Thursday, December 17, 2009

Spider in the Window

Spider in the window
Moss upon the stone
Fading leaves upon the ground
From autumns long ago.

Spider in the window
Weaving all alone
Some strange riddle we've not found
With patience sure and slow.

In the wooded shadows
Moss is on the stone
That walls the garden all around
So all has time to grow.

In the warm summer glow
There lying all alone
Fading leaves upon the ground
From autumns long ago.

Spider in the window
Spinning all alone
Soon your web will be found
And both of you will go.

In the wooded shadows
Moss upon the stone
Will be scraped onto the ground
'Cause the garden is for show.

All the dead leaves must go
Away they must be thrown.
Fading leaves upon the ground
That withered long ago.

The Night my Mother Left

The night my mother left, it snowed, big beautiful flakes that drifted down from heaven in soft patterns. They fell almost as if they were trying to negate the last words she spoke to me as she stormed out the door.

“Tell your sister I love her, I love her very much, I love her dearly.”

She said those words loudly and clearly. Her voice rang throughout my house. The look in her eyes, clearly vindictive, emphasized the words that she had spoken. The look emphasized the words that were not spoken, the words that left me with an empty gap in my heart.

She loved me too, right? I was sure she did. Deep down somewhere inside her I was sure she still felt an iota of the love she once held. Mothers always did that, right?

I watched her climb into her car and back out of the garage faster than usual. I watched as she drove off into the night; the snow swirling behind her. Christmas bells seemed to tinkle in the wake of her departing. I could almost hear them and as I stood there, shocked and dismayed. I could almost hear the Baby Jesus crying in his manger, the same way my heart was crying now.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

To Wonder and Wander

Wonder of beauty and wonder of life!

Oh that this sparkle held no strife!

Some sing of spring and some of fall,

Others think but don’t care at all.

Hope of a future and the future of a dream;

If its result is none but to beset and scheme,

Where is the purpose that had driven it so?

Why isn’t your heart willing to let go?

Perhaps, God seems distantly here or there,

And you think that your pain is too hard to bear.

One moment you relish in the sun’s golden light;

You savor its warmth and protection from night.

But when your world becomes a fragile thing,

You cease then to trust and have no voice to sing.

The music that once flowed freely from your heart,

Has lost all its worth, its beauty and art.

Wonder of God and wonder of heaven!

Have we ever known a love so deeply given?

Here within our grasp a truth ever constant,

Are we such fools to ignore it one instant?

Our agony is of our own compromise.

Do we then wonder “Why this demise?”

Our shame is of our own wistful desire.

Can we ask of God “Why now this fire?”

Wonder of mercy and wonder of grace!

That from me He would not turn his face!

God ever worthy and through Him alone,

Can now my blindness His forgiveness atone!

Never before could I ever be free;

Until Jesus set His perfect eyes on me.

Now in me understanding is clear,

With God on my side what is there to fear?

The Throne Room of Drama

Drama… something I never considered myself to be a “queen” of, nor yet even a great lover of… Yet, now, I find myself intrigued, inexplicably drawn to that beautiful feeling of becoming someone else- of allowing myself to become lost in the character and person of one through whom I can express the deepest emotions of the heart. I never envisioned that I would be a part of this peculiar entourage of people, but now that I have entered this realm, my views seem to be transforming… I never thought I would ever admit I am becoming a lover of the court of drama, but, my heart now palpitates with a certain energy at the thought of entering the throne room of drama, presenting myself to the King with all the energy and nervousness of a lowly servant. Before I even enter the throne room, my heart and mind plead for the work of the King’s influence to be seen through my presentation. I have labored; I have meditated on the life of the one whom I am portraying; I have been instructed and taught; and now that I have the opportunity to present myself before the court and the King, I desire nothing more than the King’s approval. He alone is the One Whose approval matters. He has created this beautiful throne room for His glory, and as I enter it, humbly, I am amazed that He would choose to give me this opportunity. Butterflies tremble within my being, my mind overwhelmed with the enormity of this entire production before the King. As I step out into the room, the courtiers, noblemen, and servants seem to fade into a mass of blurred humanity. Instead, I lose myself in the glory of these moments before the King. I expend my energy- allowing every fiber of my being to be caught up in this opportunity before Him. The moments are gone too soon, and I step back, albeit reluctantly, from the throne room, my mind whirling with the exhilaration I still feel. I pace back and forth, waiting for my fellow dramatists to complete the production over which we have labored for so long. Finally, the ending… I re-enter the throne room, along with my fellow servants- for that is truly what we are before the King… I gaze out at the sea of people, their faces are smiling, their expressions are joyous… But, what about the King? I cannot see Him, yet His presence is felt. The people of the court exclaim over the professionalism of our performance, the liveliness of the presentation, the beauty of our appearance… in spite of the praise though, I feel nothing but gratitude. The presence I still feel of the King washes over me as I realize He was here. He is here. Nothing can shake the beauty of this feeling. He has been pleased to give us this opportunity, stretching us, molding us, and now that it is over, I feel that He has grown us- me in particular. My heart is saddened at the thought that our production is finished, never again to be performed in like manner; yet, the sadness is repelled by the thought that the King is presenting me with another opportunity to share, again, in this venue of drama- to be allowed, again, to enter His throne room and to present, again, to the court His glory. The opportunity blooms before me… will I grasp it, allowing myself to once again, be lost in the beauty of the King’s gift of drama?

Embracing the End of My Old Self

I woke in the morning with your head on my chest,
Everything was happy, the beauty and the blest.
The rays on the panes flooded the room through thick dust.
I traced your face with my fingers in thoughtless trust,
And then down your perfect profile in selfish lust.
I stopped in horror at the base of your tight palms -
-Gripping a blade-
-Your choice was made-
-Now you’ve decided to silence the calms-

Your eyes, once closed in peaceful sleep, I see now were merely closed to keep me unsuspecting as I pulled you closer into a warm embrace.

I never saw the knife.
I never saw your eyes.
Now fearing for my life,
I turn from all your lies.

What have I left undone to let you so close?
Once upon a time, I would have cut the nape,
Of all that would have held me back,
But this time my defenses were down,
And you came back to me, yes, you came back to me.
Why couldn’t I see that you were aiming for my soul?
Just like every other time.

…But I trusted you, yes I trusted you…
…But I hated you, yes I hated you…
…But I loved you, yes I loved you…

“Never again, you lied.” I cried.
“But here you are once more,
Sleeping at my side.
I don’t think that I can heal from the wound this time.
I have had enough.
You will pay for your crimes.

I pushed you aside as you slashed for my heart.
I ran from the bedroom and down to the cellar.
In every mirror I saw your face.
In every reflection, your shame and disgrace.
I picked up a chair and destroyed my reflection.
I grasped a long shard of glass and came back after you.
You were out in the garden wilting the roses.
You turned to face me with a knife in your hand.
You tried to conceal it behind your back.
But I knew - This Time, I knew.

You came so close to me,
With innocence in your beautiful eyes.
You offered to try again,
And I said no words as I came even closer.
You placed your free hand on my shoulder,
And put your lips to mine
For a second, just a second, I thought,
“Maybe this time?”
But no. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Never again. Never again.

The look on your face turned from pleasure to shock.
You staggered back from me and gave me a hurt look.
Your hair fell loose over your eyes, whose sparkle was slowly fading.

I caught you in my arms,
And gently brought your beautiful body,
Down to the bed of the garden.
You looked deep into my eyes,
As the life blood ebbed from your veins.
I thought to pull you close…
…For one last time…
…And bring your lips to mine…
But I merely said,
“Dearest, know this,
I loved you.
I tried.”

