The Clock is Ticking

walking this beach, there is a feeling

of incompleteness, restlessness,

unfinished business;

paupers, waiting for the axe to fall;

so much suffering, so much dying,

does anyone deserve this?

like a side of beef, she leads me to

this place, selling me to the highest bidder,

giving up without a fight, no resistance,

no struggle;

only shame;

there is a depth here, untold symmetry,

flapping and unfurling with the newborn sun,

words come easy, light and free,

no longer encumbered by stones of inertia,

shooting through the limited nighttime sky with

a touch of innocence;

there is a depth here;

this boiling sun is no longer a home,

this raging sea provides no relief,

old bones come home to roost,

the clock is ticking;

time is running out.

.

.

A Mountain Awaits

somewhere a mountain awaits,

without worry, without danger,

without fear, only quiet

simple living;

no lust,

no yearning,

no desire;

somewhere there’s a mountain,

or a desert, or an ocean beach,

it doesn’t really matter,

this flesh shall be no more,

all the baggage removed,

prison bars gone forever,

no more pain, no more disappointment,

no more darkness;

only peace;

somewhere there’s a home that

does not fade, a life that is

not illusion, a body that does

not decay, a world that does

not crumble;

somewhere there is You.

.

.

A Satisfying Day

we walked the beach today,

she made a remark about all the trash,

“it’s from the weekend crowd” I tell her,

“it’s our human footprint, our legacy,

everywhere humans go their trash is

sure to follow;”

“you’re always so dark and negative” she says,

and in my mind I think, ‘she’s right of course,’

I wish it were not so;

we talked about current events and

certain actors behaving badly, “I’m not sure

if he’s delusional or a genius,” I say, “maybe

he knows exactly what he’s doing”

they say bad pr is better than no pr at all;

we discussed my dream from the night before,

(actually I did, she could have cared less,)

“what do you think it means?” I ask,

“I don’t know” she says, ”I never know what

your dreams mean, what do you think it means?”

“I don’t know” I replied;

and that was the end of that;

walking back, I fight the voice whispering

inside my head to go to a bar and get wasted,

along with not giving in to the inner urge

telling me to stare at the very attractive

young lady, in a very skimpy string bikini,

laying on a towel next to her boyfriend;

all-in-all, between trash and dreams,

and small personal victories over

basic human weakness and flaws;

it was a very satisfying day.

.

.

Gulf Shores (9 Nov, 2010)

in the morning, we walk the beach in silence,

hand in hand, bathed in sunlight,

surrounded by  blue, cloudless skies,

waves lapping rhythmically,

hypnotic, echoing the heartbeat of life;

this must be heaven;

images and words flow like electric current,

“I should have brought something

to write with,” I tell her, “I’ve written an

entire poem in my head, but I’ll never remember it.”

I’ve lost so many that way, slipping through

my fingers like liquid glass;

gone forever;

we watch a pod of dolphins, fishing just off shore,

slowly breaking the surface, bobbing and weaving,

the way it has been for thousands of years,

the talk on the news is about oil, economic crises

and recovery, but the dolphins don’t

seem to care;

and neither do I.

.

.

All There Is

standing beneath this night time sky,

gazing up at the glory of Your

wondrous mystery,

facing the uncertainty,

fighting the doubt,

Your Spirit renews my strength,

raising me up from the depths

of this darkness, restoring all

that has been lost;

I will not fear;

You are my shield,

You are my sanctuary,

my Great Protector,

You are truth, You are light;

You are all there is.

.

.

Small Minds

small minds look for weakness

wherever they can find it,

it makes them bigger than they really are,

more than they will ever be,

as they search for a home that never was,

wandering like roaming gypsies across

desert plains, mindless, aimless;

doomed;

time is not a friend, it takes until

there is nothing left, leaving no trace,

destroying everything in its path,

without witness, without hope;

the enemy waits within,

silently ready, alarmingly knowing,

gnawing away, a growing whisper,

an unknown touch, a dark,

mindless shadow;

“just a little farther” it hisses;

just one more momentary lapse longer,

just one small break in protocol,

better safe than sorry, sooner or later

it comes to us all;

time is not a friend;

small minds never journey past

the mistakes, trapped by the insecurity,

lost within the fear;

forever stuck in the glue.

.

.

Power

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

Jesus replied, “You are in error because you do not know the Scriptures or the power of God.   Matthew 22:29

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.   2 Timothy 3:1-5

Your power is beyond all this world can comprehend,

like a philosophy or psychology, they 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 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.

