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Sur l'isle de evocation
a parody of Paris
the beating heart of France
an exultation of hell and heaven

secured by a stake
enveloped by a blue mamba
unable to escape the flames of desire
eyes widen in fear
a flicker of light in the dark approaches

the laughing licking light ascends
trembling trees unable to bend
crushing fervour all around
upward flowing conduits the secular rain

the molten skeleton teeters
France holds its breath
archangels strain in suffrage
the walls will hold
la dame will survive
the people invoke the deliverance

the light begins to wain
the magician becomes the smoke
the lance to heaven pierces the heart
belayed are the bells
fighting holds the line

a cough amongst the smouldering fumes
a guardian not seen
the bonds are not broken
the abode is saved

glaring out from a bell tower
sadness views the destruction below
sacred are the loves of engagement
harried by the time of contempt

Le Français are mortified
a chariot touches down
the dawn angel stirs
its divine intercedence appears

the lance is withdrawn
the mamba turns red
convict us the rebirth
its nations faith rings out
dawning  a peoples decree
a chance video triggered this poem, check out the twitter
Spirit, hear it
I've been wondering where you've been
Spirit, near it
I've been holding onto your faith
Spirit, peering
I've been tracing you onto my skin
Spirit, fear it
I've been calling but I'm afraid

As you and I collide
Will you sway by my side
And tell the world
A sweet, little lie?

Spirit, weary
I've been missing out on life's pleasures
Spirit, dearly
I've been losing all my feigned interest
Spirit, clearly
I've been trying to find some closure
Spirit, hear me
I've been placing in you my trust

As you and I collide
Will you confront my pride
And tell the world
A sweet, little lie?
As you and I collide
Will you collapse in time
And imbue the world with
A healing bind?
A song about Jesus
A storm blows in from the east. You can smell the rain.

In an hour or less, it will be here
and unpredictability will reign. The seas will roil
and flotsam, so well hidden by the water
will be tossed on the beach like ragdolls.
And the driftwood around you, dry
from yesterday’s sun, will drift once again.
The landscape will change.

It has been a season of storms,
the kind of storms that rattle windows
and leaves behind damage, ripping at roofs,
tearing away foundations, unrelenting, terrible storms,
one after another. You have survived them all,
but just barely, your faith and those you love,
have not let you flail for more than a moment,
when the winds were at their worst.
Your landscape has changed. And changed again.

The earth is a solid thing, so they say, but
that has not been your experience.
It is a wild thing, uncontrollable, a raging mix
of beauty and betrayal, a seething sea of madness,
waiting for the next wave, the next gust of wind
to tear at you and test you and see
whether you hold fast or fall, A test
of your ability to not walk, but dance on the water.
In the New Testament of the Christian Bible, there is a story of Peter, one of Jesus’ disciples, who in order to prove his faith, stepped into the raging seas and show that his faith was so strong that like Christ, he could cross the surface of the water. He took one step, and his faith failed him and Christ had to reach out and save him from drowning. Some people see that episode as a failure, but I have always felt it was a raging success. He walked on water! Even if only for a moment.

The original title of this poem was to be “The Lost Year”, referring to the year of sickness and struggle I have fought through, with the added time of quarantine and coronavirus we have all been through. Most of the plans I had for the year are lost. It was to be a lament.

But if there is one thing I have learned in forty years of writing poems, it is that the muse often has other ideas, and it turned into a poem of gratitude for a faith and people who have loved me through this year. I may not be dancing on water yet, but I have come close.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Wrinkled blue leather
Laying on my fingers
A solemn sight
Such words it bears
Waiting to be unravelled
Waiting to be understood

Amidst the trickle of questions
I press it to my heart

Far, yet so near
Blurry, but so clear

I want to see it all.
A short poem about my faith.
no one knows,
everyone wants you,
you're never alone
topacio 1d
you cannot
write poetry
you cannot
be honest.

your words are
from the minds
of others.

i hope to one day
see you shine
the way i know you can.

i hope you wipe the smear
from the
mirror i know you
so desperately
seeks answers from.
Marisa 1d
This is the table where we break our bread
and all of you are invited
to share the cup of bitterness.

Oh, taste and see how eternity embraces you,
how the broken shards merge together,
we become family again.

You do not ask for glory and give nothing
in return.
Holding onto the facade of beauty
Succumbing to the lies of a false reality
Too meager of a thing to trust in
For genuineness lies deep-rooted within

You know not what you behold
By merely looking upon the surface
For inward lets the truth unfold
And in Christ, authenticity by grace
Searching through the comments
Wandering through the photos
Maybe in the compliments
Or perhaps in the responses?

Where is this joy
My heart so longs for?
Why does it deplete
Ever so often?

But I know of everlasting joy;
Not found in the comments,
Nor in the responses or comps
But in the never changing Father,
The I AM that I AM.
... If my relationship was a game of cards...

Five cards hit the table
Right there in front of me
Like fortunes' greatest table
The game of the century!

She's my Lady-Luck incarnate
Its all Aces with her
Companion, Lover, and Mate
Together, our fate to master.

Though when we met
None of this was planned
Now its an all-in bet
And she's my winning hand!
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