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Jack of Spades

One brisk November evening a security guard, Alvin, clocked in for the hundredth time at the hospital. The shift started at 11 o'clock, and he was glad to get out of the cold night air and into the building. Before leaving for work that night, he had watched the evening news he wished he hadn't. The top story that night had been about a serial killer who had left the whole city on edge...and three doctors in the morgue. All three murders had occurred in the past three days, and all of them were at different medical facilities around the city. The hospital that Alvin worked at was attached to a professional building that also housed doctor's offices, labs, and a large pharmacy. The news story that night had disturbed Alvin, but more than that was the video from the security cameras at all three locations. "The images you are about to see may be disturbing to some viewers. Young children should leave the room." "Young children," Alvin though, "never mind young children!" Watching the film, one could see the doctors working late at their desks. In the shadows something would stealthily sneak up behind them. The screen went black because it was too graphic to show on national television, but one's imagination could fill in what happened next. The screen came back on to show the close-up of a masked face, showing only his hard, black eyes and maniacal smile. In the background the slumped over figure of the doctor was barely visible, and obviously dead. Then the masked man held something up to the camera...a Jack of Spades. He reached up and taped it on the lens. "Alvin!" He jumped as his supervisor shouted his name. "Ah...yeah?" "Ha ha ha! What's the matter...a little jumpy tonight?" His boss was a good natured man with a jolly laugh and even jollier stomach. "'s just...something I saw..." Alvin strapped the can of mace to his belt. "Sorry to get you started right into your shift like this, but I saw some weird shadows in the pharmacy just now. I think the night janitor may have left the door unlocked." "Yeah?" said Alvin, recalling the shadows in the security video. "I'll go check it out."

Alvin tested his radio, "10-97." "10-2" came the response. His Mag-lite hung loosely at his side and he kept the pouch that held his mace unbuttoned. His finger reached out as he touched the button for the elevator. "Why does it always take so long?" he thought to himself as he waited for it to rise. The door opened and he jumped, reaching for his flashlight. "Sorry to frighten you," smiled the janitor, "I just finished cleaning the pharmacy...weird place at night, that. Always a sound or a movement in the shadows!" he laughed like a senile old man that had no worries. "Yeah, tell me about it," muttered Alvin. A light sweat began on his forehead. "Man, its warm in here tonight," he thought to himself. He stepped into the elevator and pressed 'G'. Slowly, it made its way from the 8th floor to the 7th, then to the 6th, and then the 5th. Passing the 5th floor the elevator gave a slight shutter and the lights flickered. "900, come in." Nothing. "900, do you copy?" There was a hint of panic, an edge to Alvin's voice as he spoke. Still, nothing. The 4th floor went by. "Oh well, I'm sure its fine. Just a power surge. The lines from the elevator are interfering with the radio signal, that's all." As floors 3 and 2 went by Alvin became more and more frantic, imagining the black eyes of the murderer staring back at him when the doors opened. Finally he was at the ground level. The doors crept cautiously open and Alvin shone his light into the darkness. With every pass of his light, shadows climbed up the walls and flew across the ceiling. "It's all in my mind; it’s all in my mind!" Alvin reassured himself. A noise in the back storage room made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He went into the room and methodically checked every aisle. "No one in here," he remarked out loud to himself. He saw nothing in the back office, so he went into the adjacent janitorial closet. As soon as he was inside, the door slammed shut. He twirled around just in time to see a figure pass in front of the little glass cutout in the door. "Who's out there?! Who's out there?!" Now he was in full panic mode. His stomach rose in his throat and squeezed out his breath. Adrenaline pumped and blood rushed to his head. He tried the handle. It was locked. He grabbed the key ring from his side and his fingers stumbled through each key. First floor key, second floor, pharmacy, closet. His hand shook as he guided the key in the dark towards the handle. The keys slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a clang. He kicked the door and it gave out. Running in the dark through the office, his foot caught the edge of a filing cabinet and he staggered to one knee, ripping his pants. He kept on running as blood trickled down his leg--but that was the last thing on his mind. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, so he was able to navigate the aisles at full speed. The only thing between him and the elevator door was a display of mouthwash. He knocked it over, and mouthwash splashed all over the floor. He stepped on one of the bottles and his foot slipped out from under him. His chin hit the floor with a thud, and blood gushed, mixing with the minty liquid that had already formed a puddle. He got up and threw himself at the elevator button, breaking his finger as he did it. “Garrrrgh!” He screamed in pain and grasped his hand. The doors opened. “Hello, my name is Jack.”

Alvin woke up in a hospital room two hours later. The blood had stopped gushing from his chin, and he felt a bandage on his forehead, evidently covering a gash that he suffered when he fainted. There was one nurse in the room busily setting out bandages and arranging bottles of pain meds. The doctor stood, his back to the bed, getting ready a hypodermic needle. Alvin flashed back to before he fainted. The doors opened and there stood a man dressed in all black. He had on a ski mask that covered all of his features…all except his eyes and mouth. That was all that Alvin needed to recognize him, however. The masked man’s beady black eyes pierced his own and sent shivers up and down his spine. His smile, so purposeful, so evil, gave him the distinct urge to vomit. Then, he spoke. “Hello, my name is Jack.” “Hello, my name is Jack, Hello, my name is Jack, Hello, my name is Jack!” Alvin screamed, getting progressively louder. He repeated it over and over as he grasped his face, ripping at his bandage and hair, remembering the sheer terror that coursed through his body and caused him to faint. The nurse ran over to his bed and two more came in from the hallway. They grabbed his arms and legs and strapped them to the bed, telling him that it would be ok. The doctor turned his head to acknowledge the commotion, but then went back to his work. Once he had calmed down, the nurses left the room, promising to come back in a few hours. The doctor slowly turned and made his way over to Alvin’s bed. His amiable smile and deep eyes looked slightly familiar. He held up the needle, “Hello, my name is Dr. Jack Spade.”

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Lost in the Limelight

A hush falls across an excited crowd as anticipation hangs like a thick vapor in the theatre air. The house lights go down as the director takes his seat near the front. The actor takes his position; and then, a barely audible pop and ring resound as the circuits to and fro the lights engage in electric movement. A gentle hum pervades the air as the bulbs begin to burn and the world of drama is illuminated - totally foreign to this congregation, but oh, so familiar to the actor. The play has begun.

The actor's eye adjusts to the brilliance. He perceives minuscule particles of dust floating in the amber and blue rays. A euphoric thrill surges through his body as he loses himself in those lights. He suddenly imagines a universe of light and tiny solar systems of heavenly spheres dancing about - seemingly unaware of their fragile existence.

He inhales and watches as the vacuum that is created by the surging of air pulls at so many of the orbs and planets whirling about. All of the sudden, they begin to violently careen into the empty spaces of the limelight and disintegrate as they collide with vicious motion into one another. The colorful eruption that follows by degrees morphs into swirls of dramatic hue. Magenta and violet strands dance together in a shroud of velvet and creamy texture.

As his olfactories perceive the chaotic demise of so many systems, he is pleased to find the aura of sent to be rich with pleasant death. That is to say, via the destruction of these spheres, orbs, and planets, an aroma so deep, and thick, and full is created that his head begins to feel light, his extremities seem weightless, and his senses slightly dull.

He begins to exhale. He closes his eyes tight as the once oxygen-laden air passes from deep within his lungs and throat and back into the universe of color and light. His face and nose tingle with delight as he replaces those battered spheres into their orbits. And with a gentle puff, he watches them drift away from him, and evolve into beings of grace and beauty - blowing him soft and gentle kisses of farewell as they quietly wave goodbye and leave him to the wondrous reality of the play.

The play concludes. The congregation praises with applause. The actor bows his head. The lights go down. The limelight is gone, and the actor, like a phantom, sits at the end of the darkened stage and remembers those tiny planets and smiles.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

My Mother's Song

How Much Farther to Go?

