In the book of Romans, the Apostle Paul says :
"Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God."

I do not know anything about God except that he was sure to not make us strong enough.
When people leave something, even if they don't see it, even if their memory forgets it so strongly that it's existence becomes less than it has ever been before, something in the world forgets how to grow.
Forgiveness is difficult.
Understanding is difficult.
But no one ever really has time for things that come easy.
Remember that we did not give the world it's color, we are only here to watch it change.


I am only here to show you that even in loss, even in darkness and ways and places that we may never understand, there is always something to see.
I wonder if everything in this world is connected in some way similar to that, and if we, in our most bare state of being, were once broken at the hip from the pieces of this world we hold most beautiful.

I know what the body sings, and what pushes blood inside people's arms and legs, how life and death is the only art that humanity is worthy of remembering. About the ending of things: is there any better way to die than lying on concrete, feeling your Life detach itself from your core and knowing nothing that you can hold on to is going to save you today, knowing that this is simply a conclusion of what was always there?
Remember: we never love anything enough to keep it alive,
and whether or not you want to believe it, you need more than love, because we are not built to withstand something so immense.
But in our lifetime, if we are lucky, we will find someone who makes you feel the way you do when you hear your Mother laughing from the living room.
How even the smallest ways to love things are greater than happy endings and how even in our greatest moments we are simply what we are.

Why is it that we never truly appreciate
The value of someone until it is too late?
A hundred flowers on a wintry grave site
A torrent of tears cried at midnight
Groanings of morning dawn prayers' sighs
Added together cannot ever realize
A past that has passed

Alas, that weighing debt
Of unreconciled regret, becomes a treasure
From which we measure
The relationships of today, tomorrow
Maturing into overflowing blessings
From that was empty sorrow

Starting over is never easy, especially when you've been dropped off
in the middle of nowhere.
How do I survive?
Looking around all I see are trees and dirt.
Far away I see what appears to be sand,. cactus and alittle village on the horizon.
It's evening, darkness is will soon be approaching.
Some type of shelter is needed, it's a musssssst.
I start wacking at trees and digging up dirt, will it be enough?
Will I be able to construct this dwelling before night?
Finally!
This dirt shack will have to do.
It's pitch black.
Is this a dream or a nightmare?
I hear frightening sounds,
Groanings
Someone's trying to beat down my door.
I go out of the side door, to take a look
I see a Zombie creature, I turn to run and see a creeper trying to sneak
up behind me.
Why did I venture out?
Had to fight.
I'm tired, made it back though.
A bed sure would be nice.
It's a jungle.
What am I doing out here?
MINECRAFT!!!!!

It has been a long stroll to freedom
So many years gone by
Thinking about how this day would go
Anticipation meets reality
Time to unmask the mystery

The mood is a concoction of wonder, delight and fear
Body, mind and soul in fearful agreement
The body succumbs to this inevitable lust
The thirst wins in the end

Finally the day has arrived
When the wood and the wall must collide
Something must give in
Something must break

Bitter and sweet ordeal
Blood must spill to seal the deal
Groanings of a joyous agony resound
Consummation of carnal souls

A soul tainted, a ****** corrupted
Nothing remains the same
Reality has not surpassed expectations
 Innocence forever shattered
This day eternally marked

I'll drag you to hades to dwell with me
In the garden of Persephone.
We'll dine on her fruit so we shall be
Lost in each other for eternity.
Elysium shall hold no sway with us
We'd rather watch the sufferings of Tantalus
Souls crossing Acheron will provide
Our music, a tortured lullaby
Their lamentations won't put us to sleep
Nor will their groanings cause us to weep
But they'll fill us with fury rooted in lust
We'll lie down on blood soaked fields the color of rust
Then we'll journey through Asphodel
As we travel back to our home in hell
I with you and you with me
In the garden of Persephone

I have no appetite
for pronouncements, platitudes
declarations, meditations and revelations
no patience for wisdom
and cogitations and much worse
regurgitations
no stomach for moanings and
groanings
musings, and working out meanings
much less about how your groin is today
I'd just like to
(like Renoir,  if I may,
just focus and work)
not to be anything,  no attempt
to be
just what is natural and easy
play and laugh
and when it's time
just *yawn and sleep

