Like the air we breathe,
my insistence seethes
for every aspect of my
mind consumed.
A cloud of perfume,
our sacrifices in full view
of what we know flesh to
be.
Because the text in it got me flipped in it;
restorative authority; properties
beyond what sciences
dismiss in it.
The truth in it got me fulfilled in it, because
within it I was granted wisdom, understanding
that made me renewed in it.
Like the air we breathe,
my insistence seethes
for every aspect of my
mind consumed.
A cloud of perfume,
our sacrifices in full view
of what we know flesh to
be.
Substantial to the chosen few; I can obviously
identify, because they walk in it too, refuse to be
torn from it, while demonic forces ceaselessly
pervert to **** our minds aligned to it,
yes our souls too.
Isn't it obvious the signs keep pulling at you
to interpret why in Christ we stay vigilant in it.
The Faith to it has us immersed in it, we feed on it
because in it we keep finding you, our master,
creator, and perfecter Yeshua to those who
knew; Jesus to the interpreted Greek, Latin,
eventually English language too. Doesn't matter,
the phonetic superior power of your name
has me calling out to you!
With every breath you've allowed me to
have, to every uttered word, hoping not to waste
this incredible gift. I profane my fleshly desires
only sanctified by your forgiving patient
reconstruction, what many cannot see,
you've removed me from tragedy.
In service, in word, in action, in love
in every single facet...
Like the air we breathe,
my insistence seethes
for every aspect of my
mind consumed.
A cloud of perfume,
our sacrifices in full view
of what we know flesh to
be.
Jun 1, 2022
Jun 1, 2022 at 7:36 AM UTC
Clothed by the dawning sun,
his rays glisten upon the surface
of your skin.
The wind gently shakes your hair
to life, falling petals catalogue each
and every step.
I wonder what's encased within
your living water
thought bubbles.
Your eyes peer through the dusk,
as they do now at day break,
I attempt and shake off awe to
write the sentences which will never
do you justice.
The language of birds drench me in
your instrumental cacophony;
what seemed only riotous calamity
is now revealed as consensus
celebratory praise.
From every blade of grass,
to every outstretched branch, they're
honoring you, demonstratively
thanking you for creation.
I humbly rest my pen
the one I haven't even picked up,
collect my thoughts in ideas
you'll help me to construct.
All Praise and honor be yours
forever and ever
Yahweh my Elohim
Yeshua my Savior...
May 22, 2022
May 22, 2022 at 6:13 AM UTC
Made to again run with me.
Slashing past branch and vine,
leaf and twig;
The sharp corners come upon
us as we turn with grace;
the precision of scalpels,
and mirrors, like a raging river
made peaceful.
The horizon dips beneath mountain
tops, while the wind sweeps across
our bodies, cooling our brow,
drying our flesh.
We dart like birds of prey
through the canopy. Our shadows
cut beautiful forms against
the untrampled scenic landscapes
unfurling below.
The sun at our backs, the moon
before us; we've become catalysts
for the movement, the new days
ahead; the memories of what
has passed in our stead.
Motionless no more,
our voices expel upwards, given
wings by foresight, our power,
and might.
Swept away, avoiding precarious
terrain; landing at the doorsteps
of ears that once dared not listen.
Now they too are becoming filled
by the cacophonous wails, bellows,
and tears of adventure.
Their once stagnant souls ignite,
for greater insight, grandiose
perspective.
They're beginning to hear the roar
of undiscovered rivers of thought,
the hiss of yet untamed mountains
of complacence. Imaginations
scream to life, action bubbles in
their blood.
Onrush of emotion, the unspoken
words of panic, betrayal, and ignorance
manifest into tears for still
lifeless forms.
Grasp onto hands that are running
to again bring to life what
has yet to be seen, from mouths not
yet encouraged to speak.
Peer into the eyes of existence;
shackled no more, our many ways
of endless transformation.
Throw down your predetermined
notions, sheath your convoluted
accusations. Hear instead the
crashing oceans of discontent,
shaping rock into footholds.
Hear the whisper of tall grass
swaying in rhythm with the enemy
they conceal, formulating, and
engineering an end to their eternal
heart beat.
