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Seeking love somewhere deep and far, Through rains and muds and scars. Only to see little love in little jars, Little care, little joy in little bars. The journey was bigger than its prize, Prize that caused pain, wounds, and cries. There I opened my ears, heart and eyes, And saw burning of a star from the skies. A Man spoke to me and said, I should seek for Him instead. No pale nor little heart but red, For His love for me was blood shed. He said He loves me ten out of ten, With stretched arms and heart open. I said "If so, give me some flowers then", But the Man gave me the whole garden.
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Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 10:14 AM UTC
Garden of Love
By The Drifter from Heaven As dawn awakens, gratitude unfurls, A new day dawns, and hearts revive, Though challenges arise, God's presence shines, Hardships and despair, life's complex weaver, Illness, death and financial strain—part of the frame, Yet in the darkness, seeds of hope are sown, And faith's resilience helps us regain our path, But wings of hope, an angel God has sent, Faith holds the soul, and heart finds its stay, Amidst adversity, self-discovery takes flight, Guiding us through the darkness, and into the new light, In life's darkest moments, hope's light prevails, A beacon guiding us through life's gales, With faith as anchor, heart and soul align, And with God's presence, a solace—our peace of mind.
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Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 4:29 PM UTC
God is Hope and faith
Mostly I sneak about under cover of night, Fulfilling my awful aims away from broader sight, For no one must suspect The beast that dwells within their midst. I am a master of concealment. Smart and somber fabrics shield my skin From the painful sear of daylight, And my complexion, I keep like porcelain— For no clean and delicate doll Was ever suspected of reveling In baths of hellfire And drinking them up as greedily As the desert soil drinks up a monsoon. This façade I employ lest the people discover, And ****** before me their holy images, Burning me as if with a branding iron, And driving me far from their dwelling Into solitary desolation. For in truth, I am an agent Of offense and pollution To all that is wholesome and good. I entice man to share my fate. He invites me in and I infect him – The Imago Dei – with Death. Driven by this curse, this unholy hunger, I live only to eat – If one could even say I live. There is no glory, no beauty in this state. My eyes are as gleaming stars And my skin is as a moonbeam, But the flesh beneath is always freezing, Always cold and always screaming For more of what makes it sick, The only warmth it knows being gleaned From the bodies of its meals. A quietly blaring reminder to me That I am the Dead walking. This night begins as many before it. My clothes blotted crimson with fresh sin: The stain of another’s flesh. The latest meal to leave me ill, And yet more hungry still. I tread the gray and lifeless streets, My dead frame mustering no defense Against the chill of night. All is dark and still, as no sound, no soul, And scarce a light the night gives To interrupt the feast within – The Hunger consuming all thought, And the Cold consuming all feeling. My spirit sends out a silent plea For, if not some kinder release, A second death. My wandering stops before the chapel, The only structure affording light or color To Nyx’s bleak realm. The candles and lamps still all alight Send cascades of rainbows Surfing down upon beams of gold Through the glass mosaics To the ground outside. Something in this ethereal beauty Grasped something in my soul. I wished to crumble, to sob, As I felt so alien from whatever it was That infused this light to make it good. Yet I wished to float, to hope, As here it was, pouring down before me— Onto me. Looking in then from afar Through the colored glass, I saw behind the altar raised high On his execution tree, The image of the Lamb With sorrow carved into His face And wounds painted onto His side. My eyes stayed fixed to that solemn sight Till they ran with salt. “They say You came To make clean the Unclean, To wash away every vile stain That corrupts Your Image,” Said I. “They say You were sent To ransom the Dead; To free the captives Of Hades’ rotten grip. To bring bread and water That ceases all thirst and hunger, And gives Man second life. Were You not?” As the question left my lips, I heard from around the corner A creaking in reply. Curiosity spurred, I crept around to find The doors an inch ajar, With a widening sliver of golden light Pouring forth from within. Such a peculiar glow it was, So pleasant yet so frightfully strange. It did not burn, But was rather as a balm, Or a mild, warm rain. There I stood for many moments, Rendered motionless By a blend off sedative calm And paralytic fear, Until, carried on the streams of light Came a gentle whisper to my ear That spoke the sweetest, simple words: “Dear wayward child, enter in.”
