell me what you are seeing.”

“I see light, mixed with dark shadows and

shapes.” I replied,

“hmmm, that is to be expected I suppose,

we need to give it a little more time

I believe. I will have the nurse put more

salve in your eyes and wrap them

back up”

“Good day Mr. Alexsandar.” he said,

as he left the room,

I could make out her shape as she

came into the room,

“Good morning Anatoly, when I left

yesterday you were sleeping like a baby.”

“The night nurse wrote that you

were out all night.”

“What did the doctor have to say?” I asked;

she chuckled, “As usual, he didn’t say much

of anything. But he did write that your eyes

are healing nicely and that I am to re-wrap them.”

“I am putting some drops in your eyes, you might feel

some slight stinging and discomfort.”

“So”, I said, “in a few days I might

get my eyesight back?”

“Perhaps”, she replied,

“Then I will be able to put a face

to your wonderful voice.” I added;

she was silent;

I decided to push the attack;

“What does your husband think of

you being around all these men?”

“My husband is dead” she replied,

“He was killed over a year ago. There are

many victims of this war”;

I felt the sadness in her voice;

“Perhaps when I am better, we can

get a cup of coffee together” I said;

there was more silence,

then she slowly spoke;

“Anatoly, you do not know

where you are do you? When your

eyes are better, you will be placed

in the recovery ward, with all the other

prisoners.”

.

.

Safe

“Good morning Mr. Alexsan….. um Anatoly” she said,

I wasn’t sure when she had entered the room,

I only knew that she was there;

finally;

I had thought of very little else

the entire night;

I imagined what she must look like,

I felt the touch of her fingers as she

checked my bandages;

it felt like electricity,

crackling and popping;

“how did you sleep?” she asked,

“I’m not sure that I did” I replied,

“well you must have slept some,

the overnight nurse wrote that

you were snoring very loudly

when she checked on you.” she chuckled,

we laughed together;

I had not laughed like that

since before the war,

with my wife,

that thought brought it

all back;

her death,

dying little girls,

Tukarov,

the brutality,

the savagery,

the gas,

the sounds of gasping,

the coughing,

the weeping,

the darkness;

“Anatoly, Anatoly,

it’s okay” she whispered,

holding me in her arms,

and for the first time,

in a very long time;

I felt safe.

.

.

Anatoly

I awoke to darkness,

my eyes were open but

they could not see,

my hands could move

but I could not raise

them up;

“help me!” I screamed,

“help me!”

I heard a door open

then close;

“so, you are awake at last”,

a female voice casually

spoke out;

“where am I?” I demanded;

“try to relax Mr. Aleksandar,

you are in a hospital,

you are safe now,

let me check your bandages”;

I felt her soft, warm hands

run lightly around the side

of my head and over my eyes;

“am I blind?” I asked,

without trying to sound afraid;

“the doctors are not sure yet” she replied,

“it’s too early to tell,

your eyes were burned

very badly by the gas,

we will not know just how much

long term damage there is

for a few more days”;

“you are luckier than most” she added,

“why can’t I move my arms?” I asked,

“the doctors wanted your arms restrained,

they knew when you awoke you would most

likely be in a state of panic,

if you promise me you will be a big boy

I will remove the straps”;

I could detect a slight trace of humor

in her voice;

“I will try” I replied;

I felt a slight tugging at my

right arm then my left,

my arms were free,

my first thought was to reach

for my face,

and as if she read my mind

she called out;

“don’t try to remove

the bandages on your face,

or I will be forced

to put the straps back on!”

“what of the men who were

with me?”

there was a silence;

“there were a few” she quietly replied,

“most were in worse shape

than you, some died shortly after

they brought them here”

“I’m sorry”, she added;

“the doctors have said you could

have some hot broth if you are up to it,

would you like some Mr. Aleksandar?”

it had been so long since I had heard

a female voice,

I had almost forgotten just how

soothing it could be;

“please” I said, “call me Anatoly”

she didn’t say a word,

but I could feel the smile.

