070518

I heard the Thunder's wrath
But I was so assured that I can breathe
In His awakening breath called "life,"
While the waves urge to lie,
To distort or tear down one's walls
Dark turns darker,
In his flesh, he alone calls.

There're colors over the street
And they seemed embarrassed when the Lighting came
His eyes are on fire, some have never adorned
Their strength, by their might
A cloth and shelter of their own.

Those colors depict hope, One's full revelation
Scattered unto nations but some denied, left behind
And by their feet, they've trampled it down
And have let no fear in Him
Dwell unto their hearts; instead, boast on their crowns.

So again, those colors unfold a promise --
A promise of reliance when we're about to be drowned in the sea,
A crowning glory full of assurance and confidence
That we shall arise as One Nation
And the waiting will be over.

When before, we started to call
He has left no one hanging on a tree
While such faces were getting too close
And it's too much.


Too much to bear that the freedom they boast
Is no longer in Truth,
And they laugh while drinking
Into their own blood
Sealed with their own names
That they rather put colors
In variance and forget that it's a loss of purpose.

Words were floating upon them
But they yearn for pride
For their very own indulgent
Turned out to be their way and it has become "final" to them
That they're ever free to choose and do.

Why is it when we speak the Truth
People scatter and grumble
As their faith, distort
In the loss of confusion.


If grace then was a lottery
Then there'll be no salvation
But indeed it was free,
So why don't one grab it
And embrace redemption.

Yes, we can love but be still in His grace
Coz hope isn't to perish for the ones who call for it
Never dethroning the One who first spoke
So please, do things not because of wants and for earning.

I would love it when the Sun comes down now
But grace is the period and we call it "now"
So friends whom we love
Do seek righteousness and grip on it in tight
Coz when the latter day comes,
One will perish while one is left behind.

If we seek the Truth
Truly, let the heart endures
Let revival take the sword and fight for its cause.
No more crying for the ones you wished there were more
So now, never lack
Even a moment to recall.

1) I scratched your disc jockey
And left a note that I was sorry
Forgive me for your taste in music
Sounds a little bit dreary


2) Last night, while I was driving your car
I fell off a cliff!
It sure was damage, but I am still alive
Thank you for having me use it


3) The hearth needed more wood
And I cannot find one
Instead, I burned your favourite book
Sitting on the table
Forgive me, I did not like Dostoyevsky

4) I have eaten
The strawberries from the countertop
And which you were probably
Saving for your morning smoothie
Forgive me they were delicious and fresh

The river flows
With bodies and souls
The river is where our burdens are thrown
It frees the soul from what it holds
It reflects the truth that you might not know
The creatures that live finds paradise in its holes
And when its cold the river becomes ice cold
To protect the lives that it holds
It turns to vapor to rain on our souls
To treat the thirst that kills the living so very slow
It sacrifices all it has for the great of the whole
But what we do is darken it souls
We polute its waters with the paloutes we throw
How selfish we think and how murderus we grow
We **** the things that help us grow
We forget the things that the river has shown
Until one day the river howls
It consumes each man and drowns him cold
It creates thease waves that galops people souls
Detroys the citese that human helped grow
So think of others the way you think of your own

Gravity now limps aging parts,
once firm tools of arousal  
        now dulled
             scrapping on the floor.

But each holds the others up,
                dignity with a hand
                         and string.
Gravity cant dull their love.

All those books they made us read,
The smelly yellow-pagers
That weighed as heavy as the guilt
We felt as "zombie teenagers";

Do we remember anything?
The names of the main characters,
Or maybe, who died in the end--
Or the ones who were in pictures?

It wasn't that we hated books--
We didn't understand them;
Before the teacher's spiritless voice
Made us slowly condemn them.

"Memorize the vocab words,
And don't forget the spelling!"
Was that the point of literature?
But definitions aren't compelling.

So all those hours in English Lit,
The days spent reading Steinbeck,
Were soured by the grouchy face
Always looming over my desk.

I always wished someone would say,
"This isn't boring, here's why:"
But I was told to shut up and read
When sometimes I wanted to cry:

"I hate this story! Nobody's happy!
And everyone's messed up!
It doesn't make sense to force it on us
When we're already stressed out."

But we had to read it, because they had to read it
When they were young in school.
This book had an impact in history:
So now, reading it is a rule.

So if it's a must, that's fine, then.
But...why don't we make it fun?
Or talk about the psychology
And learn something when we're done?

A book can't be everyone's favorite.
We're all different people inside.
But please try to make us all interested
With wisdom only you can provide.