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Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 4:01 PM UTC
Vampire's Redemption
Mostly I sneak about under cover of night, Fulfilling my awful aims away from broader sight, For no one must suspect The beast that dwells within their midst. I am a master of concealment. Smart and somber fabrics shield my skin From the painful sear of daylight, And my complexion, I keep like porcelain— For no clean and delicate doll Was ever suspected of reveling In baths of hellfire And drinking them up as greedily As the desert soil drinks up a monsoon. This façade I employ lest the people discover, And ****** before me their holy images, Burning me as if with a branding iron, And driving me far from their dwelling Into solitary desolation. For in truth, I am an agent Of offense and pollution To all that is wholesome and good. I entice man to share my fate. He invites me in and I infect him – The Imago Dei – with Death. Driven by this curse, this unholy hunger, I live only to eat – If one could even say I live. There is no glory, no beauty in this state. My eyes are as gleaming stars And my skin is as a moonbeam, But the flesh beneath is always freezing, Always cold and always screaming For more of what makes it sick, The only warmth it knows being gleaned From the bodies of its meals. A quietly blaring reminder to me That I am the Dead walking. This night begins as many before it. My clothes blotted crimson with fresh sin: The stain of another’s flesh. The latest meal to leave me ill, And yet more hungry still. I tread the gray and lifeless streets, My dead frame mustering no defense Against the chill of night. All is dark and still, as no sound, no soul, And scarce a light the night gives To interrupt the feast within – The Hunger consuming all thought, And the Cold consuming all feeling. My spirit sends out a silent plea For, if not some kinder release, A second death. My wandering stops before the chapel, The only structure affording light or color To Nyx’s bleak realm. The candles and lamps still all alight Send cascades of rainbows Surfing down upon beams of gold Through the glass mosaics To the ground outside. Something in this ethereal beauty Grasped something in my soul. I wished to crumble, to sob, As I felt so alien from whatever it was That infused this light to make it good. Yet I wished to float, to hope, As here it was, pouring down before me— Onto me. Looking in then from afar Through the colored glass, I saw behind the altar raised high On his execution tree, The image of the Lamb With sorrow carved into His face And wounds painted onto His side. My eyes stayed fixed to that solemn sight Till they ran with salt. “They say You came To make clean the Unclean, To wash away every vile stain That corrupts Your Image,” Said I. “They say You were sent To ransom the Dead; To free the captives Of Hades’ rotten grip. To bring bread and water That ceases all thirst and hunger, And gives Man second life. Were You not?” As the question left my lips, I heard from around the corner A creaking in reply. Curiosity spurred, I crept around to find The doors an inch ajar, With a widening sliver of golden light Pouring forth from within. Such a peculiar glow it was, So pleasant yet so frightfully strange. It did not burn, But was rather as a balm, Or a mild, warm rain. There I stood for many moments, Rendered motionless By a blend off sedative calm And paralytic fear, Until, carried on the streams of light Came a gentle whisper to my ear That spoke the sweetest, simple words: “Dear wayward child, enter in.”
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Father, listen, do you hear The wailing spirit's desperate sound? See you the black despair That like a python 'round his neck is wound? His light, it flickers, dimmer seeming, As he off his hope is weaning, As the stars all fall careening From his eyes down to the ground. He wonders if You've vanished, Or if 𝒽ℯ is lost to ne'er be found. Father, I know that You And your compassion for us Men are real. Your hands can still do miracles, My eyes have 𝓈ℯℯ𝓃 them work and heal. So hear my prayer as I plead For this dear soul in dire need -- Set him from this bleak shadow freed, Wrap him in love that he can feel! And if he must this fire endure, Then forge him into stronger steel.