.

.

gas

then came the gas,

silent, deadly,

just a soft whump here,

a thump there,

followed by

swiftly rolling fog,

at first we weren’t even sure

what was happening,

many started dropping

before the thought

of donning a mask could

even be thought;

it seemed like such an ironic,

and cruel twist

of fate,

to have survived such horror,

only to be destroyed by

such a thing

as this;

everywhere men lay choking,

gasping for breath,

their faces twisted in deadly

agony,

those who managed

to put on their masks

powerless to help,

the burning of skin

hardly noticed by the joy

of protected lungs and

internal organs

from this slow and

evil death;

I thought of Tukarov,

I thought of my wife,

I thought of innocent little girls,

lying cold and limp in my

trembling arms,

I thought;

such a waste,

such an incredible,

stupid waste;

who has won?

who has lost?

all I could do

was cry.

.

.

sunrise

there was mostly silence now,

broken only by an occasional

scream or moan,

flashes of far-off artillery fire

lit up the distant horizon,

an eerie reverence permeated

the air,

we rested slumped against

one another,

staring blankly into the early

morning sky,

only hours before it was insanity,

unimaginable horror,

a great tidal wave of madness

and fury,

bodies locked together in death,

covered in blood,

covered in guts,

everything a weapon,

broken guns,

bayonets,

rocks,

fists,

fingernails;

in the end it had

come down to teeth;

the sun was beginning to rise,

steam rolled off the sea

of carnage that lay

before us,

our nostrils saturated

with the stench of rotten flesh;

it was sacred,

almost holy.

.

.

Spared

quietly we waited for the dawn attack,

silently hiding within the refuge of the

dark, lonely night,

sleep was impossible as we tried

to hang on to every minute,

every second,

knowing they would likely be

our last,

on the other side,

the enemy waited also,

just as afraid,

just as unsure,

soon it would be us or them,

kill or be killed,

for most this would be the

last day on earth;

many openly wept,

remembering mothers and fathers,

sisters and wives,

brothers and children,

I saw the face of my wife,

as she had looked before

the war,

before the madness,

before the chaos,

before the hatred,

sweet and serene,

I was glad she had died

early,

being spared the emptiness

of what we had now become,

the monsters we had all been

reduced to,

capable of any cruelty,

living only for death and revenge,

reflections of what had

once been human;

I was glad she had been spared.

.

.

Tukarov

Tukarov was dead;

it seemed like only yesterday

we had danced at his wedding,

now his body lay quiet,

face down in the mud,

a gaping hole where

his chest had once been,

ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell

from a sniper’s gun;

I wondered if he had felt anything

as the bullet ripped through

his flesh,

tearing out pieces of his lungs

with it,

it couldn’t have been much

I thought,

he was dead before

he even hit the ground,

perhaps it was better this

way,

only a few months earlier

he had lost Ulena

in an air strike,

after that he had never

been the same;

“we must do something,

we must fight back,

we must not die like

sheep”;

he had insisted,

convincing me to

join the ‘cause’ with him,

now I could not

remember what

the ‘cause’ was,

only that I was cold

and afraid,

as I sat with the rest

of our patrol,

listening to our commander

brief us on tomorrow’s

raid,

wondering when this

nightmare would ever end;

Tukarov was dead,

long live Tukarov.

.

.

Collateral

I held her in my arms,

as the life slipped from her

small, frail body,

she couldn't have been more

than 7 or 8 I thought,

as I looked into her cold,

lifeless eyes,

staring blankly into the clouds

up above,

only moments before,

the roar of the jet  had filled

the afternoon sky,

then a blinding light, followed

by deafening sound;

then silence;

now this child

lay broken and torn

in my bloody arms,

I had seen her in the

neighborhood before,

always laughing,

always smiling,

beautiful;

innocent;

later the news would

say the attack was a

coordinated effort

by government forces,

dropping a laser-guided smart bomb

on a known terrorist safe-house,

killing 15, with only minor

collateral damage and loss

of life;

all-in-all a pretty good

day for the 'good guys'.