.

.

Final Stand

the sun begins to set,

the night does approach,

it is here by your side we shall face

all that it has to bring,

it is here we shall make

our 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,

all that is not important begins to fade,

uncertainty passes, withering roots

come back to life, brave new universes

lie patiently in wait, seeking shelter

within cool pockets of summer shade,

the land of promise lies ahead,

for this moment we have searched

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 storm;

together, we shall

make this final stand.

.

.

and the Band Played on

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them.   II Timothy3:1-5

pain becomes the new laughter,

sorrow the flavor of the day,

hurtful words the drug of choice,

lovers of self, stone cold shells,

hearts of steel, anything goes,

in a make believe world, where

nothing is real, sliding into depths

of decadence and decay;

and the band played on;

we soothe the fear, all the while

hiding the emptiness, making way

for a tomorrow full of distant despair,

time passes by, madness breeds the future,

breathing life into strange new creations,

with no room for mercy or compassion;

and the band played on;

we want reassurance, we want good times,

we want vindication, we want guarantees;

and the band played on;

inside the flesh rots, like butter in the warm

summer sun, continually searching,

continually seeking, new horizons among

the chaos, feeding off the lust,

surviving on the greed, drowning in the filth,

laying waste to all that moves,

misunderstanding the new art,

and at the end of the day, emptiness all

that is left, sometimes survival is

recreation enough;

and the band played on;

we live life in moments, monuments frozen

in time, desperately holding on,

hopelessly watching, slipping like smooth

silk sand through our porous fingertips;

we are flawed, everyone of us, it is not of our doing,

but we are flawed just the same,

imperfections within the rubbish,

scarred bloody stumps of all that

could have been, all that should have been,

fit for nothing but the furnace fire,

without defense, without hope,

pointing fingers and shaking heads,

feeling somehow superior, above the filth,

better than the ‘sinners’, but inside

we are all the same, grubby little insects

seeking redemption, crying out in pain

without making a sound;

tear down the walls, never let them rise again,

replace the darkness with light, let it shine

into the cold black night;

try as hard as we can,

we can never put it out;

something is lost within this

carnivorous cavern, prosperity weakens

in the face of disaster, with destruction

comes renewal, with death begins life;

won’t You help me find the door?

won’t You show me the truth?

won’t You rescue me from the storm?

like a river it flows, sometimes violent,

sometimes gentle, on and on,

no beginning, no end,

like a mighty wind it blows,

from here to there, from where no

one knows, to where even less;

heroes and hormones never die,

they go on and on forever,

in this wilderness where

the sun never sets,

inside hallowed halls of glory,

filled with words of hope,

the midday shadows grow long,

the hunger remains the same,

assuming new shapes, twisting and turning,

resurfacing, again and again,

the morning grows tired of the noise,

still it goes on, flowing like before,

blowing into the night, still it goes on;

no one listens, no one hears.

sleep well my friend, the morning comes

soon enough, the nighttime will fade

into the growing morning light;

and the band played on;

we hide inside these houses,

dreaming of the tomorrows,

imagining the possibilities,

running from the darkness,

mystified by the mystery,

trapped within the illusion,

waiting for the destination;

forever seeing, but never knowing;

forever hearing, but never understanding;

if it were up to me, I would stay in this place,

seeking shelter from the storm,

being swallowed up by the myth,

drowning in the depths, growing cold

from the emptiness, guarding Your truth

like a rare and precious jewel,

but Your grace knows better,

You lead me past the mistakes,

through the traps and snares,

beyond myself;

and somewhere the band no longer plays,

someday the light will come flooding through,

providing vindication for even the

weakest part, shredding the illusions,

destroying the misconceptions;

speaking the truth.

.

.

More Than I Deserve

she’s more than I deserve, better than I

could ever hope for, a companion through times

both good and bad, a friend until the end,

standing by my side when no one else would,

a sounding board for the madness,

a shelter from the wind, a sexual fantasy,

a warm summer’s dream;

riding out the storm in Calera, Alabama,

surviving the threats of a dark future,

always there, overcoming fears

and barriers;

more than I am worth,

more than I deserve.

.

.

Not Even a Sparrow

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

in the morning, Your voice softly speaks,

telling me not to fear, bringing peace

to my troubled mind,

removing the chaos and confusion,

lighting up the darkness, proving that

You are real, 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;

help me overcome the spiritual darkness,

help me remember that the arrogance and

hypocrisy of others will pass, help me turn

the other cheek, silence my foolish lips, that

utter these words of vanity and evil, teach me

to control this flesh, that seeks 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.