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Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 9:35 AM UTC
For the desperate soul
I won't fear men whose hands cause pain Or those that hunt the young like wolves, For beneath the wings of my Lord is my shelter, And He serves His justice a hundredfold. I won't fear men whose abandon the weak Or those that tear this body apart, For my Savior promised He'd always be with me, And someday, life in my new form will start.
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Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 9:03 PM UTC
I won't fear men
Oh God, how long until my woes Transfigure into peace? Until the violent storms inside my skull Will finally cease? Until the gaping emptiness I feel beneath my ribs Is filled with warmth and joyousness? That's all I plead You give! Around me I see people full With water, meat and wine. I see them eat together -- Oh, how carefree they all dine! When hunger hasn't gripped my gut, I've gorged on rotten meat. And when my throat has not been dry, Vinegar's been my treat. Please give me, Lord, a future hope That isn't a mirage. I look for peace, but pain attacks In relentless barrage. My spirit grumbles -- do take ear And help my soul to thrive. Mend this broke heart and give me strength To want to be alive.
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Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
Oh God, how long?
The ones with needle teeth that clamp themselves onto your brain, Accusing with shrill voices 'till you've all but gone insane -- Succumb not to despair as you stare them right in the face. Their threats are void of meaning to the one covered by grace. The ones that have enslaved you to a thirst for toxic wells, Guiding you as by leash, hunger consuming all your cells -- In desperation they wage war because their time is brief, For they know that the Son of Man is coming like a thief. The ones that feed and fester in the hearts of evil men, Devouring the innocent and brooding in their den -- Their woeful fates in Heaven's scrolls have already been sealed, For all the cruel shall soon be judged, and all the wounded healed. The ones to which the Earth seems small clutched in their ****** hands, Oppressing, stealing, killing, forming wicked schemes and plans -- Take heart, and rest your soul within the Shepherd's wings' caress! Some day, even their knees will bow, and their tongues too confess. Attempt they will to crush you, and to ***** our your faith's flame, But see how legions of them cower when they hear His name! Like roaches from the light they flee, His roar ceases their din. The darkness trembles before Him, for in the end, we win.
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Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 9:48 PM UTC
Demons
It was a sunny day in May When my hopes were stuck at sea Counting blessings for the day Waiting that grace might set them free I came across a horseshoe crab Life seemed as heavy as its shell Burdens tacking on the tab Waves relentlessly unquelled Flipped helplessly undisguised Grand purposes washed away Blindly withering to gull cries Despair cast around the bay My stare breaks misfortune’s luck Faith set aright by stronger hands Plodding heartened from the muck Sorrows evanescent in the sand A weakened creature found favor Now glides peacefully towards the deep Trusting I too have a Savior I surrender to His keep
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May 20, 2024
May 20, 2024 at 7:04 PM UTC
Weakened Creature
As I breathed in deep fresh air, its sharpness a timely kick to my lungs, I uttered words of praise to God – these words were unfeigned honest feelings. Instantly a smothering weariness slackened its grip, faith and nature the sure-fire tonic to fragments of a bruised soul. Overhead, Terns coasted: side to side like a pendulum. Swirling unseen, the wind stroked my exposed skin as the springy grass began to waltz between my uncovered toes – the sunlit reflections on a glassy brook unveiling a gaiety etched on my widening smile. Crisp water in cupped palms slapped against my butter-soft cheeks that flushed a plump-wine-red (full of fruitful vigour), and satisfied the thirst for assurance – invariably found within the Lord.
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May 30, 2022
May 30, 2022 at 12:36 PM UTC
Thirst No More
I've begun to summon a voice of my own but it still falls short when I need it the most. I still have so much left to learn and yet it just feels like I should already know all of it. I have only just begun to dig my own place in confidence and wonder and transparent faith. but every time I look up it seems I'm always losing my grip on more than I keep. I am not hopeless, but a little out-of-world, I spose. it's been a while since I've had a glimpse of where my path goes. (stay by my side, Lord, lend me Your hand. together we'll walk upon the dry land.)
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Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
voice
With morning’s dawn and dew, the blades of wet grass beckon unto me, to cleanse… soiled soles; as I stride across the silence of greenery, wondrous sparkling of unknown diamonds mesmerize my gaze; the wealth of my existence is enhanced, as I envision Christ, before His disciples, bent over their feet… ready to humbly serve.
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Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
Poem: Morning’s Dawn and Dew
The ugliness of unseemly Faith serves as an undesired deterrent and stumbling block to the lost; as our moral strength is spent, we’re more apt to be watched! The enemy will pounce as a lion, wanting to **** and to destroy our Hope; there’s no use trying when the challenges to humanity range from Life to Death. We must rise up and strive to do good; real Faith requires us to trust… in the Holy One, Who sent us. Therefore, let us live boldly! Let’s run into the daily battle and enjoy that we’re made holy!
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Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
Poem: Unseemly Faith
It is not our responsibility, to be carrying our sins daily; Christ took them upon Himself for our benefit, whereby we can move beyond… our fallen nature. Success isn’t based on ability, but on our reliance upon Yahweh! Repent from wickedness; cry unto Him, Who saves; study and apply His Word with diligence; ask for divine wisdom; trust Him and gain unimagined peace; His loving sway reinforces the subtle and genuine reality of a relationship with Him. We have been instructed to choose Life; a final death sentence awaits us, if we ignorantly or unwittingly insist on… carrying our sins.
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Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC
Poem: Carrying Our Sins
Like me, even that shining moon occasionally weeps, as we spend time remembering you; moments of nostalgia creep into our times of dreams and wistful thinking. And yet, there is a vast emptiness that stirs our spirits. We sorrowful souls, sob throughout the night; the coldness of dawn crystallizes our tears into the morning dew and its beauty encourages us… to cry even more. How can we bear the loss of you? The arid ground, greedily absorbs our sadness without visible remorse. Forgotten and lifeless cobwebs, with their torn threads, now adorn the empty landscape that marks the boundaries of our separation. Your absence is deafening; the moon and I discuss ideas about the taste of your salty tears, that you shed from mourning our shattered union. However, the moon remains unerringly quiet, regarding the time, you two, spend together! And I’m left with an impression of unresolved jealousy. Will you two… silently lament the isolation of our three aching hearts? Oh wait; why are there distant sounds of laughter, reverberating under this new moon, while these tears of mine, resume its unwanted flow?
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Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
Poem: You, the Moon and Me
We are being prepared for another world- one that we can’t imagine; the future will scare some people with fears unknown; being forced to trust an unseen God, to get over the tears of a lifetime of pain… seems to exceed human comprehension. Life can change us; we will gain experiences that stretch us beyond our comfort. He wants our companionship, to partner with wretched souls for His utmost glory. Now there’s another world, waiting on our appointed arrival… to join His story and bask in His Presence. We’ll observe wonders that will amaze us, including… the pure, eternal essence of Who, Yahweh is!
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Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC
Poem: Another World
When it comes to our Christianity, we’re to be like tethered lambs; ready to die for our Faith, while displaying grace, love and humility! Though we’re surrounded by wolves, our Great Shepherd can keep us safe in green meadows, under His watchful eye; it’s usually from ourselves… that we require the most protection. Nothing can separate us from Yahweh and His right hand; therefore, let’s offer genuine praise for Salvation and the promises expressed within His Word, including… Life over sin.
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Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
Poem: Tethered Lambs
The primary failure of… self-righteousness is that you become your own god; besides fouling true Faith, you’ll never walk in Love, since you’ll be the center of a personal firestorm; you’ll choose to manipulate others for satisfaction or gain; as a human tormentor, you’ll never possess a peace that’s real or everlasting. All attributes of character and humility will dissipate; unable to discover a release from Life’s miseries, you’ll become so isolated, that the numbness of your spirit will unwittingly beckon Death’s realm to be… the solitary fuel of your own destruction.