I walk this earth alone.
How much farther to go?
I stray today and gave away.
How much farther to go?
The world, it fierceness, takes my love.
How much farther to go?
I kissed the ones I love today; I stabbed them in back.
How much farther to go?
Oh Death, sweet death, where are you? Come.
How much further to go?
I long to hear your peaceful song.
How much farther to go?
I can hardly wait till you take my life.
How much farther to go?
For I still walk this earth alone.
How much farther to go?

the fleeing man

The trees whisper in the wind. A calm breeze lifts the leaves and settles them back down again. The sunlight is diffused by the grey clouds in the sky, the forest seems especially green. Far in the distance a crow cawed, closer by, the sound of pounding feet came ever closer.

A man came running through this peaceful woods. His eyes were wide with terror. He panted and gasped for air as he ran. His feet bled as he scuffed them on root and rock. He dared to make a glance behind him and saw nothing. But it was coming, he knew it was. It would only be seconds before the beast was on him. He could hear it galloping wildly through the overgrown woods. Its heavy feet were making loud pounding noises on the dirt. He passed a family of overly-large mushrooms, their red caps covered in white spots, he did not even glance at them as they called in his mind. Above him, a large rook circled and swooped, it cawed its death-caw loudly and made known that the man was his once he collapsed. Ahead of the man and to the left stood a tall black tower, its peak rose nimbly in the air and radiated a sense of horror to the man. A small red dot waved and wove about halfway up the dark tower. He ran on, his bleeding feet leaving bloody prints on the forest floor behind him. Ahead of him the trees suddenly grew thicker, he closed his eyes and ran headfirst into the clearing on the other side of the trees. A pristine lake surrounded by trees on all sides. The clear water glistened in the sunlight.

Wait sunlight?

The man looked up, the sun was now brightly glaring in the blue sky. Birds chirped their songs. He looked down at his feet and discovered that they were not bleeding anymore, they were not even cut. The terrible sense of dread that he had felt before was gone. The thing chasing him had disappeared. He turned back and peered up into the sky, the tower was still there, but it seemed less dark now, maybe the sun had a brightening effect on it. He turned and waded into the lake. Its coolness washed over his body. He smiled up at the sky. And from the tower he heard a child laugh.

Work of Works

A heart that’s pure you won’t despise,
O Lord, who made the earth and skies.

Why then do I wear such facade?
I may fool man, but You are God!

And now, I see that my heart’s black,
I’m losing ground, my pace is slack.

My heart was once aflame for You
But now it’s cold and turning blue.

Please save me from my wretched self!
My spirit’s sick; I need new health!

The fellowship I held so dear
Will never come again, I fear,

Until You work a work in me
And make me blind so I can see.

The blind man never lost his way
When You were all his hope and stay.

Let me look only in Your face
So I will only see Your grace.

The plans You have are not my own
So I will trust--don’t let me roam!

This life will never be the same
When I cling tight and claim Your name;

When finally I bear my cross
And you consume all of my dross;

When I desire heaven’s joys
More than this earth and all her toys.

Please work a work inside of me;
Change my desires by Your decree.

You don’t want false obedience
Or actions of expedience.

You only want my pure motives,
So take my thoughts and, like a sieve

Please strain me, drain me, of myself
And make me pure and free from filth.

But please don’t stop until You’re done;
Burn all my dirt with Your Pure Sun.

With Your Pure Wind come over me
And blow away all the debris

That crowds my life and fills my mind
With junk that makes me lag behind!

So work this work of works in me
So I can serve, unhampered, free!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

You’re Safer in His Hands (A lesson learned by one who cares too much)

(A lesson learned by one who cares too much)

It’s hard for me to leave you there;
Seems ‘twould be less painful not to care,
But let you stray in ignorance and fear
Instead of reaching out.

For reaching out requires a reaching up
To place you in His hands
Instead of into mine.

/Once stirred to care,
It’s hard to trust;
But you’re safer in His hands./

His hands are strong to save and to keep,
To comfort and to guide.
They bear the marks that prove His love
A love that yearns to hold you close and
And never let you go.

And now through prayer, I’ve come to be
Tuned to feel that yearning, too,
And echo it within.

/For once stirred to care,
It’s hard to trust,
But you’re safer in His hands./

My hands are weak, uncertain;
First devoted, then devoid
Of any loyalty.
Though well-intentioned,
I’ve found that they are prone to drop or to crush
That which I love the most.
I was not made to hold you safe,
But to lead you to the One who can.
Yet, I was designed to care about you
(though at times the price seems too high).

/For once stirred to care,
It’s hard to trust;
But you’re safer in His hands./

Yet Trust is what He seeks in me,
And you as well. And now, I see
That, by giving more to care about-
More to cherish and hold important-
He gives me more to entrust to Him,
A chance to see my faith increase.
You see, He’s wise in how to work His will in us-
To work in me by using me to work in you.

/So, though once stirred to care,
It’s still hard to trust.
I’ll quickly place you in His hands;
For you’re safer in His hands./

You are Always There

Once I was near to you
Once did I always love you,
but now here I am
in misery and anguish.
Wishing I could love you again.

Once in my darkest moment
Once did I see your light
It shone so bright that
then it dried my tears and
lifted all my fears.

I always knew you were near,
but for fear of shame did I drift away.
I felt like you could never look at me again
I never wanted you to be ashamed of me.

It was then that I realized that you never left my side,
but I yours.
You reached out your hand to me,
but I shoved it away saying, "I can do it myself!"

No matter how many times I tried to pick myself up,
I kept falling back down.
It is then that I take your hand and you pick me back up

You picked me up like nothing ever happened.
Why? How could one show so much love to a poor,
wretched sinner like me? After all I did to you!!

"How can you still love me" I asked.
He never said a word, but revealed His heart to me,
and showed me what unconditional love is really like

I then realized my need for repentance.
I could no longer hold all the things
I was hiding from you.
I got down on my knees because,
the burden was so great.
You said, "Let me share the burden."

It was like a weight was being
lifted off my back and the chains set free.
I never felt so free as that moment.
I then said that I never want to leave
my first love again!
For it is in Him that I see the light!

I know you're there!
Just shine your light more brilliantly!
For it is my darkest hour that I realize:
I need you always!

Everytime I look to the sky now,
I see the majesty of you.
Everytime I feel the warmth of the sun,
I can feel your arm around me,
and know you are there.

Everytime it rains, I feel your
sadness for all the sin in the world.
Including mine. I feel the pain of the
world with every raindrop.

All the sadness it gives me,
makes me all the more want
to serve you. For in serving you,
is my eternal glory.
In you is my true reward.

We may try to get all the world's pleasures,
but when we realize how worthless the are,
we see you in all your glory.
Like glasses being put on when we can't see.

The One

The emblem of Christianity, shunned by humanity.
He saved and died for all,
because man ate, and took the fall.
Despised by kindred, hated by strangers,
this Man was born in a manger.
After being ridiculed, whipped, tattered,
He hung up high, broken, shattered.
It is finished, yelled at last,
by this Man, who was nailed fast.
Tortured and crucified was He,
For His love for you and me.
Three days long in the grave,
and only Mary was enough brave.
He is risen! She yelled with joy,
this Saviour, Lord, Man, and Boy.
Go ye into all the world!
I'll return, my banner unfurled.
On this note, He did ascend,
but long it took them to comprehend.
This Son of the Father, filled with love,
Baptized by man, and blessed by a Dove.
Enslaved were we, when He came,
no more chains! No more the same.
Accept Him in your heart today,
the Lord, Jehovah, our Yahweh.

The Hills of Werth

What are theses vast and verdant Hills of Werth?
Where there grazes such beauty and relentless mirth?
Why does it seem in its mysterious wonder,
That I have roamed before in those hills yonder?

It was there on those hills that I had by chance seen,
The rolling landscape and the grass so green.
I beheld many a gorgeous and graceful flower,
And with each breath drank in the awe of that hour.

The rays of the sun shone down in such glory,
Painting the world gold as if in some story.
A breeze so gentle caressed and embraced me,
And closing my eyes I felt truly happy and free.

