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md-writer May 2020
I think sometimes that I want to live in a world that is full of fantastic wonders, where beauty hits you over the head with the full force of its pure extravagance and needless perfection.

And then I remember that that is the world I live in. Fantasy isn't something fundamentally alien, but reminds us of what is fundamentally wonderful about our world.

I do not see it because my eyes are half-closed. But sometimes it screams in bold letters, and reminds me that if I were to look I would see the same wonders everywhere.
md-writer May 2020
all the ordinary people,
with their ordinary tears,
ordinary sorrows, and ordinary
fears

all the ordinary children,
mothers, fathers, sweethearts,
dears,
all the ordinary friends of all our
ordinary peers

every ordinary moment of our
ordinary lives
is a well-encrypted shadow
hanging over truth with
lies

ordinary
is the devil's myth,
that sweet, unpolished lie;
it makes an ordinary person only seek
a little prize.

But a cumulative series of ordinary days,
adds up to a lifetime of
extraordinary praise -

but only if we see the wonder
peeking through the walls,
shining like a lantern
that is covered up and dulled,
but visible, if eyes we use
as they were meant to be.

Ordinary, true.
But with them we can see beyond
the facts of me and you.
md-writer May 2020
I was told that love is painful,
that there is terror of a certain kind
in being known.
But I've left that voice behind me,
now that love has soothed my fears;
that voice?

it was my own
md-writer Mar 2020
wordstorm pouring from my bleeding lips -
an infant's scream for sustenance rising soft
above the sound of battle, the shrieks of devils and war.
ravens mock, their harshest rasping calculated
to pierce the heart of all the wounded,
bleeding out into the pits of shattered planet earth;
mud and rats and infestations of the most severe order,
without respite...

this is my battlefield within;

laughing is a sorry antidote to crime and sorrow;
joy is bared to bones before the shadow of a thousand failing suns, it laughs despite the pain;
you say that love, the most supreme of all affections, cannot be touched by misery.

devil.

go back to the

shadow of god

where you lurk, a curse to be unleashed; raving at your chains

This is no monologue. It is an address. It is not the raving of a madman - just the scribbles of a fool who seeks to grab the heart and soul of men with words:
complicated patterns sparking complicated thoughts sparking every **** achievement of our broken, bleeding
history,
our downfall and our towering symphony of
glory...

words attest the fabric of the world we create,
undead they speak with voices heard in silence and propel
the mind to visionary things;
or to the pits of hell.

Either way they give our mortal bodies wings.

We cannot fly too far, too high, with these;
life and death and all the shades of
heaven and hell between - that's where words can take us

if we let them

don't you see?

So listen. Write one more time. I speak the struggle of living flesh, and you hear the mournful infant's cry.
It is your soul raising living sorrow above the sound of busy anguish. It seeps through every waking moment of this dream.
So feed the baby, misbegotten mortal. Feed the ******* lips of your own soul.

One Word can stop its cry forever.
md-writer Nov 2019
infant son of lust and power,
union of a king uncrowned
and wife of Gentile warrior -
I shall bear the burden of my
grieving father's sin

the prophet spoke, my fate is sealed
the sickness set upon me
- this terrible privilege of atonement -
will consume my
tiny life
and I will die

but my father?
he shall live

and from his ***** my brother
shall come forth
that other Son in whose shadow
I shall stake my
checkered hidden place

Solomon first,
and later, when the sun
bursts forth,
our mutual fulfilment:

Christ the Lord
md-writer Nov 2019
nothing quite so terrible
as a man
who thinks himself free
when he is not

no terror quite so piercing
as a whisper
when he thinks himself
alone

so different, these two
moments
yet they both are filled with lies
there is a fatal weakness
in our mortal failing
eyes

we do not see the truth
of things - not one thing
breaks the dark
But when Jesus Christ the righteous comes
His Spirit lights our heart
md-writer Nov 2019
No need unmet
I rest in peace and plenty;
for I am shepherded by God Himself.

He beckons along a path
that leads me to the river,
where I am strengthened and
restored -
and the spark before me is the name
of my Lord,
and the path (straight and narrow),
paved with
love and mercy;
So I follow, stumbling
in the footsteps of a greater far than I,
yet I follow still
for His name and seal upon me
will admit no last defeat.

Even the whispered shadow of death
cannot shake me,
for fear hath no place
where my Lord is -
that Riverside peace, the rest in plenty
He has given, remain
unshaken,
brought back to memory by
the correcting rod and supporting staff
to stay my path in comfort
straight and true.

The battle spreads before me,
enemies snarl, and the
fiery darts whine.
I stand in armor, but a feast is
laid out there,
a repast fit for heroes,
to remind me that the battle
is
already won.
The victor is anointed,
the warrior too - a paradox,
already and not yet, I live
on both sides of the battle,
and His cup of joy and strengthening
wells over,
like a stricken rock in desert wastes,
it flows out in a river
by my side.
I may wade into the gore
of battle,
I may stand at death's
own door,
but this everlasting goodness
and the mercy of His face
will not depart -
will not depart from me.

For on the far side of this
valley,
on the flip side of this fight,
the house of my God is,
and in it's halls is my
eternal home.
There in that place are the pastures,
the rivers,
the feasts of the soul...

...the fullness of foretastes He's
given before.
Expanded personal paraphrase
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