.

.

Without You There is Nothing

here within the silence of nighttime shadows,

lie unexplored depths, mountains ready to climb,

dreams worth dreaming, unspoken words

waiting for discovery;

without You

there is nothing;

for everything there is a price,

unseen costs and unknown tolls,

untold suffering and unspeakable sacrifice,

invisible lines and barriers without relief,

more than we can comprehend,

fantasies beyond the realm of possibility,

symptoms of the fear, part of the process,

payment for services rendered;

without You

there is nothing;

trapped within the truth, hiding among the enemy,

running from the end, searching for secret sanctuaries,

they can take it all, they can strip the clothes

from your back, but they can never take this,

they can never take You, so much lost,

so much forgotten, so much unknown,

so much farther to go;

without You

there is nothing.

.

.

Not Much

it may not be much, but it’s mine,

not some teacher’s, not some mentor’s,

not someone else’s idea of good or bad;

it is mine;

it tears them apart, knowing they spent years,

learning all the rules, all the techniques,

all the proper pronouns, all the perfect suffixes,

paying all the dues, establishing all the provenances,

only to find out, it’s all bullshit;

it’s either there, or it isn’t;

I have seen their lies,

their hypocrisy, their almost truths,

I have bought into their system,

I have accepted their penalty,

I have paid their price;

I am free.

.

.

Discernment

“If you want to be happy, do not pray for discernment.” - A. W. Tozer

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.  If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”   John 15:5-7

it’s not easy seeing things others do not,

seeing past the surface, past the smoke screens,

past the insincerity, past the lies,

seeing the hypocrisy, the hidden agendas,

the self-seeking motives, the falseness,

you begin to see people in a different light,

you begin to see them for what they really are;

you see it in others,

you see it in yourself;

it is like talking to dead bones,

being surrounded by living corpses,

remaining silent, even though you want

to scream, knowing it wouldn’t change anything,

even if you did;

it is not judgment, it is not condemnation,

it is a deep, quiet sadness, an unspeakable burden,

because you know that you are just as guilty,

just as undeserving, just as despicable,

just as failed;

you realize just how opaque and pervasive

evil really is, appearing as an angel of light,

infiltrating into cracks and shadows,

you understand just how manipulative

and devious the enemy truly is;

You are the Vine, we are the branches,

without You we can do nothing,

through You we can do all things.

.

.

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.

.

.

Hiding Within Plain Sight

they have become mesmerized

with the violence, conditioned

by the lies, without feeling,

without joy, without soul,

I remain silent, because

that is what I choose,

words never mattered

anyway;

I could not save you,

you were too far gone,

too far along, too far away,

from a dream, I reach for you,

but you are not there,

I call out your name,

but you do not hear,

replacing one, without the other,

such an impossible task;

even now, I hear your voice,

even now, I see you your face,

even now, I taste your skin,

a new day dawns, old memories fade,

no return, no mercy,

no hanging on, forgotten memories

and empty futures, travel down

these lost and lonesome paths,

on their way to hidden valleys,

where even the sun does not speak;

I am tired of giving

pearls to dogs, wisdom to swine,

tired of voices that only

know how to speak,

but have never learned

how to listen;

your judgment makes you smaller,

your expressions and excuses,

nothing more than meaningless drivel,

dead-end streets, you use the cracks

and crevices of distant shores like common

knowledge, platitudes and artistic differences

only go so far, sooner or later choices

must be made, eventually it becomes real,

eventually it slips away, everything you know,

everything you are, everything you ever were,

just fading vapor, dispersing

with the wind;

the higher you go,

the farther you fall,

the faster you run,

the bigger the crash.

.

.

Drama

she sits on the edge,

comfortably away from the fire,

safely out of the battle zone,

throwing round house punches,

taking cheap shots, hitting below

the belt whenever possible,

protecting her cynicism at all cost;

resting secure in cloaks of MFAs,

surrounded by 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;

more than a childhood lost.

.

.

Dumb Jock

not easy to turn the other cheek;

the lies,

the hypocrisy,

the greed,

the self-righteousness;

the inability to see past the small,

little worlds in which we live,

unable to accept the insignificant,

little lives that we live;

turning meaningless, man-made

monuments and religions into works of glory,

celebrating myths which crumble into dust,

like the mists of vapor who created them;

worshipers of the creation,

mockers of the creator;

high school drama teachers,

in love with the sound of their own voice,

poisoning minds, destroying hope,

you never fooled me then,

you do not fool me now;

I saw you for what you were,

I see you for what you are.

