The voice resounds
pounding the earth
trodden by men and monster,
the grass leans to it, the trees bow to it,
the concerns of every heart foster the still small voice of a God who is there.
But in the black of blindness we forget the call
the whisper of volumes covering the earth
finding our every hiding place
appalled at the rhythm, the cadence of the voice.
Come back to me.
We stand at the gates of perdition’s flame
eyes seared in the wake, tears born from the burning ashes of those before
and through the door we would blindly stride,
save for the rhythm which flows
confide only in the melody of that voice which bids come back to me.
We find a man of like demise
propitiation throws him within our sight
and glances like daggers proceed whips broken upon his back
the voice he has
the cadence wrapped in limbs like ours, in hands which grasp to know what only the mind can see
The God who is there
spoke in silent steps becoming one to the road of suffering like the hammers which would drive the nail, broken by the weight of love
the dove of peace descending to lift him beyond our veil
tempted and tested and entering the city as the King he came to be
pail anemic complexion marred with red flesh
See the man who would be king.
Left and right in trinitarian form
voices choosing their destiny amidst a sea of roman riot.
One voice prevails
hailing like thunder upon the annals of last confessions
unseen in its power but spoken from the cross, the throne of zion.
Forgive them for they know not what they do.
In the beginning spoke the voice the words that could not be extinguished
couched in anguish, soaked in blood, torn asunder by the leather of baal, chained to creation by iron and raised in blasphemy above your children.
Ironic bail from a prison of ones own creation.
And even with no one at his side to hear his voice
no one to protect or to defend him
the darkness could not fight the voice. The darkness could not comprehend it.
The darkness could not comprehend him.
In the end
his voice stands
spoken into victory
risen into history
proof of true love
resolve of light in the darkness
He is not dead,
silent in the graveyard of humanities ambition,
one voice among the crowd of those who stood out.
His voice resounds as sure as the light of day finds every seed,
His voice tells us he is risen.
He is risen indeed.
she looked my way
just like the others
it was the first time that we met.
I caught her eye
but for a moment
it was life lived in a blur
I can’t say how her look revealed me I can’t process all that was said
but from the short time that I knew her
I was forever in her debt.
She was complex and yet so simple
she taught me things I’d never heard.
she showed me love was more than romance
because her love was undeserved
and she grew up though no one else would
and her applause were silent praise
from a young child to a woman
who crossed his path because he’d prayed.
you want so much someone to save you and so you call at passers by
but if your still you’ll hear the echo
your not the only one who cries
I never thought that I could give her
half what she could give to me
but I followed suit
and gave her all
and she returned it all to me.
she looked my way like no other
though only briefly we had not.
she caught my eye
but for a moment
there was life inside that blur
she has a look that is revealing
there are no words for its effect.
but for the short time that I knew her
I am forever in her debt.
been waiting a long time for the sunrise.
been waiting a lifetime for a glance in your eyes.
hoping and praying
wondering and waiting
to see if I meet you tonight.
I’ve looked in the mirror to see if you’re there
saw a reflection so cold,
Looked on the inside
the outside and what lies between, but you weren’t there.
How long can I remain in stagnant inconclusion
Before I create unwanted absolution
And end the beauty of intelligent design.
Can I continue to deny both
The flow of the sea and the course
Of the wind in foolish
Pretense of wisdom?
If knowledge is left calm for comforts sake,
Then is wisdom not forsaken for the sake of calm?
And all this is pointless rotting my soul and leaving my soul
If not for you.
Why do I care?
Why torture Myself with an inverted stare?
Is plunging into insanity really worth a glimpse at the depths of my mind?
Should I consume
My life with constantly stepping
And bits of glass?
Can I really be the tie that binds?
Is my attempt in futility;
A practice which can never achieve fluidity?
Only frustration fills all voids that I willfully tread.
But if life is anticipation of dread
Than that is not life,
And I am the living dead.
Will nothing I do ever be enough for anyone?
Have I created a standard with a price so high that it cannot be completed?
Can no one repeat that which is honorable for the sake of honor?
Must I always be the arbiter:
the lamb for the slaughter?
Do you need me to be your staff along the less traveled path?
Stand alone, and walk yourself!
For I am hastening unto death.
I must rest or be broken;
A token of your inability to care.
Sobbing and wailing.
Words can not comprehend
Or extend the relevance of feeling.
The ability to relate to irrational thought
Provokes the mind to invoke it’s spirit into flight.
Summoning the night to bow down to morning glory.
Feeling is the path which the wind inspires.
Moving a wooden leviathan across a sea of life…
For the rudder cannot guide the ship without the explosive wind,
Anymore than a person can act without a reason to do so.
They are a perfect union;
Completing the journey and establishing fulfillment.
Bringing relevance to insanity,
Giving every journey hope.
The power of conclusion is masked in the smallest member of its body.
Its outcome is the path chosen least for it is a force foreign in a troublesome sea.
A stranger thrust into a sea of dissolution,
Its surface mauled by false conclusions.
It stands strong in the wake of itself,
The firm foundation of momentum.
Madness is revealed as genius in its path
Is tried but true.
The hand of celestial bodies
In a terrestrial world.
The very essence of the journey
Bringing hope into tangible