.

.

The Great War

I lost a great deal in that war,

we all did,

we lost friends and

neighbors,

homes and wealth,

family members,

possessions,

we lost everything,

yet because we lived,

we lost nothing,

I sometimes wonder

who the lucky

ones were;

those who perished or

those who survived;

no one could say

how it began,

like most wars it had

no beginning or end,

it simply came and

went;

like measles,

or smallpox,

or the flu;

when it was over,

those who were left

simply picked up the pieces

and started over

again;

there was very little choice

otherwise;

they said it was the war

to end all wars,

just like all the wars

before it,

no one really cared one

way or the other,

the time for caring

had long since come

and gone,

now there was simply

living or dying,

breathing or not breathing,

seeing or not seeing,

surviving or perishing;

a world of our own creation,

a nightmare of our own doing.

.

.

gypsy (gimme shelter)©

she lives within, like a

faraway dream,

a wild raging river,

running dangerously out

of control,

a dark, passionate gypsy,

who can never be tamed,

flying like the wind,

disappearing with the evening

sun;

she is everything,

she is nothing,

she is here,

she is gone;

it’s just a shot away,

it’s just a shot away;

you fight with every ounce

of strength you possess,

you run as fast and as far

as you possibly can,

you hold out for as long

as time allows,

you sell yourself to the

highest bidder,

pretending it doesn’t matter,

telling yourself it is

just another one,

that it will pass like all the rest,

but it is not enough,

you find yourself

wanting more,

she has you for the taking;

it’s just a kiss away,

it’s just a kiss away; ©

and you wonder what shelter

exist for this,

what refuge is left,

what cure;

it’s just a shot away,

it’s just a shot away. ©

© ‘gimme shelter’, ‘it’s just a shot away’ ‘it’s just a kiss away’ – Rolling Stones (Keith Richards/Mick Jagger)

.

.

Boomers

fire in the hands of children,

such a dangerous thing,

for a world

so brittle and dry;

playing with things

they cannot begin to understand,

where reality has been reduced

to the touch of a button,

and all that was,

or ever will be,

can be held

in the palm of a hand;

will it matter

when the time has come?

who was right,

who was wrong,

will it matter

what human emotion

provided the spark?

where will all the heroes be then?

where is the honor and glory?

who will bury the dead

and pick up the pieces?

who’s going to greet the boys

when they come back home?

.

.

The Prize

in the silent darkness,

winter stiffness takes hold,

as yesterday’s warmth,

gives way to tomorrow’s cold,

the mist of time shrouds itself

within a veil of unseen sorrow,

as mighty gentle giants,

throw stones at posterity,

crumbling it to the ground,

to 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;

who can know

these depths to which they

have fallen,

who can understand

this darkness

growing within;

the sun begins to set,

storm clouds gather upon

distant horizons,

ancient fires blaze once again,

laying this land to waste,

like giant behemoths

rising from the night,

leaving little margin for escape,

doomed from the beginning,

they never stood a chance;

seven hundred feet below,

the end quietly waits,

in a world all it’s own;

just like the prize

in a cracker jacks box.

.

.

Battle Stations

down here,

in the ice cold deep,

we play a game,

which is supposed to be deadly serious,

but which 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 nobody else

has anything to lose;

oh alright,

I’ll wakeup,

yes, I’ll play the game today,

but I won’t play much longer,

so use me while you can,

because soon enough,

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 alarm!

.

.

Wept (Omega)

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”   Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,

I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,

I weep for the loss,

I weep for the waste,

I weep for the hopelessness;

I weep for the children,

I weep for the tragedy,

I weep for the sorrow,

I weep for the suffering,

I weep for the inevitability.

what now

America?

Sand Creek remembers

.

.

.