I do not write to enlighten others or to broadcast my own perspectives. I write neither to remember nor to be remembered. Writing is not my ambition; it is not my escape; it is not my hobby. It is my addiction.  I write to stave the shakes and pains that plague me when I do not. Writing indulges the demon fighting inside me, that creature clawing eternally at the bars of my soul. Though I try obediently to contain its groanings, to sit quietly in the verbal single dimension of society, the need cannot be ignored indefinitely. Eventually I must concede, must let it claw and tear gluttonously until what was once blank sheet now bleeds my deepest and most lucid revelations. I know that when this purging is over I will be left hollow, pensive and raw, but once I have begun I can only continue viciously, can only drink the carnage that I pen and savor it on my tongue, gurgling and laughing. Each work I create strengthens the obsession and claims another share of my existence, so that I live shadow-like between writings, playing a half-hearted charade. Like every addict, I secretly pine for the day when the game will reach its peak – when finally my demon will emerge triumphantly, sword in hand, and leave my dry and useless body lying in a gummy puddle of deep red inspiration.

something is stirring. keeping me awake.
whirling inside me.
the groanings of my prayers that can't be expressed in words.
i have to let it out.
my spirit is clawing out in hunger.
reaching for food from Your hands.
crying out to learn the real meaning of Love.
the strength to smile at the unfaithful
the courage to welcome the desolate.

my whole life, i've been near dead on the inside.
knowing the basics, the foundations of You
but never up to par
never where i should be
i haven't yet felt the fire in my bones,
the outpouring holiness,
the purity of my cleansed soul,
but i can sense it's so near.

named after wisdom, but can't learn the second and third steps.
i have felt that i must have been doing something wrong
for so long
i can't shut it out
i can't turn a deaf ear to it any longer
my God
you have known me from the womb, you have loved me before i was even conceived
a babe, called Your daughter
who could ask a greater priveledge?

and yet
i sit.
and strain my ears
and rasp at my throat but there are no words
to truly describe these feelings.


rest assured
you'll get no sleep from my eyes
until these holes are filled
until these flaws are made whole
until these walls are broken down
when the day comes where You make Yourself real to me
the day i've been longing for
the day i hear Your will and your power
your unfailing love
i will become Your servant at the highest extent of my ability
i will not falter
i will stay faithful

i can't afford
to stray from You
ever again.

Love is near.
Love is REAL.
Love is here to stay.
Forever.

I WILL STAY FAITHFUL

Screams, Sighings, groanings
I heard in whispers as it echoes in my soul
Fallen! We are, on the battlefield
Like an egg, smashed on a rocky surface
Our fate now decided by our foes
.
Cries I heard,
As the ****** of spears move through our hearts
Clattering of swords echoes, and vibrated off our arms
Waters I drank,
That flows from my eyes alongside with blood from my veins
Defeated we are! Captives we became.
.
Our women married off like harlots without bride prices
Our sons led off to be slaughtered like cows in the abattoir
Our gods disregarded like a king, naked in the market
.
We are defeated, but not defeated
For mothers will name their sons after us!
Men will bow and worship us like gods in temples!
Girls will scream our names when their lovers excite them
Wives  will sing our names when they gaze at their *** of Bush meats
For we are only defeated, not defeated.

.
Balogun David Tolulope
(drunk poet)
©️

I read a Thousand love sonnets,
Oh what grandoise thoughts I had of
You Pablo,
Somehow sitting beside an open fire,
Highly romanticised visions
Running through you in
Crystalline clarity of the human heart.
       Oh what wonderous mythic thoughts
I had until I went grocery shopping.
I see you Pablo Neruda in your
Naked truth,
A sun setting fatigue over you,
You scrawling about a list of food,
At first which I thought was the Poem.
     But this could not be the Poem,
Words cannot fluster a man like you,
     I followed for a while ,first in awe,
Then in a sad curiousity.
  What happend to this man
And the allusions of such brilliant
Women in white dresses that must
Dance through his corridors?
      He walks a tired walk,
Slowly approaching another figure.
And there was the plain truth
Of a plain man with the adventurous heart.
    " Did you get the pork chops?"
She asks him in a worn down voice.
    "Yes dear"

And in this stroke of reality
Where dreams come to swift the soul
Away into the portico on some purple
Glazed sunlit dusk,
    Or the woman seeking the warmth
From the benighted snow next to
A porcelain fire which seemingly
Births tiny star like embers that light
The eyes of the lovers,
    I realise that it is the escape that is poetry,
The words are groanings of the deepest
Nature of the person,
    And the truth is not necessary,
For the poem sets us free from what
We all seem to already know.