Made to again run with me, our
boundless vivacity, our forever
expedition.
Rising from between phylum,
from vein to flesh;
subcutaneous to cutaneous.
A reminder long since forgot,
"I have a voice, I have thought."
Arising to glisten its sharpened
teeth against the ambiance of moon
and star, sun and cloud.
From the base of hairlines,
to the nape of neck,
sculpted shoulders take shape.
To fatigued arms browning in
accusation to a committed work
the cowards will not overcome.
Shoulder blades to channel of
back, down to the rim of stained
in stench trousers; down to painted
in blood and mud boots!
The Revival!
Animalistic urges to again
strike unprovoked, to perch oneself
on high viewing all as consumable
yield.
Soul and trust,
effort and angst.
A strengthening pulse beats
sound to life, from behind improperly
protected cochlea.
Shaking rustic chords free of
their complacent sediment to again
speak, speak the words of those
whose breath has been taken.
Lest the warrior, the leader,
the cook, the house keeper,
the accountant, the clerk, the postman,
the janitor, the mechanic, rest forever;
yet they steal themselves away some time;
by candlelight, flashlight, moonlight,
or campfire, nursing their childlike
exuberance for expression back to
true virility.
Passivity bites against bit and bridle.
Now screaming passed smashed, and
cracked teeth, "They're coming!"
All captured by heads against cold
ground, soft grass, burning concrete,
and propped pillow.
A dream coming to life once again
rising against flesh to cool our
forever ascent.
"Don't make sympathy your resistance."
CdeM
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 7:49 AM UTC
Shook, shattered, mistaken
the earth rumbled under
dominant footsteps.
Allegiance to the forces
I no longer align with.
The besmirched search
for a grasp of just what
will cause me trouble, firmly
established you'd all like
to see me fumble forth
these words, to show my
insecurities.
But through his purity
I am walking with divinity.
Escaped through the tiniest
of crevices.
Dwindling light;
it was no beautiful
sunset. Cheeks soaking wet
flavoring each stanza with
the salt of the earth,
because you called me to
be this since birth.
Reaching forward, a leprous
hand retreated, sent me upon
my knees praying.
Screaming, "Please heal me!"
Into your word found comfort,
but by your Grace, I started
seeing. Faith the pronouncement
and the hatred, the doubt filled
vitriol commencement.
The news blares into a deafening
void, fallen martyrs, and I see
your Kingdom come.
The seasons changing, the
waters warming, your prophecy
is what I'm discerning.
I call out to you, and you answer.
Not with the love of others,
but the confidence of knowing
they hated you first. My sympathy
is only but a second, then I smile
concerned only with what's mine
to capture, and spread; so many
too can eat of your bread.
The life we live, I now forsake
because if I'm not opening
eyes, and awakening hearts,
then your stripes meant nothing.
"My people die for their lack of
knowledge..." but if there's a purpose
you see, then I'll walk
between the walls of water you
parted for me. All Praise be to he
who they hung, and he declared in
love, " it is finished."
Thank you Yahshua, in
you Yahweh's will be done.
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
If only to encourage others, if only to
implore you to fight back, to show yourself
before the Creator of our Universe,
to employ the tools at our hands.
In a realm we don't see, yet know all
too well. To put into action what Yahweh has
given us.
What is this incessant fighting,
which consists in my head?
To justify you?
There can be no justification, for him
who set in place every law.
The moral, the physical, and natural.
So then what are they, and why do they
persist?
A battle that rages over me?
Spilling over from the ethereal battleground
in which carcasses amass;
Physical, and all too tragically spiritual!
So chaotic, but perfectly defended, kept
from me as unseen and trifle.
So as to distract me wholly from
the purpose of my mind, which is
the adherence, the observance of your law.
The appreciation of what you've given me.
They're falling, and failing, but boast I will not
"...Lest (I) fall..."
Sincerity is the incredible grasp,
of how far it would be, and how upon that
"rock" (Yahshua) I should be rendered
tiny bits, the refashioning of,
only he would know.
From before the creation of the world,
you knew me, and this very moment.