Babylon Fallen

standing on the edge;

if you listen hard,

you can hear

the last dying gasps

of dreams gone bad,

betrayed by their lusts,

abandoned by their principles,

strangled by their self-righteousness,

drowning in their hypocrisy;

destroyed by their greed;

the children shake with fear,

burned out shells,

well-preserved corpses,

waiting to collapse

into the beckoning grave

of their man-made utopia,

trapped within the walls

of their self-made

wisdom;

Babylon fallen,

forever.

.

.

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?

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.

.

.

Final Stand

at last the sun begins to set,

the night does approach,

and it is here by your side

where I shall face

all that it has to bring,

it is here where I shall make

my final stand;

no more running,

no more hiding,

no more interference,

no more pretending;

no more fear;

traveling the miles and years,

without understanding or direction,

without purpose or clarity,

once again the bullshit and

all that is unimportant

begins to fade,

the uncertainty passes,

withering roots come back to life,

brave new universes patiently wait,

seeking shelter within cool pockets

of summer shade,

the land of promise lies ahead,

we have waited for this moment

all our lives,

we have come home

to live;

we have come home

to die;

take my hand,

together we will survive

the destruction,

together we shall face

the final storm;

together we shall

make this final stand.

.

.

Redemption

“When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”   Luke 21:28

another day begins,

another day ends,

how many days are left?

let me count the days;

we have become a society

of death,

a cult of iniquity,

violent predators obsessed with

fresh new victims,

laughing at misery,

taking delight in suffering,

fascinated by the pain of others,

immune to the cries for mercy,

lost in fantasy and delusion,

appearing to have a form

of godliness,

yet denying the power;

the hope rises within,

the time is almost here,

home only a moment away,

lift up your heads,

for your redemption draws near;

no more shall we hunger,

no more shall we thirst,

no more shall the sun beat down,

no more shall the heat scorch,

we shall lie down at springs

of living water;

every tear shall be wiped away.

.

.

Desperation

now the end may begin,

lost in this swirling

world of never,

eyes dressed incognito,

egos disguised by humility,

enemies in the shape of friends,

make for the worst

of them all,

you never see them coming,

until they have passed you by;

and by then,

it’s always too late;

the movement continues

like liquid wildfire,

consuming all there is,

right or wrong hanging within

a delicate balance,

fools following forsaken

roads of folly,

on their way to this or that,

innocence never the issue,

something for nothing,

one for all,

everything for anybody,

some things for nobody;

this garden no longer grows,

fruit lies dying on the vine,

hope has no future here,

fertility fails,

fixations no longer provide a thrill,

sinking deep into the

oblivion below,

sink or swim,

desperation makes its strong argument

for justification,

survival separates the living

from the dead;

words once spoken

can never be returned.

.

.

An Uneasy Interruption

in the end,

I will fade away

like the early morning dawn,

quietly changing from darkness

into light,

without a sound,

without a fight,

a passing whisper,

in the middle of the

dark, crisp night;

we all do,

we all will,

we simply have

little choice;

words will mean very little,

relationships even less,

memories but a brief moment,

an uneasy interruption,

a passing vapor,

in a world of swirling mist;

I have been to the mountaintop,

I have peered into the oblivion below,

I have heard the small still voice,

I have known the touch

of His calm, cool hand;

words will never be enough.

.

.

300 Miles Away

up in Knoxville the Vols are taking the field,

down in Tuscaloosa the Tide begins to roll,

out in Gatlinburg they’re packin em in,

for a big Dollywood weekend,

while 300 miles away people die;

all across the nation plans get underway,

for backyard barbecues and family trips to the beach,

as supermarket shelves are stacked in anticipation,

with more than anybody could possibly eat or drink,

while 300 miles away people die;

stunned by what they are seeing,

people watch the news and shake their heads,

calling in 50 dollar pledges,

vowing to make a difference,

while 300 miles away people die;