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Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Poem: Failures of Self-Righteousness
Are we not to be the… faint illumination of Christ, reflecting Him with actions of Love? As terrestrial beings, we’re continually mired by an encasement of clay; can our Faith be fired up by our relationship to our eternal Lord and Savior? Fake Christianity will be revealed in poor behaviors that can be recognized by anyone; as human candles, Faith can shine brightly. Avoiding personal scandals is achievable, when we’re purposed to live as Christ. After all, no one else can provide… everlasting Life!
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Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
Poem: Spiritual Earthshine
A poor perception of Christianity is the ongoing failure of the Faith to treat all people evenly within… a circle of inclusion; who will see past the shortcomings of humanity, in order to spiritually grow? Ideas of our accountability, accompanied by genuine, personal responsibility dictate that we treat every soul in the same manner of Love, without thoughts of the trivial attributes that separate us; under the control of God’s Kingdom, we remain equals. Since we’re supposed to serve one another, shouldn’t we help everyone with a mandate to perform God’s will?
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Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Poem: Circle of Inclusion
God is aware of the ugliness of our sin; not confessing to Him, ensures that misery will replace our joy; seriousness of the Human condition should not be an excuse that keeps us from reaching out to Him in a prayer of repentance. Could we allow… known imperfections to define us, when forgiveness is readily available? How can we choose to dismiss Salvation when we possess His holy breath and the chance to escape Death?
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Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 9:24 AM UTC
Poem: Prayer of Repentance
When will Humanity shed… his blinders of ignorance? Salvation can’t be found… outside of Christ’s death and glorious resurrection. Can our inherit arrogance, which is questionably based on the accumulation of data that’s carefully culled, be worth a future without God? Nothing we claim, stops Him from being the Alpha & Omega.
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Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
Poem: In No Other
The theologian's heart sits heavy in his chest. He has searched, sought, and out-thought the best. Yet, he has nothing to show for his quest but gray hairs and a book nest. Scoffers scoff as scoffers do. Such is expected, for the Way is few. The theologian needs not a pat on the back. Nor gold, for he has no lack. He knows that of making books there is no end, He has no credit by which to lend. Still he writes, and still he reads Still he taps, and still he kneads Until his heavy heart stops beating. Now he'll see if his theology was fleeting. Such it was if not God he's meeting and if not Christ he's greeting.
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Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Heart of a Theologian
There are times that I take You for granted, But You still stay with me and that’s what You wanted. I hurt You so many times, But in me Your love still shines. There came to a point that I doubted You, But You still want to make me new. You keep proving me that You want me, And that You always want to be. You never leave my side, Though I sometimes go out and be wild. You never grew tired of me, Though I keep on disobeying Thee. Forgive me for always disappointing You, And please help me to always let You. I admit I can’t do this alone, Even most of the times I do things on my own. Thank You and just please keep being patient with me, I know by faith, because and for You being tamed I will surely be.
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Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Because and For Thee
Some men seek flesh which does not belong to them. Others, gold, or colored paper worn extraordinarily thin. Still others covet gadgets and toys that tinker. Some merely are after the liberty to be a free-thinker. While I see the value of gold and liberty, One will grow old, while the other is found in tranquility. So then, as I sojourn, my eyes are set on the Trinity. And because of the pity of Divinity, I am already a citizen of that unseen city.
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Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
Sojourner
There He lay in the grave. Nay, but not for long. The Author of life had been written death. The light of God engulfed by the darkness of men. For three days, darkness appeared victorious. But such was an illusion. There exists no real victory in darkness, no true triumph in evil. The temporary rule of wrong is always doomed. And on that day when He arose, 'twas a reminder for those--who three days earlier had delivered blows--that while God's light may grow dim, it cannot be extinguished at the Devil's whim.
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Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
The Devil's Whim