Again I viewed before me the Hills of Werth,
And there as in a trance I knelt to the earth.
My heart was so full and overwhelmed by it all,
That upwards to heaven my voice sent its call.

Memories came full of my life from the past,
Forcing me to realize what I knew wouldn’t last.
Those I had known and who they had been
Had changed far too much to be the same again.

Our love and affection was still real and good,
But life was altered and not where we once stood.
Life seemed to demand of us more and more,
Things we’d never considered or thought of before.

Here my thoughts caused me to miss all we were,
And here in this present moment the past I prefer.
But as the hills and their beauty before me are spread,
I pause and think deeply of what future lies ahead.

Many wonderful things from these changes have come,
And I can always look forward to when we’re all home.
All standing here together on this escalated earth,
This place we all know and love, The Hills of Werth.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Don't Worry, I'm Safe Inside my Box.

I live in a box.

But don't worry! I have friends who live with me. They are the greatest friends anyone could ask for. Any of them will tell you they only have my best interests at heart--they want to keep me safe.

There's one of my closest friends, Doubt. I know she really cares for me. It's true she can be negative about who I am; seems like I'm always hear her saying, "You are TOO fat to even think about doing that!" "You will never accomplish this; remember how many times you've failed?" But she only says those things to keep me safe. "Rejection hurts! Better to not try at all," she warns me from her seat guarding my box's door.

Then there's Fear. He is Doubt's best friend and always present, but I talk to him the most when an Opportunity knocks on my door. Fear will sneak up behind before I answer the door and whisper in my ear. When he speaks, it seems like his words spread an icy chill through my heart. He whispers, "What if this makes you vulnerable? You'll be weak! What if someone takes advantage of you? Tries to hurt you? What if. . .?" On he goes and I know he's right. Fear wants me safe.

After this, I usually sit and talk with Pride, Bitterness, Sloth, and Lust. They are friends that I have known for a long time. Pride will tell me, "My dear, be grateful you didn't answer that door! Imagine how foolish you would have looked if you had said this! What do you think that person would have thought if you had done that?"
Sloth agrees and adds, "It would have taken a lot of work anyways. Who has the time? Really, you're better off where you are."
"And what is the chance of you working well with that person? She never understood you. No one ever has," Bitterness acidly remarks.
"I know what you really want and of course, that Opportunity would have gotten in the way of that. You don't need it. Just listen to me and I will make sure that you have everything you want," Lust promises. "Just stay inside the box and you will live the good life!"

So here I am in my box.

It wasn't always like this, you know. One day, some time ago, I left my box to meet another friend, Jesus Christ. He told me to leave my box and follow Him. I didn't need my old friends when I was with Him. I was happy to simply listen to what He said, which was different from anything I had ever been told. In Him, I am a new creature! Of course, my old friends never really left, but when I listened to Jesus, His voice was the only one I heard.

But Doubt and Fear got hold of me. They told me, "Now, look here! You simply cannot keep living like this. LOOK AT YOU! You're not attractive or witty or smart or funny. Why do you even try to help others when no one wants you!"
As they walked me back to the box, Pride complained behind me, "Think of how foolish you look when you witness to someone and they ask questions you can't answer!"
"But . . . " I tried to stop them from talking me back into the box. I could hear my Master calling me, but His words were being drowned out by Fear, Doubt, and Pride.
"Who deserves your help? When did everyone want you? Who ever helped you?" Bitterness questioned. "Why even try? Another day will do; just rest for now." Sloth added.
I feebly agreed with them as we kept getting closer to the box. Lust greeted me at the door. She pulled me in as she remarked, "How could this Jesus be taking care of you? When did He ever give you something you wanted?"

I no longer heard Jesus, only my friends. I know that they have my best in mind; at least I think I do. They must! They're my friends! They love me, they want to keep me safe.

Jesus still calls my name but Fear keeps me pinned to the wall. Doubt and Lust keep me locked in. Pride and Bitterness try to make me strong and untouchable while Sloth keeps me from trying at all.

Who needs Jesus when I have friends like these? All they want is to keep me safe.

Safe inside my box.


Golden teardrops wet the horizon
As the melting sky falls on the trees;
Flames of crimson dance in a sea of blue
As the evening displays its masterpiece.

What rose in the morning
In fiery-red
Has now on the sky
All its beauty bled.

In rising to life
It strongly burned its shadow less light,
And now setting to die
Its beauty caresses the early night....

--What of my strength
To brightly shine?
What will my life display
On the day I die?

Will my light simply sink far below
Life's burning horizon with nothing to show?
Or will God's glory light up the trees
As I allow Him to show His beauty through me?

The Ball

The symbols crash and drums beat out a pace.
Now all join in and never miss a beat.
The men approach the girls with pretty face.
The couples dance; the homely take a seat.
The partners change and girls who thought they’d dance
All night are found lacking in sincere charm.
Conceited men who thought they had a chance
Are left to gawk with looks of sheer alarm.
The ball is almost over and I pause
When first I see this girl who stands so still.
Her dress is plain and merits no applause
Yet doubles all the beauties in their skill.
We dance, tho late, like no one else before
And now I know I could not ask for more.

Lost My Mind (A Thousand Times)

Savaged lines
Piercing cries
Drive my mind away from me

Oh God, my God
I could have died
You keep me alive
I could have lost my mind
A thousand times
But You kept me
My God kept me alive

I could be stark raving mad
Screaming all day, all night
Pounding my padded walls
But You won't let me fall

Oh God, my God
I could have died
You keep me alive
I could have lost my mind
A thousand times
But You kept me
My God kept me alive

My blade's more than sharp enough
The triggers ready to pull
Indulge the shadows call
But You won't let me fall

Oh God, my God
I could have died
You keep me alive
I could have lost my mind
A thousand times
But You kept me
My God kept me alive

No one there but you
A steady hand to to stay my hand
You saved me from myself
I would have lost my mind
A thousand times
But for my God

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

What is to be Said?

What is to be said? I know that there is much to say. Let it be known that when it comes to articulation, I find a euphoric pleasure in searching out the best way to say. Words are beautiful things. Via words, I can express thought to you, the reader. I can direct your very thoughts by the use of phrases that have been structured within a context that will give specific meaning on a personal level to you as an individual. I, via the written/spoken word, can effect you. I can build you up and then tear you right back down. I can reveal truth, or weave deception. I can convey love, or communicate hate. I can virtually accomplish any tangible goal with this over-laid function we call language, and by this point in my exposition you are asking yourself, "What is his goal in writing this?"

You see, dear reader, I have hit a wall. In the most humble of senses, I would like to fancy myself quite adept in this art of language. However, as of late I have found the articulation of my thought to be quite laborious. Due to circumstances with which I am quite unfamiliar, I have, for the first time, found myself quite "tongue-tied', if you will forgive the colloquialism. Never before have I been "at a loss for words"; at the very least, not like this. I have analyzed my mind and conducted the most thorough of investigations of the deepest recesses of my heart and intellect, and my conclusions, the which my hypothesis vaguely infers, alarm me in the most subtle of senses.

I fear that I may be afraid. Afraid of what and why, I am not yet entirely sure. Be it known that, based upon the knowledge and understanding of the convictions to which I hold so desperately dear, I should have no cause for this fear. In a word, it is irrational; and yet the interference whom I find tightly wrapping himself about the words that I so desperately wish to utter looms above me - daring me to try my hand at innocent and genuine expression, and when I dare except the challenge, he strangles the words, one-by-one.

The saddest truth remains that I am utterly helpless to repair this inhibited state. I have often wondered that I just might terminate the fear by removing my person from the circumstance all together; surrender, as it were, to the fear and concede defeat. Circumstance has indeed crossed me all together, and this truth, coupled with my inability to find the words, compels me to recede to the recesses of my doubt and not run the risk of a wound due to impulsive action.

