The papers in my hand the knife is at my side, I thought I should say something before I went and died

Dear mom and dad, I say
I'm sorry it had to end this way
I'm sick of this world and struggling just to live day to day

Dear mom and dad
I know you tried to do your best but know that it's not your fault cause deep inside I'm just a mess

I tried to live the way you raised me, but it's hard when this world is so crazy

I take the knife in my hand and I kneel down on the floor, my hand moves to my neck this is what I've been waiting for

Suddenly a light fills my whole room and God looks at me and he tells me to stop, I look at him and I feel my knife drop

Whats going on, are you out of your mind? Put down the knife and we can leave all this behind

In anger I yell "do you know who I am?! The things in my life I deserve to be ******!"

I tried to live right but I can't deal no more, my parents health, and our dwindling wealth, this is easier for sure

I called to you in vain all those wasted years! I prayed and I fasted, I waited for you in tears!!

Not once did you answer a single plea that I cried! why appear now and suddenly care just before I died

The Lord raised himself up and his voice boomed like thunder,
"Listen to me carefully and learn to fear and wonder"

I am the God that dared to create you and though this life is hard to go through, you have a purpose and a place that I need you ready to go do

I bow my head and tears fall down, "Lord" I cry, "why would you use this broken ***?
A vessel to use I am not

There are others out there that have their lives together, people that have never faltered and never waiver"

The lord takes my hand and says, "see the scars on these wrists, signs that you went down spent time in despairs pits."

I want to use you in your brokenness and weakness, lack of faith and this bleakness

For in you with every scar, I can show off my glory and power, make the world tremble
And praise my name every hour

For in you they'll see what was broken and in pieces, something far stronger that is eternal and never ceases

Now stand up my son, for that is what you are, never doubt my presence again, no matter where you are.

I'm here to protect you, this life won't be easy, but I promise you I'm there, in the country, town, or city

I stand up from my grave, the knife back in my hand, I throw it far across the room, and then I slowly stand.

It's a war we wage, day after day, a fight inside that no other can keep at bay

But with my God I will stand strong, Shine a light in a world that praises the wrong.

Fjords
Cairns
Blue mountains
Stone hills
Rushing water
Quicksand
Glaciers
Zebras
Coyotes
Grass
Palaces
Empty rooms
Rusty typewriters
Old pages

Are a poet’s palette.

There is no peace at all for the wicked.

Stinging, ruthless words that pierce through mind and heart
Swiftly, precisely, from lips of clay depart
Arrowheads dipped in green poison find their way
To an unwary target, without delay.

There is no peace at all for the wicked.

The tongue is a sinister, crushing weapon
Who dares resurrect one fatally bludgeoned?
“He deserves my verdict!” Rage seethes in defense.
“He smashed my fortress with the least reverence.”

He is without excuse.

Yet the comely victim-prince says, “Follow me…”
He with the sad, compelling eyes
And nail-scarred hands offered gently, steadily
To a soul vanquished by frantic, chaotic “I”

He whose dazzling raiments from the throne hang
unused
Willfully submits to slight, beating, abuse
As leather sandals cushion dusty, wounded feet
He weeps; Fallen creatures smite head and side–they bleed.

Still the comely victim-prince says, “Follow me…”
Now, therefore, beyond excuse,

Man is guilty.