Nov 2017
I am an angel in the rise
I am angelic in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a tall
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
In pitch black etched across his chest
“Shall my hands afford ash?”
Read to a roar of laughter
1000
100
Only us
“Who are you?”
Cut short by a roar of laughter
100
10
Only us
“They call me Cain, brother, and I can only show you ‘what’.”
And what, indeed, amidst fiery chariots and divine palaces suddenly surging from ocean chasms had my thoughts sought to comprehend?
Here I am amidst a dream
A neon second scene
But where is the Word when
Awake, and to multitudes.
The morning sun rises to bring light on a blackened church. There, at a vandalized oaken pulpit I give my sermon. My Bibles were lost in the arsons committed on my home, my church, and the corner shop refuge that once provided living space for local destitute. I am unprepared this Sunday, but the Word flows freely. He ‘Is’ is speaking through me. I look down to my notes and revel in their order. Clean lines, a steady hand stroke on every letter composing a glorious sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life. The times have changed, and so I write these words hoping that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am a fool in the rise
I am foolish to fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a bright
Light – refracting subaquatic from
Towers – streaming ribbons with the current
Whilst star-light chariots permeate disorder
“She made ham from ash”
A thought recited to a piercing silence
Singularity while
10
100
Observe
“Where am I?”
A thought recited to a low hum
Singularity while
100
1000
Consider
One – stepping forward from light
Form – immaculate sans
A wild, pulsing eye
“I am here to show you ‘what’.”
Expressionless
“Are you able?”
A smile
A light
“No, come.”
And so, with caution, I proceeded down Atlantean waterways buzzing with preternatural light and rhythm. Amidst this shimmering ocean scene there was beauty and awe which words to comprehend could only paint pictures of madness. And so, I came upon my home.
Here I am a king at sea
With neon throne and queen
But where is my Hand when
Awake, and to multitudes
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church, home away from home. The attacks grow fiercer by the week, and I have not managed to procure a Bible for today’s sermon. The turnout is better than ever, and the Word flows freely from my tongue. He ‘Is” is speaking through me. The people are queued from pew to door, from street to corner. They seek, en masse, refuge from daily struggles; refuge not found within these Holy walls. Yet, they come. Their order is glorious! Such a wondrous sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life has never before been seen. I write these words in hopes that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am sacred in the rise
I am sacramental in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such insurmountable
Sounds – reverberating
Grounds – quivering
Towers – streaming
Chariots – quickening
“Oh, what a beauteous scene I have come unto! Thank the Highest, thank the Highest! These neon lights, though manifest in form I dread, do not belie the Supreme! Nay, unto him I deem fit all creation! Do not these streams paint your name?! Have not these seams sewn your claim!? I am free among these dreams, and from You have all I need!”
Sang to all who would listen
“Could these hands afford ash, the embers of eternal flame would brand the holy flock! Could I make ham from ash, the maw of sheep would ne’er seek to be sated!”
Sang to all who could hear
“And ye had better listen who doubt the name!”
“But who are you who are such a tall”
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
Opaque lettering across his waist
“Shem HaMephorash”
Read to a crescendo of laughter
Only I
10
100
“Why am I here?”
Cut short by a crescendo of laughter
Only I
100
1000
And why, indeed, had such beauty been shown to one who could not comprehend? Why, indeed, had I been brought to the depths, to revel in that which I have been cast from?
“To pyre, to pyre!”
And so, all the oceans were torn asunder. The final baptism before
10
100
1000
Years
There I was
The second scene
Of all I have conceived, but a dream
But a dream
For here I Am
Amidst the seams
Of all the paths I weave
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church. It is not Sunday, yet the patrons are queued to the street corner again. These people have come to hear the Word flow, yet the Word for me today is woe. The final sermon: Whole and hearted.
“You are here for me, as I am here for you!
There is but one truth, one way, one mind!
It lies not within one, but within two!
The Singular Multitude!”
