Awe

Golden grain lies scattered about on a stonework floor out of place in the sacristy and that is the
Travesty Among holy vestments there is evidence of the slightest presence of the treasure that brought

This Meager amount just one godly person and that was only by accident on shoes that hurried past the
Harvest field from these prostrate seeds a silent cry is haunting every day and night a holocaust is taking

Place anew death it did strew among the whole of life depicted by a child’s dream it occurred when she
Was only twelve and at eighty six it was as vivid as it happened yesterday I let her tell you in her own

Words “at this point in my dream I found myself on a very narrow path it was so narrow I had to lift one
Foot slowly and place it exactly in front of the other foot or I would lose my balance how carefully I had

To walk I exercised even greater caution when I realized that the narrow walkway spanned a very deep
Chasm an abyss filled with great billowing waves of flame more terrifying than the sight of the flames

Was the realization that people were being tossed about in that raging infernal their screams of anguish
Were so freighting that I wanted to rush away from these sights and sounds of horror my fear of missing

A step on that narrow path and falling into that horrible pit made my progress slow and agonizing then
Out of that nightmare of screaming anguish came the unmistakable voice of somebody calling my name

Oma a familiar voice pleaded Oma go warn your father and my brethren to never come to this place
I am In Hell” she subsequently found out that this man who spoke was a fellow preacher in her father’s

Religion that had ***** a young woman and had been sent to prison and then died there but from this
Dream in the coming years she became a minister of the gospel a work she continued for well over

Fifty years and she stated that dream of hell was an ever driving force to reach the lost yes a genocide
Of people of uncommon value sun drenched fragrant is the fields that glistens nowhere in all of

Existence does any treasure compare to you and me the bleating of the sheep of his pasture rises
Through air and misty clouds carried most softly and deepened by the quantity of distress from sheep
That is the most helpless of creatures thus the need of Sheppard’s and labors to enter these golden

Fields nothing must be missed but we are losing a generation while the greatest church buildings
Compass the land without question richness pervades within every detail is complete fashionable

To a fault the pews numerous enough but emptiness carries the stamp your duty you are failing
When the riches of family and friends are missing out on being fed heavens sacred bread nothing

Else can and will sustain real life all else is illusion a spell that cloaks the sight of people in richest
Clothing that are no more than starved prisoners of a total war against humanity they blissfully

Parade on they can’t see the front of the procession in the far distance as it passes through the Gate of
Hell that glows and melts the screams within that touch it then sizzles keeping it secret and warning

Hidden from the dammed that are marching to their doom but oh the sacristy holds such wondrous
Items as vestments and other church furnishings and sacred vessels and parish records but as you open

The door you are blasted with the cold reality only a precious few enjoy their value and comfort a
Mocking laughter is heard as the devil throws his head back with contempt and laughs even harder

As he drives the multitude to the end that was supposed to be his and his demons end all through
History the travail of mans plight has shaken a few from compliancy the robe of righteousness never

Hangs in cloistered suffocating gloom no as Wesley and George Whitfield they went out into the open
Fields and brought heaven down as a thunder clap that shook England to its evil core where gin was

So prevalent it reached from the poorest hovel through the church and into the palace where many
Enemies evaded and were driven back but this enemy was an inner demon that only God could over

Throw this is a picture of how as these faithful men lifted the cross and its Holy standard high and
As there proclamation reached a high crescendo the low laborers came out of mine pits stood there and

As the spirit mystified them with loves deepest truths there tears made tracks down through their cold
Dust covered faces these vestments are the true and lasting outwear that indicates the brimming soul

Within shall ever be free

This is what I meant to write in the car Sunday night but I was overwhelmed and only tried to fix pain

And sorrow with the beauty of a child and its birth only one child can do that and He was born in a manger

all the **** from your mouth that you thought was inspiring
slowly broke me down until my hope was expiring
never opened my mouth to come back with inquiries
just kept my head down and wrote my thoughts in a diary
and you read it, pathetic,
invading my privacy
called me out for feigning sadness and my ‘bogus’ anxiety
cause “im a better dad than mine so shut up and be quiet kid”
“you’re lucky im the head of this dysfunctional dynasty”
well congratulations dad, you’ve earned notoriety
for forcing my respect in the form of compliancy
and disbelieving science and the facts of psychiatry
so i ran away from home to join the freaks of society
where else could i escape from your emotional piracy?

i held my head up,
propped up against false ideas,
and naive hopes.
I dreamt I came back to you.
everything repeated.
I found solace in the cold feeling of blood dripping from my fingertips,
stumbled upon comfort in a dark room with a light year between us.
and your love was only something I earned with compliancy,
and I continued to reach for fire knowing the burns would outweigh the warmth.
but if I am to pretend that I can cross a light year,
I will stride through dark bedroom after dark bedroom if it means I can find comfort
living in between your blows.
and if I am to pretend that what I consider living is of quality,
I will live in the light that comes before and after
your strikes bring darkness.
and if I live in my daydreams,
without end,
I will always split my skin to remind myself I bleed.
I will always reach for the flame to know that I burn.
I will always cross light years of nothingness to feel the comfort that hides in the dark.
I will live in the light years of nothingness,
I will come from nothingness,
I will be reborn from the ashes of what has burnt me.

