Deep Thought Mar 3

Since 7 years old I remember having this fascination for trees. Although I'm all grown up, there's still plenty of love for climbing them. A few days ago, while walking through a valley, I noticed a tree shaped like the letter U. If you're wondering, yes I did climbed the tree, the little girl inside me couldn't resist. Shortly after the hike was finished something amazing dawned on me. I figured out the reason for my love of trees after all these years.

Our Savior was hung on a tree, and shed His blood for the world's sins willingly. The fixation for trees has a life altering meaning behind it. Realizing He was my one true love all along.
Seeing that U shaped tree is Jesus' way of saying "I love U"
U don't have to impress me, I love U as you are.

If you want to see the picture of the tree check out:
Deep Thought Jan 22

This is for my generation.
  A generation full of selfies, in short for selfish.
  A generation of women murdering their own unborn babies.
Woman walk around half dressed hoping a man will grant them respect.
As they reclaim their lives, renaming it feminism at it's best.
This is for my generation.
A generation of men that rather play with their hands.
Rather than creating work out of their bare hands.
Lusting for women as if we were created for one night stands.
We are the millennials. We're full of worldly distractions.
Looking for our parents to be the lending tree.
Since we spend most of our money on booze & weed.
This is for my generation.
Can't you see we're slowly dying off? We are becoming too self involved.
While every pleasure keeps causing our own demise.
We're too stubborn to realize our ways are flawed.
We mask it and look for love in other people. Yet, we feel emptier when the love isn't reciprocated. Some call this "unrequited love".
This is for my generation.
I'm here to tell you that, you are loved, you are cherished, and you can be forgiven. You can be saved, not by your works or how much money you make.
If you only believe what He did for you on the cross.
The perfect blood Atonement.
We are the Godless generation. Most would say they believe in evolution, perhaps others would mention God.
This is for my generation.
See, Jesus didn't come for the religious people. In fact, he called them frauds. He's more than just a bunch of rules and laws. In reality, He only came to save the lost. Which lead him to be hated, beaten and killed on a cross. 3 days later, He rose from the dead something Allah never did.
Now that our King is risen, He's offering a free gift of salvation. That's why it's called Grace. Being coming Christian doesn't make you perfect, don't get it twisted. I'm just a forgiven sinner by His definition.

The choice is yours.

God selects what Man neglects.
Joshua Dougan Dec 2016

In introspect,
hindsights stumbling over intuition.
Guts hard as a rock.
Minds eye coupling with superstition.
Feeling lost, without a paddle, up the stream facing tomorrow.
Trading calls, seizing, coughing out a scream. Laced with a sorrow.
Silence escapes the harrowed moment.
a siren: opaque.
Privately shamed, a borrowed atonement and a giant mistake.

Red streaks the latest paper
The blood of martyrs splattered on walls
For their faith.
For the whole world to see.

Red blotches a Gentile face
He wakes up to see Jesus
Coming with healing bright
Shingles, white patches
hideous bumps, flaky scabs.
They vanish at His faintest whisper.

He runs into Samaritan darkness
Screaming, Your name reverberating.
Red is what they ate in Eden, too.
Red is being torn from Your side
By smooth connivance with
Reptilian deceit.

Red is how the world looks
To lovely young eyes
Enamored by it for the first time.
Red is their world
And You turn pale
In their sight.

Red is what I feel
When I learn
Your anointing on my throat
lies–almost forgotten
Preciously hidden
Tucked behind the veneer
Of daily pinings for applause
From dim, glassy faces
Made red by stage lighting.

Red is the color of my cheeks
When I realize
You love me despite.

Red is Your sacrifice.
Red is Your atonement.
Red is my ransom.

…You are everywhere.

GaryL May 2016

living life like a photograph
I am captured in that moment
a record of images of the past
the black and white of atonement

the negatives scroll through my mind
by now, I guess I get the picture
a flash frame from that place in time
on this wall, I am a fixture

living life like a photograph
it's on my wall, then I own it
a snapshot of images of the past
a still frame of atonement

I haven't been very active here, because i am trying to enjoy the springtime. I am about to camp for a couple of months. I doubt that i will have phone service, but i will be logging on occasionally. Very glad to see the in-flux of new poets here. Keep on writing!
Brent Fisher Jan 2016

An old man amid marble walls,
surrounded by storied, gilded halls
leaned in, and told me a a tall tale.
Said that unless I left my soul open,
it'd be stranded, lost, up for sale.

But, that's not why he stopped me,
rather, he offered instead to avail
his services, those austere auspices
that often warn others who stumble,
misplace a page, place on the trail.

Took him up on his gracious offer,
asked how I could improve my fate,
save myself from this perceived state
of affairs holding my frail soul captive,
and those who claim to watch it fail.

He smiled, and looked into my eyes,
a deep breath, several heartfelt sighs,
hands held high, he brushed my cheek.
"My dear," he decreed, "the first step
is seeking me. Your hope is all I need."

"For I consume pain. I constrain it,
prevent those who wish to contain it."
"I take it from their grasp," he says.
I gently gasp as he gestures quick,
"I eat the sin, and save the sinner."

He laughs, patting his chest,
"And I'll still have room for dinner."

ryn Dec 2015

                       •the   ••••••••
         old man wi-    ••••••••
    thered•as suns    ••••••••
  would set....over    ••••••••
many days•follies    ••••••••  
he committed, then    ••••••••    
unencumbered•fina-    ••••••••       
lly caught now    ••••••••         
he pays • like an unca-    ••••••••         
ged bird,  he had left his    ••••••••            
perch• not looking                                              
back, leaving behi-                                                
nd hatchlings  and                                                  ­
nest• he discarded                                                    
his­  roots  when he                                                    
left them  in the lu-                                                      
rch• flew to pursue                                                      
what­  he had thoug-                                                      
ht was best•now he's                                                    ­ 
ailing thin.....he seeks                                                     
to reconcile • reached                                                   
to his sons...and left a                                                   
voice message•asking                                               
atonement for  his cri-                                             
mes so despicable and                                          
vile • for now he lays con-    ••••••••   illness and    ••••••••         
rage•hours tick by as his    ••••••••       
days blur into weeks...•    ••••••••      
his frail  breaths weak-    ••••••••   
en as he succumbs in    ••••••••
  bed•finally the call    ••••••••
     did come bearing    ••••••••
           the absolution    ••••••••
                   he seeks•    ••••••••

just a minute too late,
for the old man is already

Concrete Poem 21 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
Brent Fisher Oct 2015

I wanted them to fear me, so I wore horns.
Screamed at them, tore them 'till they bled,
fed off their pity, spit fire, wished them dead.

Just when the light I craved most found me
I forsook it, pushing away solace for solitude,
finding myself in the farthest longitude.

An endless interlude.

These horns are false, glued on with foolish guile,
all the while, I was an angel with burned wings.
Lost in hell while heaven sings. How the music rings.

I am not the reason. Forgive my treason.
Do not fear me; Find me.
I am not a Demon.

“The day misspent,
the love misplaced,
has inside it
the seed of redemption.
Nothing is exempt
from resurrection.”
- Kay Ryan
Speen Cough Jun 2015

I get the panic
the pain
of losing someone you love

but why was I ever worried
that I would never hear your voice?

Why was I ever worried
that I would never get to see
all the good you're going to do
and all the good I'm going to be

Why was I ever worried
that I would have to do this alone?

I always knew that I had Christ,
But I needed a real life friend.

Why was I ever worried?
I'll tell you quite frankly why.

It's because I was scared of losing you again.

I'm glad to have you back my friend
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