Christ created us not to live , but to die to self daily.
Christ definition of successful children is the servants.
While the ones that lives in mansions, are the failing ones.
Christ defines his people wealth not on how much they keep.
But rather how much that they give away in his name.
Christ is the one that define us, by how much we will look like him.
Christ love for us is not the feel good kind of of love of the world.
But it is the unconditional love that he expects us to show to others as well.

Just when I think I'm doing fine
living my life without you
you show up in my dreams
and I have to suppress my every urge
to drive to your house,
knock on your door
and fall to your feet.
Just when I think I'm strong
every song I hear screams your name
and I realize I'm so weak. I'm weak.
So I'm sitting here resorting to writing poems
about how much I miss you
while you're sitting less than a mile away
doing God knows what
(Oh how I wish I knew).
This is all so new to me
and I don't know what to do
because every time before this
you were always the one to leave,
not me.

My lady cried
she holds a baby inside
I couldn't believe
in what she was feeling

denied the keep
her heart was screaming at me
oh what a night
and I couldn't be there

changing her mind
my heart it breaks every time
to hear her say
she wants me to be there

that this boy is mine
I've been crowned so many times
and in her eyes
I see our lives
fly by

& when he's born
I will wish I was home
so far away
from all that i'm known for
now

Take my hand
Take my hand
Don't fall down to
Your neverland

You're falling and you'll
Never land
So take my hand
Not neverland

We'll make it grand!
Completely grand
So take my hand
Take my hand

the idea left us dancing.

use what is already there,
make do and mend, linen

threads hang heavy, needles
preserved. small holes ready.

shall we mend the rags, or
pin them onto wool pads
ready for discovery.

these are the planning days,
the filming ways, of
lifts and wild imagininings.

the tabernacle wales.
the tannery.

sbm.

you looked me in the eyes
you apologized
you call me beautiful
you called me baby
you told me you missed me
you told me you were sorry
you held me tight
you wouldn't let me go
just like my feelings for you
which have started to grow

(a.b)

Keep your voice at the level of
Monastary; volume of
Clouds.
Let sleeping men lie.
When my knuckles turn
White around the wheel,
For God's sake shhh; I have  
A fuse of gasoline, diesel
In my gut and veinfulls of
Nitro.
The first thing the explosion
Kills, is the bomb.

You don't need gloves
To handle me; it's me
Your touch
Hurts.
It's my turn this morning.
I'm a porcupine with its
Fur on inside
Out.