,

,

This Dream

the moments come and go,

just a different twist,

a fairer fate, another turn,

a better choice, life and death,

darkness or light,

nothing and everything,

something else;

we come so close;

83 dead, the silence shattered

as the gunman reloads,

xxxxxxxxxx in mourning,

there are things never

forgotten;

who is to say?

who is to know?

does it never end?

the sun rises, a new day’s heat begins,

suffocating and choking,

flesh melting like yesterday’s butter,

chard and putrid, fresh rubber sizzling

like bacon in grease, one more on the road,

out of the frying pan and into the fire;

another one tastes the dust;

take it away, let it be no more,

bring about an end,

take it from my eyes,

take it from my mind,

this whisper,

this hush;

this dream.

.

.

Words

“You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good? For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks. The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him. But I tell you that men will give account on the day of  judgment for every careless word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.”   Matthew 12:34-37

when it comes to words,

it has always been all or nothing,

words have been my best friends,

my only companions, my slaves,

my sluts, my bitches,

my lovers, my fantasies,

my obsessions, my masters;

my salvation;

I have used words like a healing salve,

spreading them like butter on

unseen cuts and gashes,

until there was nothing left,

a silent barrier behind which

I could bury all the loneliness and tears;

words have been there when there

was nothing else;

words should not be wasted

on summer roofing jobs or dead

Italian uncles, but then one mfa

is worth about 2 nights in the gutter,

following 5 day benders you can

barely remember, or one week in a

cock-roach infested hotel,

with rats so big they stand on their hind legs,

begging like trained circus seals,

all the while daring you to do

something about it,

all the while knowing you won’t,

it’s then you understand words

you never knew existed,

words you will never learn at Harvard,

or Princeton, or Vassar,

as you slowly sip a bottle of Wild Irish Rose,

or Thunderbird or Mad Dog;

I have used words to describe

every act of perversion, every degradation,

every dark empty thought existing

with the human soul;

so who am I to judge?

words are clay in the hands

of a skilled artist,

waiting to be sculpted into an

unknown beauty that defies description,

they are the face of a tragic cruelty,

beyond the limits our relatively simple minds

can even begin to fathom;

words are nothing, words are everything,

by your words you will be condemned,

by your words you will be freed;

choose your words

wisely.

.

.

wasted

deliberately you waste the day,

it slides by like bacon

on a hot griddle grill;

sizzling,

smoking,

sputtering,

shriveling,

until there is nothing left;

and you wonder,

how many more?

.

.

Last Call

this morning darkness does roll,

these gentle waves do wash,

melodic rhythms continue to flow,

despite the insidious rush of left-handed

breaks;

who does know?

who can tell?

who will stop the tide?

inside we are all the same,

lost and afraid, isolated and alone,

searching for a refuge, trying to

find a home;

no matter who we are,

no matter what we say,

no matter how hard we pretend,

somehow, someway,

somewhere;

there must be more;

wasted words once again,

lost within the echoes of

ancient memories, lying just

a touch beyond hope,

drowning on distant shores of

foreign intervention,

drifting upon forgotten platitudes

of empty fires,

blazing wildly out of control,

burning with the stench of a

thousand voices, pleading for death,

this too shall pass;

what else is left?

enlightened intelligence,

such a wasteful resource in the

hands of crazed madmen,

passionate informants full of

useless information,

inside traders, selling stolen dreams,

former raiders of excessive corporate greed,

dancing on the backs of down-trodden masses,

sharing forbidden fruit destined for

leftover dumpsters of recycled trash,

destroying the will,

removing the innocence;

exchanging profit for turpitude.

.

.

I Am Going

the rain outside reflects the mood,

cold, wet and tired,

the world slows down,

unable to sustain the momentum;

we hardly take notice;

moments pass us by,

until there is nothing left,

betrayal becomes inevitable,

behind treacherous walls of

sardonic infidelity,

complacency swallows up her victims,

like leftover children in lonely dumpsters,

filled with jewels of the night and other

bedtime stories;

I am going,

but I’m not going

quick enough;

youth lies wasted,

energy a one-way street,

we can never go back,

we can never return to places

lost among the shadows;

somewhere within the ruins,

strangers lie empty and drained,

hidden by lost memories and walls

of battered abuse;

forever searching,

forever wondering,

forever knowing;

sometimes we become so baffled

by the bullshit, we forget about

the clarity, losing sight of the prize,

forever lost in the fog;

sometimes it’s nothing more than words,

sometimes words say it all,

sometimes words are all there is;

sometimes words aren’t enough.