I will squabble, stumble, and quite
possibly fall. But my Abba,
by your will, through your GRACE I
acknowledge, and profess your TRUTH!
El Shaddai you make genius out of the stagnant.
You create fools out of those full of their
own brand of WISDOM.
You allow those who fear you to move closer
to you, if only to know your peace.
You show patience to those who ignore you,
for those who curse you, a patience,
"...That transcends all human understanding."
That there could be no sweeter words than those
configured by my savior;
than those known to come from your mouth.
The filling of this vessel is allowed
only by your breath which keeps me
alive, yet you love me enough to let me
choose you, thank you for my FREEDOM!
Thank you for refilling me with the
understanding of what it truly means to
be empty.
While the battle rages on,
I in respect to you fighting for me:
Place the belt of truth around my waist.
I firmly affix the breast plate of righteousness
upon my chest. Protecting my heart once so
cold now of flesh, no longer stone.
Pulling down tightly the helmet of
salvation over my head guarding my
thoughts of you in Christ Yahshua (Jesus.)
Lacing up, strapping upon my feet the boots
of the Gospel of peace. No matter
the slopes or the inclines I may stand
and not slide, confident in my footing
the grasping and espousing of your
wisdom.
My left arm adorned with your shield.
It glistens under the rays of your sons
light. Affirming to the enemies the
plight of their arrows, and their darts.
When I raise my shield of FAITH
in defense.
In my right hand my weapon,
"...sharper than any two edged sword,
piercing even to the dividing asunder
of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow..."
The word of you Yahweh.
That I may sever all that tries to bind,
and tether me to this finite existence.
I stand a sheep to the slaughter,
for sure, but I too stand a soldier for
you El Shaddai, my SAVIOR Yahshua
Hamashiach.
Defiantly announcing your name
my battle cry, and the skies open, all
you've granted me if I only offer my
complete submission. AMEN!
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC
Holy, Holy, Holy are you EL SHADDAI.
To be blessed is to seek a deeper,
interwoven understanding of your sovereignty,
of your abundant love, and your magnificent
GRACE.
Your words, the word of ELOHIM,
brings purpose into the full view
of your unyielding power.
To walk amongst the descriptions
of your word is a comprehension
of just how lost we are in your sight,
through ours.
To know in my soul the perpetual fire
of your altar; to hear the cries
of sacrificial animals, to have my nostrils
fill with the aroma pleasing to you.
To rationalize what now seems
barbaric, done only through the
infinite wisdom of your PROVIDENCE.
Your thoughts can only be evaluated,
imprinted on our hearts if the
intention is yours.
As I visually articulate the painstaking
sacrifice of man,
I am humbled falling at your feet
sobbing;
for what your beautiful perfect SON
endured through your eyes.
What i am is nothing,
you are the great I AM,
pleased only by our hunger for
every word that comes forth from your mouth,
our thirst for YASHUA'S immaculate
wisdom, his perfect TRUTHS.
I close my eyes, and present
myself at the entrance to your Temple of meeting,
as a sacrifice meant only for your
dealings.
Use me my ABBA, my ELOHIM for your
infinite GLORY,
to bring the perpetual fire of
YASHUA'S sacrifice, the unquenchable
observance, for any who know
repentance.
As every piece of acacia wood was placed
so too my bones,
every artifact, my muscles.
Crafted to make your new covenant
a dwelling place, a new Temple.
Good in your sight, so I know now
who has laid my foundations,
who has constructed me.
To be a doer of your calling,
yearning to be good in your sight,
the sight of EL SHADDAI, my ELOHIM.
In the power filled name of
YASHUA Ha'MASHIACH I praise you
YAHWEH, amen!
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
Disclosed just enough,
that I recognize I will never
have closure.
Stillness under blanket;
while frantic thought sparks fire,
marching toward the center
of sensation, like taste and
memory.
Even as the firestorm subsides,
there seems one ember
found purpose.
A wick the end of candlewax
transformed to life,
past ear canals and sight lines.
One light in an exponentially
growing darkness;
no shadows to speak of, or through.
No!