I know this course of action to be unacceptable on all fronts. There is no competing with the hope that I have in one day being able to articulate, even if it is only the possibility of articulating the incredibly fantastic thought that saturates my mind at this present moment. I cannot hope for anything more than that expression. At this time, this exposition must be enough, and I await, with patient anticipation, the day that I am no longer compelled to succumb to silence - the day when I will have truly "found the words."

Saturday, October 3, 2009


We're still here
And it's no better
As we build bigger
We're moving faster
But we're still the same
Primitive man

Everywhere I look I see fallen men
With wings ripped off by a world of sin
The world we've made to shine so brightly
Buildings touch the sky, exalting men
Who've never looked so good

Primitive men
Clawing for a better meal
Shuffling, snarling
Creatures of the mud
No matter how we try
We'll never be more than
Primitive man

Grandiose efforts to lift ourselves on high
We climb over weaker brothers, who cares
What worth is man in this cruel state
You say you want to get what you want
Use a modern day club

I don't know why

We're still here
And it's no better
As we build bigger
We're moving faster
But we're still the same
Primitive man

Primitive men
Clawing for a better meal
Shuffling, snarling
Creatures of the mud
No matter how we try
We'll never be more than
Primitive man

Primitive men
With no God to save
We'll scream with rage
Without a Lord on high
We're uncivilized
Creatures of the mud
No matter how hard we try
With no God to save us
We'll never be more than
Primitive man

A Dying Man

Here in the circle of true and honest minds,

A scene unfolds its dreadful tale of life and death.

Man against man in a battle of mortal veracity,

Flesh against flesh in a struggle of moral hesitation.

His hand is holding firm to his protection

And his hope is clinging to the intensity of his will.

One move, a parry, the next an advance.

His heart is beating to the cadence of his thrust,

But his mind is in agony as every moment is lingered

By the thoughts that race through his understanding,

And the heat that pulsates through his burning muscles.

The people surrounding watch in a rancid, shameless delight;

Cheering for death, and a crimson flow.

His breath is short and his vision a blur of figures.

A life for a life or a fight for peace,

The enemy his only friend.

Would he rather live to die of inward shame?

Or would he rather die to save a brother.

Though they before this time have never met,

And his enemy by name may be,

He is still a man, and one just like he.

The pain is more than he can possibly endure.

His body is an ache of physical despair,

But his heart is torn with a tear of compassion.

Yet, still he defends and still he persists,

Against a foe that will surely be slain.

He sees the man is weak and vulnerable,

Fear and frustration are brimming in his eyes.

Hope is not an option for his troubled thoughts.

Now merely survival is his constant breath,

And all his dreams a prayer for life.

Was this his enemy?

Was this the cost his existence must take?

To kill was his freedom and to live was his slavery,

A last ray of sun before the night.

Metal ringing in a chorus of suffering and hopelessness,

And bodies straining with emotion and draining of sense.

Sweat was dripping from his soiled face,

And conscience was gripping at his heart.

There was only one choice he had left to make.

How! Oh, how could he decide?!

One simple blow and a life he would take.

But so much more would be lost by it all.

A chance to survive or someone to destroy,

And on this, his very own life, is held dear.

His opponent is tired and careless from his effort,

Only fighting enough to delay the imminent reality.

The enemy was finally driven back,

And thrown to the ground by his brutal force.

All time had ceased and every sound had been silenced,

When the contest was ended with his sword at his throat.

How long he looked into those deep and piercing eyes,

Staying his arm from finishing it all; no soul could ever tell.

He was still holding on, but willing himself to let go.

The hardness of his features softened gently,

And the fingers holding his weapon tenderly loosened.

His eyes were filled with pity as tears wet the

Etched and coarse lines of his face.

Here on this very ground one man’s blood must be spilled.

His opponent looked back uncertain and confused.

The agony of this moment paling his sight,

Had made him more afraid of the compassion and

The pity he had witnessed in his eyes.

With one hushed whisper and a quiet resolve,

He lifted the sword and looked at it in shame.

Having seen his own reflection

He cried out from deep within his soul.

And after hurling his weapon far out of his reach

He fell to his knees weeping and torn.

No more! No more!

It was there in that moment he felt wretched pain,

His body convulsing and writhing in torture.

He placed his fingers over his heart and

Felt the warm trickle of something over his skin.

Forcing his hand up to his eyes

He saw his own blood and then realized.

The man, his brother, stood before him severely

A sword in his hand and glossy with blood.

No compassion did he see, no thanks at all;

Only his blood and a face without pity.

Slowly to the earth he laid his head,

Closing his eyes but feeling no dread.

Peace overcame his despairing heart,

And there he lay motionless and lifeless.

This man had been dying every day,

From his hopeless existence and endless slavery.

He never really lived until he had died,

Finally free from both shame and pride.

His life is over but what he fought for had only begun,

When he turned from his darkness and looked to the Sun.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Moment I Tell You

Beautiful, beatiful, beauty,
Vision inside of my head,
Walking in grace, and so lovely,
Painting these words that I've said;
Each tress catching sun like an ember,
Each limb shapely formed and designed,
Each eye like a spring in December,
Flowing ever fresh in my mind.
Purity transcends her glory,
Innocence covers her feet.
Humility writing her story,
One line at a time 'till complete.

She waits as she walks with the wind,
Wandering wastelands and wells.
Her fates, as they talk with the Tems,
Ring in her head like great bells.
They ring as they sing of the future;
They bang as they clang of the past.
The hum and the drum all around her,
Screams to her, "Put on your mask!"

The world and its wraiths have been watching,
Wondering when she will wane,
But deep in her heart she is clutching,
The Blade that will banish her bane.
For now it will sleep in dread silence,
Awaiting the day to be drawn,
But one day it shall cut the suspense;
Her spirit set free with the dawn.

Each ray of her being exploding,
And spilling into a dark Life.
Each breath that she takes now eroding,
The darkness, the hate and the strife;
And in sweet release she embraces,
The Knight with his shield broken down;
The visor, the helmet, the faces,
All undone, all seen through, on the ground.

Beautiful, beautiful, beauty,
I see you so oft' in my mind.
You haunt my Life like a phantom,
A ghost that is Loving and kind.
You tenderly torture my reason,
Unkowingly suffer my soul.
You Shame me, convict me of treason,
And still you expel all that's cold.

If words could express what I'm seeing,
Each time that I close these dark eyes,
The Hopes and the Dreams that are weaving,
And leaving me wondering why,
Then all of this world would be wanting,
And wishing that we would become,
The moment I tell you 'I love you',
Forever, eternally one.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009


D eliberate neglect and abandonment
E ndured he on the way
R epulsed and resented
E nlisted by my shame
L ost within this darkness - our world
I ntoxicated with great pain
C an't I say I'm sorry
T he Father turned away from You
I n the time You longed the most
O n the cross You killed my sin
N eglected for my offence.

In Vice's Grip

In this vice
I am not free.
In its grip
I cease to be.
I am not mine
I am not Yours
I feel lost
This path I take
Dark and dreary
Casts me down
Keeps me weary.
I cannot stand
I cannot fight
I cannot bear
Your blinding light.
I cannot do
This on my own.
I cannot do
This all alone.
I need You now
I need You here
I need Your hand
To draw me near.
For if I die
Before I wake
I fear my soul
Would fire take.
Save me, Lord
From this path
Lest I suffer
From Your wrath.
Free me, Lord
From sin's clench
Lest in hell
Your wrath be quenched.

