Knock, and it shall be opened unto you,
    If you, indeed, are true.
If so, the Bridegroom's door will open wide
    To let His guest inside.

Knock, but beware if true, indeed, you're not;
    For not one tittle or jot
Shall pass the Lion guarding, at attention,
    The door to God's dimension.  
He'll bounce you off the doorstep with a roar
    Like none you've heard before.

It's not a tick box exercise that can be done in a day, it will be long and relentless. It's learning to hold your tongue when your body screams to have a say in the matter, LORD forgive me. It is learning to die to yourself through all the guilt and temptation of modern life, LORD forgive me. It's learning to surrender to the inclinations of your natural life and bring them to the LORD.

Trying to ignore the voices inside my head is like trying to ignore the pain from a candle when my hand is held over the flame and sometimes I just can't. Living by faith is hard work, not wanting to live to satisfy the body is hard work. Wanting to live by faith isn't the same as being ‘good’, and I'm still trying to learn and remember that.

Water to wine and wine to precious blood
The Lord transfigures; taken at the flood,
    The dregs of outrageous fortune, once imbibed,
Will be like compost to a growing bud.  

So, drink and happy be, for all is well
In Paradise, where living waters swell
    The stilly stream by quiet pastures green,
And sheep in peace and pleasant weather dwell.

"Pigeon droppings cited in bridge collapse"
                             —Toronto Star

Behold the ***** birds that felled a bridge
Of concrete, iron, and steel routinely made,
Dropping by dropping, pigeon after pige-
on adding contributions grossly laid.
An engineering feat commercial grade,
The bridge could not withstand the pigeon poo,
And, from the scourge of filth, the bridge decayed,
And fell as all decaying things will doo.
(When not creating mayhem, pigeons coo
And congregate and caper in the park,
Returning to their nests—tu-whit tu-whoo—
Before the owl can hunt them in the dark.)  
And so we see the danger we permit
When pigeons are allowed to give a ****.

His right is right
And so's His left.
His burden's light
Despite its heft.

Easy's His yoke,
And, I attest,
A spirit broke
Is also blessed.

Greater than all created things summed up
And multiplied by immortality,
The LORD attends to every buttercup
And blade of grass and bird and bumblebee.
The greatest knows the least; and every man
His every hair has been accounted for;
And all of him is fitted to God's plan
The world and all creation to restore.  
Everything's His to give or take or loan,
And nothing lies beyond His lone control.  
Everything's His, and every thing is known
By Him who sees all parts and every whole.
He understands, both root and all, and all
In all, the flower in the crannied wall.

I.
In the beginning
God was,
And the blackbird
Was not.

II.
And Adam called it a blackbird;
And that was the name thereof.

mosquito
made by
God
con spirito,
buzzzinging
by my
ear
(while birds are singing),
God
made u
& i

As true as the Trinity
And Christ's divinity,
And as heavy as gravity,
My total depravity
Is undeniable.
But God created me justifiable,—
Me, who's more of a Don Knotts
Than an Isaac Watts.

Wipe my eyes, melting away the wax
of unrighteousness; to see into your grace,
and all it’s wisdom.

I’ve been blinded,— to not see the value of my
worth. In dusty mirrors, only seeing the worst.
A slave, a sinner, and being so undeserving of
your love.

Oh Father,—

Boys will be boys, but not rarely are the
men baptised in wisdom. Washed of their
former selves.

Spirit filled,— isn’t of the religious talk your lips
could exclaim. But of what really resides inside;
of you and your relationship with God, alone.

Voices are many, only in the quietest moments
of heading into sin. But it’s but a whisper of what
true righteousness speaks of.

Know that it is Him,— the King of kings,
Lord of all, as Jesus is and remains the one
true King.