Monkey me, monkey you.
What's a monkey supposed to do?

Look and listen to Fathers love,
listen to the calls above.
Put the devil under ground,
pray against those hot hell hounds.
Act in faith when the call I hear,
always love and never fear.

Devil down,
bless the rest,
put those monkeys to the test.

Monkey me, monkey through,
past a wall unto the true.

Love and bless and passed a test,
hope in Jesus for me is rest.
Faith is right with grace in sight,
in my Fathers mighty might.
Hope for me, and hope for you,
hope the monkeys all be true.

Hope for me and hope for you.
Go monkey!

Devil down under ground
To Gods just deep ocean sound
Burn the devil
Bless the rest

Put those monkeys to the test

Monkey me Monkey you
Look to heaven, see and do...

:)

I dream of peace and just assurance.
I have stood for it all my life,
with constitution and vigor.

My hope and that which I have defended,
stood bright and noble in the light of love.
It has been as I have seen him
true,
honest,
quietly brave,
a perfect encapsulation.

The wind has not shaken him in his innocence,
he shall stand beside me in nobility
unscathed.

I will defend this glory.

In innocence and grace,
as a child, you stand and walk.
I will work this day in your honor, with ease.

We will watch you in all you stand for victorious.

Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope.

Innocence tempted,
standing unprotected,
with all hope inside, and promise.
All that is of value, tested, to be refined.
The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool.
Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire,
unquenchable.

We cannot lose hope, this is a test.

I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny.
Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal.
You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled.

I am destitute, in my flippancy,
I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed.
But I know the code,
the law of fire and grace,
I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials,
and continue in love, but what love is this?
A mentor lay in my path.

The show must go on.

It is loss to move on,
it is loss to forsake,
is is loss to do nothing.
No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory
unearned.
Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again?
Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain?

He washed us white as snow.

Works or Love?
Entwine the two...
We will carry you, the broken of my deeds,
from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go,
as you have shown us oh mighty man,
now wasted.
For this is the way understood.

I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning.

What's that you carry?

The wreck of the mighty's ambition.
For it was not just the faithful
who brought me home,
but the vision of might and of noble in glory.
The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity
broken.
Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition.

Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.

I don't know how I met you. Inspired.
It's like you appeared out of the thin air.
Newly created...

I held my own, just barley,
As you looked at me, across your dinner table at mid day or earlier.
Like it was early in the morning even though it wasn't.
Fresh and geeky, tidy and neat, And on a mission!
You smiled, laughed and winced in my general direction.
I answered your questions, one worded like.
You answered mine before I even asked, I was mystified.
You're like a feather, from a native chiefs head dress,
Dipped in ink,
Then blown onto a piece of paper made of pure flexible gold,
Written into existence by divine inscription.
Dawson Creek...

I made a sculpture. Five so far,
I cut my thumb, multiple times on this one, multiple times.
Sorry. To number five and to myself,
Bad skills, bad counter-pressure,
Blood, scars, band-aids.
Blood on five, scars on me,
Pouce Coupe...

Between for me equals the space between,
Between Dawson Creek and Grand Prairie,
Like Pouce Coupe, is "cut thumb", in french.
A mother tongue language of somewhere in me, undiscovered.
English is my Papa tongue, the language of, "let's get things done!"
Both pretty good. One definitely more productive! Go!
Pouce Coupe, the undiscovered middle ground.
A french name for an English town.
Pouce Coupe...

Like this sculpture,
Art from the space between, Like the memory of you,
My "lost" friends,
Memories like driving there and home again.
Through memory lane.
It's like Pouce Coupe, the memory of you.
Like the scar, the cut thumb, the memories good and all my bad.
And somewhere in between I'll meet you all again,
Most likely in "Pouce Coupe".
The unpredictable space between,
Pouce Coupe...

I didn't mean to kiss you.
I just happened to fall in love.