Blackhearted Lullaby

Blackhearted Lullaby

You're creeping into the way I view things
The ways I do things
The way that I think things through
Yeah you're creeping into
The way that I run my life
You sing me to sleep each night
With a blackhearted lullaby

I want to hear a different song as I fade into night
Let me listen to angels voices
Sing praises to God on high
To block out the noise of beautiful lies

A lullaby crafted by the worst in this world
It turns light into dark
It makes wrong seem so right
Work of the devils hands
Makes evil rhyme so sweetly
As it put's my conscience to sleep
With a blackhearted lullaby

I want to hear a different song as I fade into night
Let me listen to angels voices
Sing praises to God on high
To block out the noise of beautiful lies
I want to hear a different song as I fade into night
Let me listen to angels voices
Sing praises to God on high
To block out a blackhearted lullaby

Monday, July 20, 2009


Luke 23:34; Isaiah 53:7; Matthew 5:44

F ather, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
O h, Lord! How could You have spoken so?
R oguishly both Jews and Romans treated You, but
G racious were Your words of compassion for the foe.
I nnocent of any guilt, yet You did not protest;
V icious could have been Your speech, but an
E xample You chose to set in that
N eighbor alone should not be the receiver of our love.
E nemy also should we bless and
S end prayers for them to God above. Thank You, Lord, for
S howing us at death what You taught us in life: forgiveness.

The Heart is Desperately Wicked

bloodshot eyes as he takes another sip of the poison, sip of the poison. he knows it's his bane; he knows it's his shame. so why does he drink? why do you think? the explosion in his brain has for a moment gone numb, for a moment gone numb. Thus to dust by rust and lust; condemning his trust; destroy him this must.

Oh, friends, I'm sick - sick - sick and tired of these charades - reality fades - down, fallen - rust-rot and rotten - corrupt by my luck - like vampires they suck - all of the life from the eyes - the light from the veins. my hate dries the rains - embraces demise - of all the good, as it dies - unfortunate that it never existed - extorted and twisted, polluted-like thoughts - as life rots, and it rots. "Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content" - it's not what I meant. My facade is o'r-spent - you see, I've bent and I've bent - all the words that you meant - for good, into wood -that's decayed and dismayed - by vanity's spade as it should, like the wood, earth and un-earth - all the lies laced with flies - maggots that cry - from the
wound as it peels - cracks, burns, and scabs over with red, black, and white. - enveloped in night - no starlight this time - no amber beams of soft moonlight to caress this lonely, broken heart.

This raving may seem rampant, verbose - unseemly and gross - but this is my heart - the depraved, sinful part - forgive what I've writ - laced with dark, subliminal wit - it's not meant - to condemn or promote - this bile that i've wrote - but perhaps in it's despair - the reader can have a care - as I now illustrate a life - that has consciously cut himself off of the vine - take heed as you read - this writer, he
bleeds - and who drew this the blade across the author's nape? - none but himself - so gawk as I gape - my wound is fresh - fresh and red - with the blood that I've bled - and before I am dead - take the words that I've said - take them to heart - Your life is not yours - to have and to hold - This warning's not new -it's tattered and old - and while men's hearts grow cold - Satan's grows bold - so abandon your rights, your will, and your pride - cast yourself down - and stretch your arms wide - for your life is truly on the line - with each breath that you take - you have that much less time - so if you are fake - don't think that you're fine - so maybe you've fooled all of us who now watch - but beware - have a care - you'll soon have a double share of despair - and soon write a rhyme that is darker than mine.

What Changed?

What Changed?
May 2, 2009

When we first met you were so beautiful to me
Your smile was so pretty, your eyes so dark and happy,
and your hair would glisten in the sun

You said you liked my laugh, my smile, the way my eyes
would light up when you walked into the room
Now those days are gone

You no longer look at me with the same fire in your gaze
Now, I would be lucky to get your attention passing you
on the street; and when we talk, it is as if we are strangers

You said that it would be ok--you just needed some time,
some space
I was ok with that

I could wait--you were so worth it; I was holding on to hope:
False hope
You told me you didn’t have feelings for me anymore; I just
wasn’t “the one”

All those notes you wrote me, the ones saying what you
admired in me and that you were thankful for having me
Now they mean nothing

Did you mean it at the time? or was I just another one of your
Every time I saw you my heart would stop for fear that its
beating would drown out any word you said

My heart still stops every time I see you, but only because
it hurts too much to remember the pain

What changed?

Wednesday, July 8, 2009



Once upon a time,
not so very long ago,
When cavemen roamed the earth,
and earth was caked in snow,
Upon a certain day,
a little girl was born,
In the bleaker month of May,
she was sad and forlorn.

She spent most her years,
of childhood and youth,
In lonely, bitter tears,
a victim of this truth;
Oh, sure, she had a sister,
a fun and fuzzy friend,
But she had not a brother,
companionship to lend,
So she cried, and cried, and cried
forsooth, she almost died.
Until a dark October,
when ghosts no longer hide.
Upon that Hallow's Eve,
a little babe was born,
Orange Popsicle in fist,
eating some candy corn,

The little girl now thought,
that this may be the one,
The brother whom she'd love,
E'n as he sucked that thumb.
She picked him up and and held him close,
but he began to cry,
She scolded him, and sang a hymn,
his cries just would not die.
"Dear little bro'" -she pinched his toe,
"please stop, we can be friends!
But if you don't, love you I won't,
and you will serve me till the end!"
The child paused, relaxed his claws,
to give her candy corn.
She smiled at him, and sang again,
but her song hurt him to scorn.
You see, her voice was far from choice,
for she was merely five,
Each off-key note crooned from that throat,
to him was homicide.
He wailed and wailed, till he prevailed,
her song had been suppressed,
She set him down and kicked his crown,
and hence they both became depressed.

As the years passed, their hate amassed,
each one's for the other,
She, like a lord, with regal sword,
reigned o'r that poor brother,
But as he grew, the brother knew,
he would be big and strong,
He'd win a fight, just one - he might,
he'd make her see her wrong.

So one fine day, he ran away.
the sister had said "No!"
He didn't care, he was prepared,
his colors now to show.
When he returned, the sister spurned,
said, "You must do just what I say!"
He said to chide, with growing pride,
"I now am free of you this day!"
She screamed and shrieked as she attacked,
The brother took the blow.
She slapped and smacked, and kicked his back,
but never fear did brother show.
He now returned assault with fight,
and the battle had begun,

First the table, then that chair,
She scratched his face, he pulled her hair,
He spat at her, she slapped him hard,
She called him 'dumb', he called her 'lard',
He bit her hand, she bit his nose,
She hit his head, he tore her clothes,

As the smoke cleared - and yes there was smoke,
The room was strewn a-mess, but no words were spoke.

I don't know how, and I don't no why,
But after that - hate began to die,
And as it died, so did the pride,
That had made us bitter foes,
Now dear friends until the end!
How could this be, do you suppose?
I think that God, in His loving love,
Knew that we should be good friends.

*Happy Birthday Little-Big-Sis from your Little-Big-Bro!*


Monday, April 13, 2009

You are the Lord

Miranda Royston

How could they stand there and watch You die?
How could they watch and not weep, and mourn, and cry?
Why do they spit and shout such cruel words?
Can’t they see You are the Lord?

How could they join in the chorus of hate?
How could they laugh to see You in this state?
How could they watch as You are stripped of life?
Can’t they see You are the Lord?

Your head now turns, but, how can this be?
Your eyes now stare at me!
Sorrowful eyes, full of pain, piercing my soul,
A thousand words expressed to my heart...

How could you condemn what you yourself convey?
Why do you judge others day by passing day?
How can you claim to be good when you’ve done nothing right?
Don’t you remember I am the Lord?

How could you stand there while others die?
How can you watch and not weep, and mourn, and cry?
Why don’t you speak out My Word?
Don’t you remember I am the Lord?

Head bowed with tears on cheek,
I can only fall on my face, meek.
How could I be so blind?
How could I forget You are the Lord?

How could I pierce Your tender flesh?
How could I forsake You and think that I know best?
How could I crucify the only One who loved me?
How could I forget You are the Lord?