This light is for voyeurs
perverse enough in theory
to hypothetically pose quandaries
as to why, "...that light still
flickers and glows."
Head motionless on pillow;
a congregating group of bodies
assemble themselves upon rolling
bluffs, conjured by trips
yet materialized.
They murmur to each other,
their own perfect language.
You'd think the noise would ruin
this delicate silence, but it's
quite the opposite.
Their soft utterances act as
a breezes finger tip, touching
new resolve into the leaves
decorating the tree of life;
rustling ever so gently,
each one individually so the
branch doesn't move. That
would be far too much commotion,
and the wise owl needs not
a feather ruffled.
Just the leaves;
whisking a few away,
they never fall, they never stay.
Just fly along the currents
of your breath;
all this movement in rhythm
with a vehicle still recuperating.
The corners of the mouth pull
upwards, towards the tops of
ears, nostrils flare as if the
body is there,
but isn't it?
An emancipated feather moves
vociferously across glass tops,
making not an imprint,
but instead playing the tune of love,
joy, and prosperity.
In a library full of picture books,
and worn tennis shoes that lay beneath
monikers which are announcing timelines,
and referencing emotions;
the feather feverishly scribbles,
but not a word is written.
The doors swing open,
the light punctures the tranquility,
the ****** is being ripped away
watching as everything drops,
now simply motionless.
This is what it was like when
we used to sleep.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
It's amazing how much a catalyst anyone of us can play,
and how simple it is to be fodder,
fuel for the flame.
Echoing off the corneas of an
older generation, the imprint
upon the retina of those we're
unknowingly strangling.
Their whimpers fill our oxygen tanks,
their stomach acid resurfaces the earth we burn and purge.
Their saliva cleans the barrels,
their imagination makes the bullets,
their incentive the gun powder,
their action our selfish itchy trigger
finger.
Written apologies through scripted
eulogies; we simply cared little
for your insistance we listen,
easier to brush it under the bed
we tell you harbors no monsters.
Simplified for us, our course is set
our destination known, yet this
monster tucks you in at night.
I can't with dry eyes ask your forgiveness, for like an addict
we'll be at it again. Burning intellectual freedom, that well bleached parchment we've already scribbled your names upon.
Oh you didn't know?
Yeah we were ready for you,
we knew you were coming.
In our much praised cunning we've
already turned them all against you.
So why don't you swallow your angst,
go ahead and eat that anger. I don't care how much peace matters, go ahead drink that too.
Do it again, and again until your stomach swells and bursts.
See the best part about lack of nourishment it mimics your stomach as if you've gorged yourselves.
And you better believe that's what we're going to tell them, that's exactly what we're going to show them.
Now seriously, there's no monsters
under your bed, in your closet, or outside your window.
Please little one just sleep tight;
don't worry I'll get the light -
click - blam!
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Page after page I turn;
The fulcrum worn, and
brittle. I'm waiting for
it to disintegrate,
fall away.
Absent of their spine,
the pages flutter, sway,
leap, land, rise, and fall.
To some they'll see freedom,
but to whom those pages
were once contained
memories, recorded action,
hopes, aspirations, dreams,
as well as sickening
realizations.
Seen will be
unbridled tragedy.
He could compile them
together again, sure, but
The loss of just one paper
destroys the integrity,
the fluidity of his release.
So dance you lined darlings.
Fill the sky,
litter the ground,
but when Destiny again comes
To reclaim you, I pray the ink
is the last thing to leave you.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Losing my hand, the one clasped
round a crutch I've never made.
Losing my mind by simply
submitting to routine, repetition
of unnecessary thought.
Losing my procreative choice,
because my objections remain
voiceless.
A gesture lost to action, action
over intent, intent instead of
purpose. As though it had any
reason to be qualified, or quantified.
Losing the, "High ground," the "Perspective"
the advantage of knowing from where
all is coming.
Losing all the angles, the objectives,
because it's better to be committed
to the guidance of other's
you're no leader, trapped in semantics.
Gaining concession, conciliatory
victory, opened eyes, compassionate
ears; whisper to me sages, kings, and
queens I'm becoming.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC