Shattered glass.
On the floor.
Tear drenched tissues on the floor, like flowers on a hill.
you call me to be still.

I am scared.
I am hurt.
I have been hurting, other people.
I have been ignoring their cries.

I have been putting myself on the pedestal.
I have been putting myself on the judge's table.

Those shattered glasses on the floor shone.
The tear-drenched tissues decorated my life, dripping down, shimmering in the light of the broken glass.

Love came and painted the light.

Sitting on the floor.
In the cold and dusty corridoor.
My ears placed on the floor.
The waters carried memories.
The wet mossy floor carried the memories of those who lived here before.
It's careful hands hugged those little lights tight.
The moonlight shone with silver light.
The promises of tomorrow held in his hands.
As the savior slowly lands.
Taking back the land.

Sitting on the floor.
On the once ***** corridoor.
My ears placed on his chest.
His mercies afresh.

Called holy, all the time.
Too kind, that's my tag I wear sometimes.
More open is my friend's request.
More curses is what they want to get.

Trying to fit in, used to be my goal.
Now that left me cold.

Holding on to Rocky seas.
Trying to find ground on nothing.

Holding tight to my own hands, I used to do.
But, now I know that makes me a fool.

Silence was my armour.
Voice, was their trigger.
I used to think that way.
And maybe I still do.

My voice, triggers them to shoot me so that others don't have to be shot.
Silence was when they themselves are shot and need comfort when they know it isn't "their" fault.
When silence was their time, their space to finally unravel the war inside their minds.

Voice and silence.
When hand in hand.
Works well with his plan.

Paintbrushes ready by your side.
Canvas, put up, ready to be painted,
It's hands placed on it's side.
Hands ready, framing the canvas, putting "everything" in place.
Ocean blue skies stretched across.
Floating tears drifting in the skies.
Paintbrushes trees sat by the side.
Shifting waters busking in the sun's light.
A humble quiet house, would be nice.
With a garden at the side.
Birds in the air, horses down below.
All creatures painted into the canvas.
My family, stood by the house.
Hands on shoulders.
Something was missing....
Where is God?
Is God amiss the trees?
Is God drying up the tears in the sky?
Where is he.
Maybe he is simply, right there, by my side....

Suicide.
Doesn't mean this person has mental illness.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean we Christians doesn't have suicidal thoughts too sometimes.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean this person is weak.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean they suffer from depression.
Suicide.
The devil tempted Jesus with suicide.
Suicide.
Understand it better please.
Suicide.
You are not alone.
Keep fighting!
We would fight with you this battle!

Hands held high.
Jumping up and down.
Bowing down with fear to deny.
Problems out of focus.
Love in focus.
God in focus.
Prayers lifted high.
Praises lifted high.
Scars filled with love and care.
Tears dried up.
Tears welled up.
Wonderful God.
Loving God.
Forgiving God.
My Father.
God.

Is it as deep as the deepest point of the oceans?
Is it a wide as the sky could be?
Would it last longer than life?
Would it be longer than time?
Would it be stronger than anything in this world? In the whole Galaxy?
Would it be mine to keep?
Would it be theirs to keep?
Ours to keep?
Yes.
It will be.
Yes it is.
All of it and more.
This love.
Slowly digging me out of this shell, to reach my heart.
Penetrating through fear, doubt, and sin.
You brought this broken life in.
I would never forget the love you have shown me at the lowest point of my life.
Never.
Would.
I.
Ever.
Forget about your love.
And the life you have given me.
For the life you gave.
On that cross

...unspeakable gift." (II Cor 9:15)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMLXXIV)


"They buried me with Mum."   That haunting sense
I'm just a pilgrim wandring in betrayl
These des'late wastes all else call home, sans bail
Despite new clothes, accessries for pretense,
And dearest friends to joy with me from hence
Or weep or who-cares-what, this world to scale
Some dish that wants salt, lacking flavour--they'll
Assure me tis grand--mocks life sans defense.
If Hollywood laughs in the face as twere
Of good and righteous, where designers too
Are filthy past all words and smiling fer
Applause, I'm sans a home sans her.  Then You
Remind me "one thing's needful---" to bestir
Hope that my home, LORD's:  You.  Life.  O!  Who knew?

06Apr18b