Praying breeds compliancy to evil lost in a flowing yellow river of inhuman insanity,
steel rusted chains sway in the devils mine,
supernatural whispers constrict your atmosphere,
ghosts strangling your reality the driving force of your ambition,
skull crushing fear that swallows us whole,
nothing more than an illusion of fictional time and space,
we are crippled by seething imagination of our internal false prophets,
rage into the cold crisp night confronting eternal salvation, laughing in the face of disaster, where the sky’s call your name awaiting a patient death,
never look back, our lives forever expanding past comprehensible understanding,
time disappears, existence lives on

Her outward appearance is everything, though inwardly self-conscious.

She thrives on compliancy and  agreeability, any challenge; any question is a criticism! and she will take it to heart!

Each and every word has specific meaning, so don't use them loosely, for every one will be accounted for!

There will be less pleasure in words, you will not dare to speak, and then you will begin to lie!

You will feel the need to prove your love, but you will not be worthy! and this is the price you must pay!

Lured to lose your head and *** to a sticky end, then abandoned as dead wood, or as a bad lot!

I am undoing myself again
The string once held now yanked from its place
Uprooting more then it’s existence
Unraveling each thing
I thought saved me

The remnants
Not even balled up on the floor
But sprawled across each crevice
The light invasively seeping in with authority
Subtly forcing each fiber into compliancy

But not permanently

Waving the white flag of surrender
Inside the war rages on
Compliancy is a love language to me
Yet a rebel with his fist in the air
I love it when all the pieces fit
The picture of unity
But you and me could be far from it
Still my mouth is sealed with the treaty of peace.

Why?

DO you know that feeling when you ask someone for directions, even though you know where you’re going and get angry with yourself for not knowing?

DO you know that feeling when you apply for that job knowing you are marking down the day when you give that up and look for the next job?

DO you know that feeling when you capitulate to live a life that is scripted for you, that is on the roadmap that everyone clings to yet everyone despises?

DO you know that feeling when you question  “Well how did I get here?” And there is a ream of paper loaded with the answer, just waiting for response time. Why?

The idea that there is someone inside of you enabling that conversation with yourself. Two of us , always at odds because he knows your every move, predicts it and then mocks you when you **** up.

Speak like she wants, dress up like he wants, dance like they want, **** like indecisive wants, work like they want, love like we all want and think like it wants. Why?

Two of us, living day to day, never coming to an agreement because somehow your bluster shines and you don’t need help. You swagger on the boulevard, trust the way to get what you want, seize the road to riches and you are the king.

And you are the one that is chafed, you are the one that flies into a rage while driving on a road and have no empathy for how other driver feels. You are the one that boils over from nothing, from such a surprising place that has no origin and seeks all home. Why?

There is huge rage and you’re not sure why it is so big. It comes from nowhere and it pours out like a molten flow of vitriolic lava, seeking to scorch and burn, eager to destroy whatever stands in your way and you are scared. You are terrified because you don’t comprehend what it means but why it is so intimate and why it is so appropriate and yet it is heinous.

You’re a good person, you are full of love, you care for other people, you really want to make everything OK. Where does the poison come from and what is it’s purpose. Why?

Every now and then you have an exchange with that other guy. You conform to  interact thinking you compliancy and he is settled and will be acceptant. That conversation with yourself while you brush your teeth and wonder why YOU are not happy. And there is an answer that you find in your eyes that is deeper than the most distant empty space between the oldest stars in the universe.

He answers, “You know the answer *******, you have it all inside of you and yet you hide behind the fear.” The fear of not understanding why you can’t accept it, why you can’t accept the idea, why you can’t accept …me. Why?

It comes from the vault guy. He lives in a locked room with a huge steel door that can’t be opened from the inside. It’s dark and plain and blends together and offers no expanse. He has been there since you were old enough to form words and thoughts and fears. He can only come out when it is safe and non-judgmental and expected.

He is in this vault and HE is the one that is ******* ******. Why does he have to stay in there?  Why does he live alone with great thoughts but is sequestered in a patented place. Why can’t he be out and the one that lives in each moment and somehow understands that that is all there is? Why?

See, he is the cool one, with all the allure and charm and warmth. He is the one that writes great poetry. He is the one that turns everyday illusion into a Rorschach full of meaning and depth and beauty.

He finds it from his guts, from his heart and from the stream that is ceaseless and pure and unaltered. From a place of unfiltered joy and gratitude. And yet HE lives in a vault. Why?

All he wants is to walk in the same place, to see the same magic, to hear the lilt of the world, to touch the sensual electric of fine curves and silken hair, to smell the scent of a warm ocean breeze under a cavernous full moon. To be treated with love and compassion and understanding.

To be accepted for who he really is. Do you understand?

Why not?

finally, i understand peace is a price too high to pay. continual compliancy is not a sign of consistency or of love. indifference is more painful than goodbye, and forgiveness is not something many are willing to do just as compassion is a muscle so is letting go so is admitting to seeing the steps you took of your own free will to destroy your own self worth. simple and benevolent the truth will find you scrape at your insides, stick its finger in your wounds
and reveal what still aches