I am angelic in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a tall
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
In pitch black etched across his chest
“Shall my hands afford ash?”
Read to a roar of laughter
1000
100
Only us
“Who are you?”
Cut short by a roar of laughter
100
10
Only us
“They call me Cain, brother, and I can only show you ‘what’.”
And what, indeed, amidst fiery chariots and divine palaces suddenly surging from ocean chasms had my thoughts sought to comprehend?
Here I am amidst a dream
A neon second scene
But where is the Word when
Awake, and to multitudes.
The morning sun rises to bring light on a blackened church. There, at a vandalized oaken pulpit I give my sermon. My Bibles were lost in the arsons committed on my home, my church, and the corner shop refuge that once provided living space for local destitute. I am unprepared this Sunday, but the Word flows freely. He ‘Is’ is speaking through me. I look down to my notes and revel in their order. Clean lines, a steady hand stroke on every letter composing a glorious sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life. The times have changed, and so I write these words hoping that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am a fool in the rise
I am foolish to fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a bright
Light – refracting subaquatic from
Towers – streaming ribbons with the current
Whilst star-light chariots permeate disorder
“She made ham from ash”
A thought recited to a piercing silence
Singularity while
10
100
Observe
“Where am I?”
A thought recited to a low hum
Singularity while
100
1000
Consider
One – stepping forward from light
Form – immaculate sans
A wild, pulsing eye
“I am here to show you ‘what’.”
Expressionless
“Are you able?”
A smile
A light
“No, come.”
And so, with caution, I proceeded down Atlantean waterways buzzing with preternatural light and rhythm. Amidst this shimmering ocean scene there was beauty and awe which words to comprehend could only paint pictures of madness. And so, I came upon my home.
Here I am a king at sea
With neon throne and queen
But where is my Hand when
Awake, and to multitudes
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church, home away from home. The attacks grow fiercer by the week, and I have not managed to procure a Bible for today’s sermon. The turnout is better than ever, and the Word flows freely from my tongue. He ‘Is” is speaking through me. The people are queued from pew to door, from street to corner. They seek, en masse, refuge from daily struggles; refuge not found within these Holy walls. Yet, they come. Their order is glorious! Such a wondrous sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life has never before been seen. I write these words in hopes that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am sacred in the rise
I am sacramental in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such insurmountable
Sounds – reverberating
Grounds – quivering
Towers – streaming
Chariots – quickening
“Oh, what a beauteous scene I have come unto! Thank the Highest, thank the Highest! These neon lights, though manifest in form I dread, do not belie the Supreme! Nay, unto him I deem fit all creation! Do not these streams paint your name?! Have not these seams sewn your claim!? I am free among these dreams, and from You have all I need!”
Sang to all who would listen
“Could these hands afford ash, the embers of eternal flame would brand the holy flock! Could I make ham from ash, the maw of sheep would ne’er seek to be sated!”
Sang to all who could hear
“And ye had better listen who doubt the name!”
“But who are you who are such a tall”
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
Opaque lettering across his waist
“Shem HaMephorash”
Read to a crescendo of laughter
Only I
10
100
“Why am I here?”
Cut short by a crescendo of laughter
Only I
100
1000
And why, indeed, had such beauty been shown to one who could not comprehend? Why, indeed, had I been brought to the depths, to revel in that which I have been cast from?
“To pyre, to pyre!”
And so, all the oceans were torn asunder. The final baptism before
10
100
1000
Years
There I was
The second scene
Of all I have conceived, but a dream
But a dream
For here I Am
Amidst the seams
Of all the paths I weave
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church. It is not Sunday, yet the patrons are queued to the street corner again. These people have come to hear the Word flow, yet the Word for me today is woe. The final sermon: Whole and hearted.
“You are here for me, as I am here for you!
There is but one truth, one way, one mind!
It lies not within one, but within two!
The Singular Multitude!”
An old poem i wrote that i stumbled across
