Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Blessed are You, Lord my God,
Who lifts the poor from the dust,
Who calls the tormented by name,
Who walks into hell to find His beloved
and does not leave them there.

Blessed are You, Lord my God,
For You saw me when I was lost,
You rescued me before I even knew Your name,
And carried me out of darkness,
Not with shame, but with love.

You placed Your hand upon my life,
And everything changed.
Not because I earned it,
But because You are mercy,
Because You are love,
Because You are good.

I was in hell,
But now I see.
My life is no longer mine;
You live through me, with me, as me.
There is nothing but You.

Thank You.

Amen.
See them *****, ******* thoughts?
And those ****-ugly feelings?
Aye?

If it’s *****—it ain’t right.

Canny have rats in the hoose!
Crawlin’ aroon' yer skull,
clawin’ and draggin rot aboot—
kickin' up ****
and makin’ a mess!

No wonder yer ******.

Ye canny feed hope tae rats.

This is the hoose of God—
and it reeks.

So get tae work!

Say the name.
Chase them out.

They’ve lived rent-free too long.
Get them rat ******* tae ****.
Help me live
like a river flows:
forever giving,
always receiving—

never clinging,
never still,
not hoarding,
not hardened—
but alive.

Alive in the current
of mercy and motion,
in the eternal
inpouring,
outflowing
of Love.
6d · 19
Overflow
The Water of Life
flows into me,
fills me,
overflows me,
drowns me,
then pours through me.

This Unknowable Love,
Your Love,
pours down:
a gentle trickle,
a running stream,
a flash-flood
of good-will
always
seeking
the darkest crevice
the lowest point.

Your Life-giving waters,
of unending grace,
fill from to the bottom
first flowing always
to the poorest of the poor.
6d · 3
Let Me See
Don’t tell me what I must see.
I have no trust in your beliefs.

Things change.
Beliefs change.
Everything moves
like shadows in smoke.

The world is alive
dancing,
making love,
breathing heavy:

Out...
flows life from apparent nothingness.

In...
we return to everything.

That’s the living breath,
the sweet pant of Mother Earth,
who can never rest
and loves us so.

She must continually
eat her young
to feed the new.

So what should we believe?
What matters?

Who knows...
I can only trust
the silent authority
of experience.

I am here.
I am alive.
I am me.

If truth is true,
let it come unspoken.
Let me see.

Then I’ll know.
Jun 22 · 21
Winds of Grace
Spring my faith and bloom Your love,
carry me on winds of grace.

I care not where my seed is placed,
plant me where You see most fit.

From tender sprout to fullest bloom,
for now and ever I will sing Your praise.

And at the end when You decide,
I’ll bow my head in gentle peace,
forever held within Your light.
May 14 · 107
The Vault
Open the vault.
Reveal your Gold.
Loose the keys.
Go tell the town.

Welcome the looters.
Big, honest smile.
Give them a bag.
Show them around.

The more they take,
The more you’ll see.
The more you give,
The more you get.
May 13 · 53
Sweet Tea
How sweet it would be
to fall like sugar in tea—
to swirl, dissolve,
and disappear
into each other,
until there is
no more you,
no more me,
only one
delicious whole.
May 8 · 77
The River Between Us
I pray for rain, O Lord—
not drops, but a storm,
not calm, but the flood.
Let Your waters rise in me.
Let them swell the river
and break my banks.

Do not leave me dry-eyed,
a bystander on the shore—
Lord, save me
from becoming lukewarm,
a mere spiritual ******.

No!—sweep me away,
even when I tremble
and cry out in fear.

Let me be taken
by the current of Love,
tossed and turned,
drowned and delivered
forever more,
into Your depths.

Not by my strength,
but by surrender.
Not by knowing,
but by longing.

Carry me endlessly
down the Holy River—
the river of devotion,
that leads
from me
to You.
Apr 29 · 224
Failure
Starting late feels like a failure.

Stopping early is failure.
Apr 28 · 126
Fever of Life
I want you sick,
full of the fever of life,
so hot, so fierce—
a love
you can’t stop
singing and dancing
for beauty and truth.
Apr 28 · 104
Bruised Prayers
Heavy tears slip
past throbbing cheeks,
as temples splinter,
bone collapsing
under the weight
of broken screams,
a silent prayer
rising from the belly’s pit.