in Washington, in Jackson and in Baton Rouge,

fingers are being pointed as the blame game begins,

all across the nation the great debate rages,

filling the blogs and chat rooms with wisdom and advice,

from every self-made expert the internet has to offer,

while 300 miles away people die;

please wake up America,

we are all to blame,

we are all guilty,

we all watched and waited from afar,

while 300 miles away people died;

more than homes and people have disappeared,

more than dreams are shattered,

more than a way of life is gone,

part of a nation has died with them;

now is the time to stop the finger pointing and blame,

now is the time to stop worrying about the pursuit of perpetual pleasure,

now is the time to reach out and love one another as never before,

now is the time to trust in the One who can heal all things,

now is the time for repentance;

please wake up America,

before it is too late.

.

.

Where Now America?

where now

America?

your playgrounds and sandlots

lie empty,

as your youth

grow tired and disillusioned,

hanging out at the mall,

gathering in clumps and clusters,

wearing hundred dollar rags,

wrapped up in coolness,

struggling to be ghetto,

jaded with knowledge,

dripping with sarcasm;

nobody’s fool;

ice flowing through their veins,

filth dripping from their lips,

incapable of genuine laughter,

void of dreams,

growing old

before their time;

south jersey farm boys,

full of TV bravado and

James Dean machismo,

daddy’s good little girls,

playing MTV hoes,

busy being

trash talking, lil bitch, wannabes,

joking about

giving blowjobs for a dollar;

generation X,

childhood gone,

innocence lost,

forever;

where now

America?

where now?

.

.

Tired

we live in a world of make-believe,

where fantasy rules and anything goes,

with death only a video game away,

where might makes right,

where self-indulgence and pleasure rule;

I am tired;

I am tired of games and pretending,

I am tired of rude, obnoxious individuals,

I am tired of pampered, spoiled children,

I am tired of being in pain,

I am tired of sleepless nights,

I am tired of worn out dreams,

I am tired of struggling and toiling,

I am tired of writing meaningless words

that no one will hear;

I am tired;

my body is failing,

my soul is sinking deeper into oblivion,

my breath becomes fouled and labored,

I want to be part of the sleep process,

I want to dream forever,

I want to bathe in the light,

surrounded by 10,000 angelic voices,

I want to belong to Him;

who hears my voice?

who knows the turmoil building within?

who understands the darkness

descending upon this land?

who sees the futility of this life

without God?

I am tired.

.

.

America's War

America is fighting a war it cannot win;

a war that began many years ago,

when men believed

they could dominate other men,

controlling them through fear and intimidation,

a war that gained momentum with an idea

planted over 200 years ago;

that liberty is sometimes better than life,

that there are some things worth dying for,

that freedom at any cost is sometimes better

than life under the rule of others;

that all men are created equal;

a war given a face,

by a nation of farmers and merchants,

who defeated the most powerful empire in the world,

a war reinforced,

by a terrible and bloody civil conflict,

fought on the principle that economic gain

does not justify the enslavement of other men;

America is fighting a war it cannot win,

against the only enemy capable of defeating

her vast and mighty power;

America is fighting a war

against herself.

.

.

Days Like This/Behind the Crimson Door

desperation breeds invention,

creativity the key to survival,

it’s hard to give,

when there’s nothing left to offer,

even harder to take,

when you’ve taken all there is to take;

we’re all just holding on;

today was a picture perfect day,

not a cloud in the sky,

not too hot,

not too cold,

cool, gentle breeze blowing,

sweet and pure;

days like this are the worse;

the sadness comes seeping to the surface,

the yearning for escape softly whispers,

the need to anesthetize cries out;

days like this,

always make me want to get buzzed,

days like this,

always make me want to forget;

so many traps,

so many snares,

so many one-way roads,

with destinations leading nowhere;

never going down that path no more;

darkness lives,

just outside this crimson door,

waiting like a stranger in the shadows,

slithering as a snake

back into its hidden hole,

purpose has no meaning here,

clarity just a slip of the tongue,

silence fills the endless void,

words die like falling leaves on a tree;

days like this

never end;

the obsession grows,

steady and slow,

without beginning or end,

distant clouds on the horizon,

wandering in this wilderness,

the enemy waits for the moment;

the storm is never far away;

outside,

there is talk of change

as some hold on to the hope,

still others grow cold,

either way the sun rises and sets,

with or without our consent;

when the Son of Man returns

will there be any faith

to find?