How could I not adore You enough to tell others of Your grace?
How could I just brush it off and ignore Your pleading face?
You are worthy of so much more.
Now I remember, You are the Lord!

Friday, April 10, 2009

My Heart on Her Sleeve

These eyes are sparkling with an innocent joy.
This life each breath embraces with a smile - wide eyed and wondered at a beautiful world; waiting and watching with picturesque anticipation for each for each new happenstance that is culminating in new discovery and self-fulfillment.

On one dark day, when darkness rose it's ugly head, and bittersweet reality tore purity and innocence violently away, the smile faded and the tears began. They moistened and softened the dry, brittle earth, and slowly hardened this once innocent heart.

Now the tears have stopped. A certain bitterness has replaced this sorrow. A certain self-pity has developed into an emptiness that leaves one numb and lifeless inside.

Some have noticed this sad, fearful change, but they cannot know - they must never know. So, 'round the cavernous void of an empty, lonely heart, a fortress of mighty stone constructs, and dreams become safety; fantasy, security.

Now a shadow condemned to roam a loveless earth. Vanity, pride, and bitterness have molded this life into a dark veil of space; and one won't even notice, unless one looks very, very close.

Can anybody hear the scream that she doesn't even know she's screaming?
Could anybody show her the reality of selfless love?

If time and space could fear erase,
How long until she's given Grace?
I hold my breath and stand in place,
Until the day I see that face,
That, all her fear and pain erased,
The Hope within can break the walls,
And answer all her hurtful calls.

So, seven steps to Eternity,
Come before her now;
To see His perfect, selfless love,
And before His mercy bow,
And to know her own depravity,
That she's depraved and small,
To call upon His sovereignty,
And let Him be her 'All in All,'
And then to let her Mighty King,
Tear down her cold heart's walls.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

When Someday Meets Tomorrow

When someday meets tomorrow
There will be no sorrow.
When what was written in the past
Is revealed to us at last,
Our souls will feel the glad release
And rest in perfect peace.
Our heart's joy will be complete
Nevermore with sin compete.
Christ's glory will be so bright
There will be no need of light.
To heaven we will enter in,
When Christ o'er Satan wins.

God's Power

When the mist on the mountains heralds the day,
And the sun in its first strength drives it away.

When the crow calls its mate,
And the river finds the lake,

Even now I remember God’s pow’r.

Yet when life seems too hard,
And my sight, by sin, has been marred;

When I, like the Children of Israel, say,
“To follow the Lord is too much to pay.”

That is when I’ve forgotten God’s pow’r.

Is it upon life’s seas that I base
God’s strength or His weakness, whatever the case?

His strength will ever be the same.
There is no weakness in His name.

It’s my faith, not God’s pow’r, that’s changed.

Saints and Sinners

When God in his wisdom created man,
The end and the beginning were in his plan.
He knows the choice that each will make.

He knows the chance that each will take.
He waits patiently in his realm,
Although not stepping away from us,
He watches with his caring eye,
But helps when for help we cry,
He never more than forces us,
To make a choice, bad choices make,
The best of us our hearts to shake
With fear of punishment and pain,
Yet Christ allowed the blackened stain
To be washed away in blood.
The difference now betwixt the two,
These sinners and these saints,
Belongs to God alone, for you
Could never cleanse the stain.
The Sinners in death all were we,
Until the blood had made us clean.
The Saints became the holy ones,
To witness God’s deliverance...

Thoughts of You

Memories begin to flood my mind
Of many failures and successes and
Of abundant victories and distresses.
And, yet, a comforting thought enters my mind;
In Christ, true joy and peace I find!
Now, new thoughts begin to flood my mind...

Thoughts of my Lord begin to overflow
Knowing that He existed before all creation,
And bestows His steadfast love on every kindred, tongue, and nation.
My sorrowful thoughts did my Lord overthrow
The mere fact alone is too awesome to know
And the joy and praise in my heart cannot help but overflow!

He is Creator and my Redeemer,
He created the world and saved it.
He is my Father, but also my friend,
He is my All in All, and I cannot comprehend it!

Monday, April 6, 2009

These Red Locks

This visage framed in Fire,
These eyes now veiled in Red,
This heart in Crimson now reflected,
Flowing down from beauty's head.

These locks so soft,
Now blown across,
The face of one unknown,
In Scarlet beauty they caress,
The sweet and youthful tenderness,
Of one who finds herself alone.

Oh, to know what lies beneath,
Each and every Sunset tress,
The pain, the love, the hate, the grief,
Hidden under Loveliness.

Alas, the Lady Loves in Vain ~part II~

I politely bid the lass adieu' and proceeded to make my escape. The increased contortion of her dog-like visage informed me of her displeasure as she stepped to the side so as to prevent my safe passage beyond her mountainous physique.

I now found myself in a plight most perilous. Betwixt a stone wall and a stone -er- woman I found myself. Her approach made the cobblestone beneath her tread tremble in wonder at her, or rather, quake in fear for their very lives sake.

As she drew ever nigh to me, I sensed an unwelcome odour pervading the air. A thick, dripping sent of sticky molasses and sour-milk wafted, in all its self-proclaimed glory, into my head, via my most abused nostrils.

My head began to whirl and spin as my limbs waxed weak. She grabbed my collar and pulled her face close to mine. Her hot breath surged against my cheeks like unto some tropic storm of fire, or the breath of some fiend-like lizard from Sheol.

In my mind's eye I could see the withered forms of the undead wailing for mercy as they crawled towards the cavernous exit which flapped open and close with every fresh incantation of eternal affection. Each and every consonant seemed to bring with itself an eerie, artificial, green luminescence which illuminated the silhouettes of the woeful creatures, who would have been content to expire once again if it only meant release from this new found competitor of Hades.

Sunday, April 5, 2009


Hatred and malice
These are just a few
Selfish and lusting
Of those things which bring
Bitter and stubborn
The hammer to my hand

Once more I pound the nails

Deeper into your hands
The hands that love me
The hands that save me
These hands which I ever push away
Farther away
Farther away from where I need them to be

Lying and envy
These things hold me down
Curses and boasting
I struggle with my bonds
Prideful and impure
You alone bring me hope

Finally I will fall

Deeper into your hands
The hands that love me
The hands that save me
The hands I ever push away
Farther away
Farther away from where I need them to be

Stop pushing
Stop pushing
Stop pushing them away
These hands alone can save
Now I'll move my heart

Deeper into your hands

Friday, April 3, 2009

I use too many big words

I can confuse people
With my complex speech
So I now will write something short and sweet

Mother Hen, please count to ten
Or I’ll spit right in your eye
Please count the men inside the den
Who eventually must die

If there be eight, I’ll be too late
To kiss a lonely rose
If there be nine, I’m out of time
I needn’t kill one of those

You see, I must consume this trust
The maiden fair to win
This lonesome lust for rusty rust
As I embrace all vice and sin

So now I raise this lonely haze
A sword and shield in hand
Towards the den, with Mother Hen
To purge the frozen land

To my delight, under dim light
I count the soldiers, three and four
Seven and eight, almost right
Nine – yes TEN! I then prepare for war

Towards my feet, the first two meet
Their blood upon the ground
The next two fell, hard fast to hell
They hardly made a sound

The next man came, Tugda’lla by name
His blade was cunning and swift
But before his blow, the Hen did go
From those shoulders his head to lift

Three more came to purge Tug’s shame
But I put them in their place
One left, one right, before dawns light
The other lost his face

The next man fled, but Mother, red
Gave him hot pursuit
And took him down, removed his crown
Then dined upon her loot

This last man knelt, my presence felt
That something was amiss
He plucked a string, began to sing
And begged the Hen a kiss

Her neck she craned, her will had waned
She had been romanced
The last man thrust, breaking his trust
Mother Hen he lanced

Now bleeding red, She almost dead
Bequeathed to me her beak
I held in shock, an emerald rock
I had no words to speak

The den of men, no longer ten
In fury now did quake
The man and I thought both would die
When the den became a lake

Upon the ice, I hold this vice
Of beauty, green and rare
The man began, his sad song sang
Into his eyes I stare

He plucks his strings, and sweetly sings
And plays upon his lyre
Into his breast, Emerald I pressed
The minstrel fell in fire

Ten dead men embed the den
And so towards the town
I make great stride, with greater pride
Expecting my renown

In the tower the town’s dear flower
The maiden fair awaits
I now have power to rend the tower
The power of ten Wraiths

But Mother Hen, now killed of men
Possessed the only key
Her beak a stone, won’t open Rome
Is of little use to me

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Alas, the Lady Loves in Vain! ~part I~

Ahh, there she sits, the woman who loves me!