Bruised knees bow
beneath the crush
of dreams unlived,
and nightmares
too often
relived.
Apr 28 · 87
Clay
Blindly we play,
characters like clay,
shaped
by the hands
of time.
Apr 27 · 80
Folded into the Frame
I bought a bed from a charity shop,
real pine, the heavy kind,
its honeyed wood still holding
the warmth of a young man’s hands
as he carried it up the stairs,
his bride beside him, giggling,
her palm pressed to the small of his back,
while the scent of fresh paint
drifted through the empty rooms
of their first and last family home.

That night, they sank into it,
the mattress sighing beneath them,
and years later, their children
would pad in barefoot at dawn,
toes curling against the grain,
cold feet pressed to their mother’s ribs—
just to hear her gasp,
just to hear her laugh.

Decades passed—
whispered arguments,
the slow creak of forgiveness,
fevered nights with a cool cloth
laid across a brow,
the quiet weight of two people
growing old in the same nest.

Then one morning,
the last breath left home,
and the bed stood empty.
The house was sold.
Someone shouldered its story
into a truck,
donated to a dim-lit aisle,
where I found a bargain,
its whole life
folded into the frame.
Apr 27 · 77
Bliss
You think
ignorance is bliss.
Which shows
your ignorant
of bliss.
Apr 26 · 76
Bloated Heart
False smiles show
what you are not,
and what still awaits...

You say:
It is a breeze
moving the meadows of Eden.

But you have not done
the essential work;
your soil is untouched,
no sweat has been given.

No one can show you
the serpents within.
But all is not lost!

As a stomach grows sick,
then bloats and expels,

so too must the heart —
sick, full of pride —
swell then be emptied,
before it can learn.
Apr 26 · 125
Mothers Love
Muddy children
kick up puddles.
Thirsty earth
drinks and sighs.

Tired mothers
Lean in doorways.
Some laugh
and others sigh.
Apr 26 · 201
Sense of Me
There is a sense of Me
which experience cannot grasp.
It simply shines—
the awareness of Me.

When birdsong dances
through spring’s first light.
A cradle stills
And shatters the night.

From the quagmire of hell
to the peaks of love,
within all experience—
I Am.

I am within all experience.
or is all experience within Me?
Apr 26 · 62
You are That
See the table.
        You are not the table.

Feel the body.
        You are not the body.

Notice thought.
        You are not the thought.

All is seen.
         You are the seeing.

All moves.
         You are still.

What is aware?
         I am.

Let go of everything.
        Even "I am."

What remains?
        Silence...

You are That.
Apr 23 · 114
Peaceful Mind
Who has ever suffered
with a peaceful mind?

You suffer
when you see the world
inside out,
back to front,
and nothing as it is.

When you believe
your hardships,
your sorrows,
and your never-resting mind—

When you feel
you have no choice,
as if you’re living
in a never-ending hell—

Go still inside,
and you will find—
you cannot suffer
with a peaceful mind.
Apr 23 · 147
Heartburn
You lit the fire of my heart,
to shine Your light aloud!

But my selfish fears
blocked Your light,
and cast these shadows—
dark as night.

May Your Love
burn me raw.
May Your Truth
replace my lies.
Apr 22 · 177
Final Prayer
It was I
who set heaven aflame
and stilled the fires of hell.
Engulfed by the smoke
with tears in my eyes
I am burned, and blind.
But when all is gone,
there will only be You.
This is my final prayer.
This piece is about what happens when you step beyond traditional religious beliefs. When you burn heaven and deny hell, you're no longer playing by the standard Sunday  prescription of religion—you’re willingly moving beyond theology into direct experience. And that shift is not easy. It’s disorienting. Painful. Like being consumed by fire and left blind in the smoke. But it’s also necessary. Because only when everything we thought we knew is gone—only then—do we come face to face with what’s real. This is my final prayer: not to the false God of doctrine, but to the God who remains when all else is stripped away.
Apr 21 · 96
Psalm of the Ache
O my Lord—
I will never find You,
yet there is only You.

I cannot touch You,
yet You are all that touches me.

I cry into the silence,
but Your silence does not break.

I pray until my voice is dust,
and still—You do not speak.

It is right—yes, it is right—
that You should abandon me.
For what I chase is not You,
but a shadow I cast upon Your name.

What I thought You were
could never be.
How small I made You—
pressed into the shape of my fear.

I used to find You
in broken bread and tender words,
in upturned hands and well-sung songs,
in the warmth of friends,
and sacred pages.

But now, my Lord—
You are all but gone.

And nothing remains
but my ache for You,
and faith.

This pain—
yes, even this—
is Your gentle call,
guiding me home.