this moment no longer moves,

out here,

among the frozen wasteland,

dark and endless,

forgotten and alone,

cold to the bitter bone,

old voices fill the air,

cries of the raging beast,

secret sanctuaries,

hiding within the chaos,

butterflies flowing on the wind,

lost somewhere within nighttime shadows,

waiting for something more,

madness my old friend,

I can no longer deny your sweet touch;

it always begins like this,

it always ends as something else;

like the lead character

in a Fellini film,

wandering through fields

of golden nonsense,

swept away by the growing hush,

traveling a hundred miles

to move an inch;

the crimson door

knows no pity.

.

.

Power

For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power. I Corinthians 4:20 (NIV)

Your power is beyond all

that this world can comprehend,

like a philosophy or psychology

we try to minimize who You really are,

sweeping You under man-made rugs,

placing You inside man-made boxes,

trying to restrain You with man-made

laws and traditions,

never understanding,

never knowing,

never able to fully acknowledge,

that everything we are,

everything we know,

exists only by Your

unfathomable mercy and grace,

through the unlimited power

of Your Word alone,

that every breath taken is a gift,

which can never be repaid;

through Your power

I am given a taste of a world

free from sin,

a world of love and hope,

stripped of all its suffering and fear;

without hate,

without lust,

without greed;

through Your power

I begin to understand,

through Your Holy Spirit

I start to see,

a world which my mind

cannot fully grasp,

an indescribable place

prepared from the beginning

for those who love You,

a world that leaves me humbled,

perfect and pure,

beyond words,

without compare,

a world where I can only

fall down before You

and whisper;

my Lord,

my Master,

my King;

my Everything.

.

.

A Time For Everything

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.  What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil – this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him   Ecclesiastes 3:1-14

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.   Romans 8:37-38

in the early morning silence

You softly speak,

revealing mysteries and truths

I cannot fathom,

surpassing all my understanding,

Your ways are not my ways,

Your thoughts are not my thoughts,

You are the vine,

I am just the branch,

all my ideas,

all my words,

are nothing without You;

there is a time for everything,

a time to be born,

a time to die,

everything You do

endures forever,

nothing can be added to it,

nothing can be taken from it,

death does not end it;

nothing shall separate us

from Your love.

.

.

Delusion

For the secret power of lawlessness is already at work; but the one who now holds it back will continue to do so till he is taken out of the way. And then the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will overthrow with the breath of his mouth and destroy by the splendor of his coming. The coming of the lawless one will be in accordance with the work of Satan displayed in all kinds of counterfeit miracles, signs and wonders, and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and be saved. For this reason God sends them a powerful delusion so that they will believe the lie and so that all will be condemned who have not believed the truth but have delighted in wickedness.   II Thessalonians 2:7-12

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.   Revelation 18:8

the joy does end,

here in this land

of limited sun,

cold hearted and alone,

forsaken and forgotten,

the gate is closing,

the gap is narrowing,

the light is starting to

disappear,

there are things bigger

than life,

bigger than death;

bigger than dreams;

even now they mock,

twisting the truth,

creating monuments of self-glory,

worshiping idols of their own doing,

maligning anyone and everything,

laughing at the misery and suffering,

exploiting the helpless and weak,

drowning in self-proclaimed wisdom,

unable to understand truth,

incapable of anything more

than what they are,

refusing to see past themselves,

seeking life, liberty and the pursuit

of perpetual pleasure,

blinded by their superiority,

wallowing in the fantasy,

delighting in the delusion;

finding comfort in the lie.

.

.