How do I know?

Well my good friend, she told me thus.
It was one night whence I was her only security that her affections she did confess, and I must confess, that my fortunes have been frowning upon me ever since.

This scenario may not have been so ill-favored had she some redeeming quality within her person, but alas, I could not see past that nose! That nose, who's crooked, wart-saddled bridge seemed to be slithering like a yellow serpent in the sickly pale moonlight; that nose, whose cavernous nostrils put to shame any brazen, wine vessel in terms of circumference, diameter, and depth; that nose, whose singular, hair-blessed mole resembled some grassy-brown butte upon which some three or four sojourning bison ought be grazing. Alas, then did she the impudence to reveal her profile. It was after this careless gesture that I perceived, in the moonlight, that this edifice, ever-fixed to her visage, stoutly protruded some three or four inches beyond that bushy surface of her hairy, upper lip.

However, this was, perchance, the more-fortunate of her features.

Monday, March 30, 2009



Afraid and trembling humans are
Of death? A natural cause.
Just as birth, and yet we fear
To contemplate and pause.
They fear the thing that matters most,
The thing we all should pray,
Would come so quickly in this world,
And yet they run away.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.

The blackness of their wicked souls
Has caused them all to hide.
From the creature who their souls he owns,
And made them dark inside.
They never know the meaning of,
This life, just live with trust,
That works of good, false deeds of love,
Will wash out their sinful lust.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.

And yet we have seen hope, us few,
And are called to share it wide,
With all we come in contact with.
To drench God’s loving tide
On the shores of souls of men,
Wicked souls they may be.
The King commissioned us below
To spread eternity.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.
But then the saved can show the way,
Of that loving caring man.
Clothed in naught but purple robe,
And nail print in his hand...

Tears Can Be Beautiful

Tears Can Be Beautiful

There is a beauty
Inside a tear
That few men can see
Because of fear
Afraid to embrace
Picturesque pain
For fear they’d erase
Everything but shame
But I have found that
There is a place
Inside my being
Where pain has a face

/Crying, Crying
Who can stop her crying?
Dying, Dying
She’s all alone
Can you hear her?
She’s calling to you
Love her, Fear her
But don’t let her fall
Draw her nearer
And her heart will dissolve
In you/

I see a woman
Standing alone
Head hanging lonely
No happiness known
Her eyes are dimming
With hot, dark tears
She walks by herself
For all of her years

She raises her head
And looks in my eyes
I see a soul that
Tries to disguise
But she doesn’t fool me
‘cause I see her pain
I wish she would trust me
and I would make her whole

Johnathan Schofield

Friday, March 6, 2009

The Person's Pill

The Person's Pill

Why is it so hard to trust?
Am I so proud that I must,
Take life in my hands and start to shape
Some freakish creature of fear and hate

This creature will it's maker kill,
send his soul hard fast to hell.
Why then must I so oft' create,
This hound of hell, of pain, and hate?

I say I love you, but then I doubt.
I shun within, and look without,
And know full well what I shall find;
A sinner soiled, crude unkind

Now frustration spins within,
This pride, this self, this wicked sin.
A cloud of grey and bloody mist,
My conscience curtains, clenches fist.

A harder heart, I now posses.
A heart that hates, and loves you less.
Colder now, so cold, colder still,
The pain, the pride, the person's pill.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

~In My Heart~

~In My Heart~

Verse 1
So here I am once again in the darkness of my heart
I'm searching for you, but the shadows keep me guessing
Of where you are,
Now I'm on my knees screaming in pain tears streaming down my face
I can only say one thing, Where are You?
And as I'm ready to give up and die
I see a light in the corner of my eye

Now I stand on my feet
Screaming your praises
Tears of joy stream down my face as I call out your name
Cause now I know you and now I know where You are
You're in my heart

Verse 2
So here I am once again in the light of my heart
My search for you is over
Now the shadows disappear from the radiance of your love
And the devil appears bringing along my sin
But with a grin I turn my head

Verse 3
And he curses Your name
For taking me away
But I turn and run with haste
With a smile beaming on my face
And the shadows disappear
My eye sheds a tear, cause I know where You are,
Your in my heart


Hater of sin yet lover of sinners
All-powerful, all knowing
Everywhere at once, lives inside me
Sovereign king, Holy God
Destroyer of folly, saver of souls
King of my life, Lord of my soul

Sunday, February 8, 2009



From the depths of my depravity,

Comes screaming this insanity,

Cursing, bruising, all of me,

Taking what I cannot be,

But I hear a voice from hell,

"This choice you make can light dispel,

These creatures crawling from the well,

Can stories righteous always tell,"

But light is fading for truth is gone,

A song sung dirge, from dusk to dawn,

And then red skies that pool with blood

Come crashing, flowing, like a flood

To think, to know, that vanity

Has gripped its grasp, its hold on me,

And stolen from eternity,

Redemption's purpose, song, and prose,

And spilt the blood from bloody rose!

Ezekiel Schmidt
February 08, 2009

Saturday, February 7, 2009

~A Piece of Me~


On a night where the stars shined bright in the sky.
So bright that their light
Trickled down to the sea,
All darkened with night.

The waves lapped at the shore
Every now and again,
Reflecting the flicker of a flame
That danced between two men.

One man sat taller than the other one,
For he was a father, and the other his son.
They sat in a moment of silence until
The son looked around in the still night air.

From the stars to the waves,
From the stone to the flames.
Each one reminded him of his father
In some small way.

The twinkle of his fathers eyes ,
He saw in the stars.
While the warmth of the fire reminded him
Of his fathers kind heart.

In the waves he felt the power
Of his father alone.
While the strength of his fist,
He saw in the stone.

He thought aloud,
"How could this be?"
Then his father replied,
"Into each of these Ive put a piece of me."

Just then the son looked down at himself,
By the light of the flame,
And he saw that he and his father
Looked very much the same.

"I wonder", asked the son,
With a bit of glee.
"What piece of yourself
Have you put into me?"

"Not a piece", said the father.
"But every part.
For the flame of my spirit
Burns in your heart."

"And my strength, like a stone
Will keep you from crumbling.
While my power alone
Will enable you to run without stumbling."

"Now go, like a star,
And shine for my glory.
Use all of these things
to tell others my story.

Andrew Smith Feb. 07, 2009

Thursday, February 5, 2009

A Note to the Chosen

A Note to The Chosen.....

Allow me to introduce you, yet again, to Ante Bellum. I write. I also read. Those who read my blog may or not get tired of reading my own works, but I want to post yours.

Email me at one of the following.

I will review your writings, and If I find them of note, I will likely post them.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

30 Pieces of Silver

30 pieces!

30 pieces of silver!

Judas, close you’re eyes

Judas, kill your conscience

Because the purpose of existence

Is culminating in a moment

Judas, numb your nerves

Judas, break your heart

The Son of God you betray

With this

With this

With this unholy kiss

Your corrupt, rotting lips

Graced His perfect face

And damned the Son of God

To this great disgrace

But now I realize

Behind your glowing eyes

Lies a creature stealthily

That looks just like me

Johnathan Schofield