#faithandreflection
_Life is a wonder_ —no wonder I still wonder
how I made it to today. Life is what you make of it —
not like a butler who serves, but a self-made shape
you forge from struggle and grace.
We judge with our eyes, but on Judgment Day,
it won’t be our eyes that matter. And when that day
arrives —whether we walk or run to heaven’s gate —
know that love won't wear the form you tried to fit
into every heart.
To love in part means sometimes we must depart —
leave behind space wide enough for stars to breathe.
The emptiness you find may feel vague, but it’s where
meaning stirs quietly, and the hopes you laid on a lover
might be the very hope that led you astray.
We leave this place as ashes — but never to rest
in an ashtray. Because even dust has destiny,
and fire never forgets what it once warmed.
_Life is a wonder_ — in both a good and bad way.
And maybe that’s enough.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 2:08 PM UTC
I watch nostalgic shops come down and malls rise up—
_mauling_ the memories I once had of me growing up;
Old theatres turned into churches— looking fancy now,
as if church was always about that constant outward wow.
And I question if the practice echoes all that they preach—
the birth, the walk, the cross, the rise, and the reach
of Jesus—exactly what the Gospel of Luke is about—
But it's just loud; _more about, what a good look is about._
An unfamiliar reflection grins from this house—
built up for the buzz, and chasing every new bounce.
Busy like a bee's buzz, grinding daily with mugs in hand,
all of us are chasing a good kind buzz in a restless land.
But I knew my youth had quietly slipped away
when I stopped sprinting to match its pace each day…
I just pause and recall how life once came wrapped—
the best gifts were in the present, untouched, perhaps.
And to admire it all like a lover I once held tight—
a fleeting embrace, now only found in a silent night.
She’s both a memory and a moment I meant—
constantly arriving early, and urging me to repent.
So I write, not for fame, but for legacy's seed—
_literally a literary testimony_ – my children will read.
Not just someone who preached, loud and devout,
but one who lived it—so much they breathed it out.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 11:33 AM UTC