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Sadistic, sinister:

              The evil twin sister

I fight, I resist,

              But sometimes I still miss her...

From birth was a friction –

              Affliction – a blister

Now alive, I must die

              Every day and dismiss her

.
A poem about that ugly shadow of myself that still follows me around everywhere I go...and which only goes away when I consciously make a choice to **** IT - to "die" to it - each day.
Father God, I recognize that lack of trust is ultimately a sign of pride, and so I ask you to uproot it remove the behavior and thought patterns that prevent me from recognizing and doing your will. Change the way I can take part in building your kingdom in Jesus name. Amen
Psalm 55:1 listen to my prayer o god, do not ignore my plea
Through the darkest night,
In the midst of ash
Ahead of its time –
Where the blackest black
Of filth and fire
Consume, devour – repeat…

A Light shines.

And while fools
Dance with death
To the tune of
An evil they call “good” –
Grinding their teeth
To curse and boast…

A Voice sings.

And as the earth groans –
Aching under the weight of
The birth of many children
Called “Destruction,”
Who've grown to eat and ****
Their own…

A King reigns.

.
I don't even know your name,
But I think I know something of
The state of your soul,
My Dear Poet Friend...

For, we're all stricken with
The same disease

A poisonous venom
Which courses,
This very moment,
Through all our veins

A disease for which I have found
But One Cure

---

And I must warn you,
My Dear Poet Friend,
Not to look so long
Into your own heart

For, there you will only find
The disease

.
In the Garden, by the Creek,
Stands a Tree –
A Weary Willow, weeping, in
A prayerful plea:

“The scoffing Oaks hold
All their leaves,
But mine wither in this winter;
Don’t You see?!”

But, oh, what She
Doesn’t yet know
Is that, now, below the ground,
Growing down, and reaching out –

Hidden to sight or sound –
Are her Roots, preparing Her
To bear a thing no Oak has ever known:
Fruit.

---

So, may Her weeping turn to singing
For spring is bringing
A New Beginning
…In the Garden, by the Creek.

.
this is not my life. we are fighting, as though
we are happy, but.my dad is
dying. i love him. as though i am a child.
as though i were a sapling at his root.
as though i were a construct of his being
as i am
i am
happy. as though i am a child. i am giving
as i will not take what i cannot give him
in his grave. he is wilting, as i realize i am
alive, and i will give him every inch of every
root that i am, constructed on the skeleton
he has given me. with life. within himself
as he is
he is
happy. as though he were a child forever.
as though he were a mighty spread tree.
as though we could love each other
beyond the end.
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