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#missionary
Heed, heed o trees I have a heart ready to set sail. Roar, the slow clouds roar their route to everlasting; I have packed my bags. I have steeled my eyes.
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Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 6:17 PM UTC
Go
you are paying attention to this, that is true, a fact to you. If you choose to play this game, this riddle, knock-knock joke life mission, imagine mission is message, earn or take as granted, all that's set before you, whatever's sold, grace is on the table. Who would ever walk away, without thinking, what if I take this chance, take this grace as given, free, what if what I give comes back to me, gen gen gentle generous generation in grave reality, sharp pointed, piercing reality as needle needs thread, this needs be said, I know, my mission is to stitch, just, in time, a tear torn from your soul that splashed in my past, so I sent this ahead, to wait for you.
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Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 3:19 PM UTC
Your tears precede your next
A naive missionary Trying to be visionary Did something real scary He went to North Sentinel Island A place inhabited by lost savages And now nobody can find him Because they violently ravaged him He had visions of healing And also God revealing He was worth revering After the savages hearing His apocryphal cheering Would stop their spearing Causing societal endearing But he arrived on the shore For a one sided war Of blood and gore Until he was no more This man of God Saw man as flawed And looked for applause By teaching glorious laws Of his divine cause But met flying claws He couldn’t pause Their brains were too narrow Much like their arrows That flew like war sparrows Into his bone marrow Spreading God’s love Without safety gloves Leads to push and shove Instead we must look above While giving others space Treating them with grace And not seeing it as a race Where their lifestyle must be replaced Or their brutal culture erased But be aware of the problems we face When we start to desperately chase Moments of transcendence And fame That will ultimately end us In shame
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Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
Missionary
Oh God, my God, I wish you were there, I wish I could leave here, without a care. Oh God, My God, we used to be friends, Your voice stopped calling, And I kept on falling, Oh God, I dreaded the day our love ends. Oh God My God, I want to touch Base, To feel once again, the warmth of your face. Oh God, My God, We fell out of touch, I became self-reliant, When your voice fell silent, Oh God, Why stop giving? Did I ask for too much? Oh God, my god, You left me alone, Alone to speak of a cold empty throne. Oh God, my god, like a ship lost at sea, I long for the war, I don’t fight any more, Oh god, hands over my eyes, but now I can see. Oh god, my god, I know you arnt there, I gave you my all, like longs needing air. Oh god, my god, books back on the shelf. I’ve been granted reprieve, I no longer believe, Oh god, there’s no god, so I speak to myself.
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Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Death of a missionary.
ive traveled here and there. ive seen incredible works of art and pieces of history scattered across the globe. never will i know "home", never will i fully belong, never will i not miss someone. a life full of adventures and new faces, i wouldn't trade it for anything. the pain is always there, but the memories will never fade. joy will always abound in the hope for the future and the days of the past. being a world traveler, a vagabond, has its troubles. but the rewards make it well worth it.
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Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
vagabond.
Be serpent shrewd and dove docile, my Teacher tells me and sends me, His sheep among wolves with nothing packed except a walking staff, but no gold is worth this good news my Master unmatched by silver, so I’m empty-handed but full-Spirited for His might in me somehow inside I feel Him living, as I travel places to preach a Kingdom coming to my people who wait with open doors to listen, my work a different kind of fishing, casting out with healing words reeling others in to follow Him.
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May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
On This Rock: Harvest
The taste of my teeth is repulsive All my fingers are jammed. Blood should not be leaking in his head. That red headed, freckled face kid was only doing the work of his god. That broken nosed saint laying in his hospital bed. I wonder if he wonders where his god went.
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Excuse me mam' there was an accident.
When Ebola’s fever begins to rage, The prognosis isn’t nice, Monoclonal antibodies are needed from three mice. The mice must first become exposed to a weakened viral strain. Their antibodies harvested and combined with those of man. Strangely the proteins that we need are grown best in a **** A modified tobacco plant will do the job indeed. The serum, that derives from plants, had not had human trials. (but eight of ten young chimpanzees endorse what’s in that vial.) Our missionaries, sick unto death were clearly in no position to refuse to try the medicine that might provide remission. Their rebound was miraculous. To Atlanta now they fly. Man finds himself in debt to a mouse. “Good job, little guy!”
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Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Of Men and Mice