.

.

Higher

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”   Isaiah 55:8-9

You adulterous people, don’t you know that friendship with the world is hatred toward God? Anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God.   James 4:4

Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For everything in the world – the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does – comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and it’s desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.   I John 2:15-17

everything I have been taught,

all that I have known,

every man-made idea,

every self-imposed concept,

every self-glorifying thought,

all the wisdom of the wise,

all that the world deems important;

is but nonsense and foolishness to You;

You who created all that there is,

all that ever will be,

You who said “LET THERE BE”,

You who are so far above anything

my simple mind can comprehend,

beyond all that I can imagine;

You who are the great I AM;

fill me with Your Spirit,

quiet my vain and foolish ramblings,

forgive my perverse and unrighteous life,

have mercy upon my evil and iniquitous ways;

all my gain is as nothing,

if it does not include You,

all my words are but wasted breath,

if they do not speak of You,

You are worth more than all this world

has to offer, more than life itself,

I shall seek You for all my days,

I shall know no rest until You are found,

my soul rushes after You like a dying man to life,

You are a great and shining light,

to one lost in the dark,

I cling to You as a drowning man to a rock;

heal me O Lord,

teach me to walk in Your ways,

renew my imperfect mind,

restore my damaged soul,

reform me in Your holy

and righteous image.

.

.

Children

Note: another early one, probably written just after high school, don't really remember the thought process that prompted it.

children playing,

their laughter the song of life,

so easily turned to tears,

in a world of emotions,

untouched by the realities of this world,

untampered with by the harshness of time,

they give of themselves completely,

freely, they have not yet learned

to hide, what others would take,

exploiting the individuality which

makes them who they are, they have not

yet learned about society,

their social order still comes

from within, not what is taught

from without.

.

.

Battlestations

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 losing,

because everyone else has nothing

to lose;

oh alright!

I’ll wakeup, yes,

I’ll play the game today,

just hold on to your poopiesuit,

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!

.

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History

Note: been going way back into my data base lately. This is from Lifesongs 1 which was begun around 1995, but many in Lifesongs 1 were copied from a box of hand written things I wrote in high school and the years in-between. I believe this is one from high school, which makes it one of the first I wrote.

shades of golden black, tears of molten steel,

echoes of silence which only frogs can feel,

sucking, hands of hidden slime,

reach out to pull down the timeless

midnight princess, standing exposed

before the eyes of the universe,

praying that all might be forgiven,

as the snake of the beginning,

slithers towards the end,

while gray, invisible wolves,

lie patiently in wait for the scraps

left behind.

.

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Blessed

When I look up and see the green mountain tops, I am home. When I cross the James River and look down on its mighty flowing waters, I am home. When I feel the cool breeze blowing across the valley floor, I am home. And when I realize that this is only a taste of the home to come, merely a shadow of that which You have prepared for those who love You, I am left humbled beyond words or comprehension. Thank you Lord.

You have blessed me beyond all that my mind

can comprehend, You have led me through

traps and snares I could not see,

bringing me to perfect places I never

knew existed;

to You do I owe,

all that I have to give;

Your mystery is unfathomable,

Your glory beyond mere words,

You stretch out Your hand and all

creation is silenced, You speak and

Your word becomes reality,

the Holy King of the universe,

the Lord of all there is,

the Great I Am,

Ruler of Heaven and Earth,

my God,

my Everything;

let me praise You

forever.

.

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Nothing Left to Say

the morning rises, dark and cold,

this time without sound,

this night without day,

beautiful dreams fade,

broken and dead,

new visions and epiphanies

fill the void,

feeble and weak;

nothing left to say;

all the self-absorbed pity,

all the weakness and fear,

all the lost moments,

all the wasted time,

this cacophony of endless excuses,

proud and vain within their

self-made universe, without soul

or purpose, without depth or emphasis,

just one more day, one more touch,

one more breath;

away;

rules have no meaning here,

fantasies move back and forth,

flying like the wind,

abandoned with the morning trash;

no one knows the cost,

no one knows the price;

before Your throne do I fall,

into Your hands do I place my life,

Your mercy and grace my only hope;

I am Yours.

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Redemption

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

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.   2 Timothy 3:1-5

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,

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 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.

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