Yes.
The song
Of the crow
We loathe.

A grey flute
It has, and upon it
The coarse tunes
It does play.

What does it sing?
Is it self pity?


in praise
of God it does,
And beauty of nature.

man has
a beautiful pipe,
but sings only
Groanings, his grouses.

Text :Romans 8:26-27

26 Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. 27 Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God.

I have read this passage numerous times, but just recently after reading it, I saw something that has made a great impact upon me; the prayer ministry of the the Holy Spirit for us believers in Chirst.
In fact it has made a great difference in my prayer life. Take  a word for word look at this passage.
A. "Likewise, The Spirit helps us in our weakness"
  1. Likewise is a reference to the 25th vs. that is a reference to our
      having prayed for something, but is a long time coming,
     requiring us to have patience. So the Holy Spirit enables us to be
    strong with patience. This remindsme of Heb. 11:1 "Now faith is
   the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen"
   a. Most of us are weak in patience - I know I am; when I pray for
      something I want it yesterday if not sooner, and when a few
     days go by and  what I prayed for doesn't materialize, I just give
     up hope....
  b. But now I pray and thank the Holy Spirit for strengthening my
     hope. YOU PRAY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT? Yes I do, to GOD THE
    HOLY SPIRIT.
B. "For we know not what we should pray for as we ought."
  1. James warnes us about "praying and recieving not because we
     pray amiss."
  2 So I have started praying about something on my heart, "Dear
     Holy Spirit, please pray about.." whatever the subject is I have
     in mind.
   a. Example: Last week I learned of a brother looking for a  new job,
       so I prayed: " Dear Holy Spirit, please pray for a new job for so'n
       so. I thank you in Jesus  Name." The next Sunday he told the  
      SS class about a  new job he receved.  
b. Why did I pray those words? Look at our text again, the last part
   of it. "The Spirit Himself makes intercession for us"  
   1. My resonng is, if the Holy Spirit is going to make intercession
       for me, then it just makes sence to ask Him to pray for me, about
       what's on my heart.
c. The Holy Sririt makes intercession on our behalf wth "groanings",
    Our groanings, Our weepings, Our sighings, words we cannot
    utter...but the Holy Spirit understands the burden of our heart
d. IJn.5:14 tells us "that if we ask anything according to His Will,"
    but too often we do not know God's will about a matter - that's
   where the Holy Spirit's intercessory ministry comes in, so I pray:
   "Dear Holy Spirit, as you make itercession for me,  please pray for
    God's will about this matter, Thank you, in Jesus Name "
II. Since I started praying asking the Holy Spirit
    to intervene on my
    behalf,I have senced a presence of the Lord
   stronger than I had
   before; I have felt a peace and calmness
   surounding me, and joy
   that I cannot find words to describe.
Conclusion
    My friends, the greatest prayer warrior you
   can have is the Holy Spirit.

Pray for me Holy Spirit,
For I know not
How to pray
As I ought.

Make intercesson to God the Father
For me, I pray,
That I might know
His perfect will today
From Jerry Howarth's Book of Sermons
Please give me some slack on my spelling

When I did not know what to say, Jesus stepped up and uttered groanings.
Because he is the atonement to save me in my most stressful moments.
I hold the sword but He is my shield, and he stands beside so I don’t yield.
When I thought I did not have ability he told me I was wonderfully made and skilled.
By his stripes I am healed, Jesus is the seed that survived the thorns inside the field.
Those groanings became a Word, into the ear of God Jesus’ voice became heard.
Because by the time I kept believing breakthrough had already occurred.
I cried out to God and he said that Jesus was a different animal  to be in my nature.
Because he is the lamb that came to be my Lord and Risen Savior.
So with Jesus I would never waver, he is the Living Water that brings life flavor.
And the Word lived inside of my heart until it became the grown truth.
Because Jesus flew up to the above without needing a phone booth.

Possessed by departed saints

Convulsing in celibacy

Speaking and freaking for the Lord,

Like a cherub covering His throne

All that great furniture

Assembled in forced community

That holy Do-Si-Do

Prophetic tongues, groanings . . .


I doubt you, Mother Ann.

I doubt your revelation.

All you left are scattered souls,

Fading bonnets, empty meeting-halls,

Old innovations

In the stillness of Sabbathday.


Simple and rustic empty chairs

Awaiting the next

False prophet.