So here I am.
Now I wait
in the dark,
with open hands,
and a heart that burns
only for You.
Apr 18 · 57
Clockwork Saints
You live like machines,
grinding gears,
perfect gestures,
empty hearts.

Smiles rehearsed,
compassion outsourced.

You preach love,
but it never leaves your lips,
nor enters your heart.

You took the living truth
and caged it in rules.
Castrated the wild gospel—
cut from it the mystery,
the mercy,
the Truth.

Reduced it to performance,
tradition,
nonsense.
A step-by-step script
for staying the same.

You starved shepherds,
leading flocks to mirages.
You count the sheep,
but ignore their thirst.

Genuine experience replaced
by hollow expectation.
Wonder traded
for rules you bend in secret.

You demand conformance,
but have never been transformed.

You speak of light,
but live in shadow.

Oh wicked elders,
lay down your tools—
we are made in the image of God,
not forged from stone and wire.
Apr 15 · 72
Sequoia
A boy sits beneath the tree,
boiling water—wild and free.
A spark escapes—the forest sighs,
as fire leaps to kiss the skies.

Sequoia longs for flame’s release,
its seeds locked tight find no peace.
Ash and rain—a bitter blend—
from death, new roots of life descend.

But fierce is fire—it does not choose.
It births the tree, but takes the youth.
The boy who lit the dark with light
was swallowed by the blaze that night.

The river black will soon run clear,
saplings rise where the boy sat near.
His flame made life—the forest breathes,
his soul now sown among the leaves.

Life and death—a breath, a stream,
not loss, but change within the dream.
The flame does not lament nor grieve—
it burns, it gives, then takes its leave.
Apr 15 · 75
Listen
What sings the violin?
What moves the wind to chant?
No player, only playing—
no want, no can’t.

The high, the low, the broken note,
the cry that cracks the air—
all rise from the same unheard hum
that has no name to bear.

You are not the voice,
nor the hand that strums the wire.
You are the space between the chords,
the stillness behind fire.

Call it grief, call it grace,
call it fierce or fair—
every note is emptiness
dressing itself in air.

So let the music have its way,
its thunder, hush, or cry.
What hears the song was never born,
and never has to die.
Apr 15 · 57
The Song of You
Each soul is a melody,
unique in its tune—
some soft as a whisper,
some bright as the moon.

Your heart holds the tempo,
your spirit, the key,
a symphony woven
of all you might be.

Some days, just a flute-note,
light, floating, alone.
Some days, a full chorus—
deep, resonant, strong.

Don’t envy the songbird
who sings in the shade,
or scorn the bold thunder
that won’t be delayed.

No note is misplaced here,
no chord is a wrong—
just life, ever-tuning
the lines of your song.

So play without fearing,
let dissonance pass.
The world needs your music—
no voice sings your class.
Apr 8 · 102
Within the Womb of God
Hopeless is the heart of sorrow,
rattling through a hollow world,
drowning in its own emptiness.

Yet within the ache,
a voice awakes—
Soft as a mother’s song,
drifting through the morning mist,
calling her beloved home.

Gently,
oh gently,
ever so softly,
she rocks you—

Wake up, wake up...
You are fast asleep,
dreaming you are awake.

My love,
you are safe.

Here.
Now.

Cradled in silence,
within the endless womb of God.
Apr 8 · 64
My Lord… My Lord…
It matters not
where I wander,
nor which road I tread—
I find no peace.

I call to You,
my Lord… my Lord…
Where are You?
Yet the heavens remain still.

And it matters not
what gold I gather,
nor whose hand I hold—
I feel so hollow.

Once more I cry,
my Lord… my Lord…
Where are You?
But again, heaven is mute.

Long I journeyed—
faithful in seeking.
I scanned each horizon,
knocked at every door.

Until at last,
with nowhere left to run,
and nothing left to reach,
I fell—
into the fire of despair.

So I turned—
not outward,
but inward.

Into the silence I once feared,
I sank.

There,
alone in stillness,
I met the depth of my own soul.
I laid down all searching—
and realised—
You’d been here all along.

My Lord… my Lord…
Nov 2020 · 596
GREAT MOMENTS
Fraser Wiseman Nov 2020
What we did not see
From the dark fathom
Now a moment in time
Survived as proof
We can survive
Nov 2020 · 197
When I was a boy
Fraser Wiseman Nov 2020
“I don’t say sorry
and I don’t tell lies.”

Two weeks later...
“I’m sorry for lying.”
Nov 2020 · 254
Today
Fraser Wiseman Nov 2020
I showed
for the first time
I’m not who I could have been,
and suddenly I was
with you.

— The End —