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zebra Oct 2017
Here is a primer on the history of poetry

Features of Modernism

To varying extents, writing of the Modernist period exhibits these features:

1. experimentation

belief that previous writing was stereotyped and inadequate
ceaseless technical innovation, sometimes for its own sake
originality: deviation from the norm, or from usual reader expectations
ruthless rejection of the past, even iconoclasm

2. anti-realism

sacralisation of art, which must represent itself, not something beyond preference for allusion (often private) rather than description
world seen through the artist's inner feelings and mental states
themes and vantage points chosen to question the conventional view
use of myth and unconscious forces rather than motivations of conventional plot

3. individualism

promotion of the artist's viewpoint, at the expense of the communal
cultivation of an individual consciousness, which alone is the final arbiter
estrangement from religion, nature, science, economy or social mechanisms
maintenance of a wary intellectual independence
artists and not society should judge the arts: extreme self-consciousness
search for the primary image, devoid of comment: stream of consciousness
exclusiveness, an aristocracy of the avant-garde

4. intellectualism

writing more cerebral than emotional
work is tentative, analytical and fragmentary, more posing questions more than answering them
cool observation: viewpoints and characters detached and depersonalized
open-ended work, not finished, nor aiming at formal perfection
involuted: the subject is often act of writing itself and not the ostensible referent

............
Expressionism

Expressionism was a phase of twentieth-century writing that rejected naturalism and romanticism to express important inner truths. The style was generally declamatory or even apocalyptic, endeavoring to awaken the fears and aspirations that belong to all men, and which European civilization had rendered effete or inauthentic. The movement drew on Rimbaud and Nietzsche, and was best represented by German poetry of the 1910-20 period. Benn, Becher, Heym, Lasker-Schüler, Stadler, Stramm, Schnack and Werfel are its characteristic proponents, {1} though Trakl is the best known to English readers. {2} {3}

Like most movements, there was little of a manifesto, or consensus of beliefs and programmes. Many German poets were distrustful of contemporary society — particularly its commercial and capitalist attitudes — though others again saw technology as the escape from a perceived "crisis in the old order". Expressionism was very heterogeneous, touching base with Imagism, Vorticism, Futurism, Dadaism and early Surrealism, many of which crop up in English, French, Russian and Italian poetry of the period. Political attitudes tended to the revolutionary, and technique was overtly experimental. Nonetheless, for all the images of death and destruction, sometimes mixed with messianic utopianism, there was also a tone of resignation, a sadness of "the evening lands" as Spengler called them.

Expressionism also applies to painting, and here the characteristics are more illuminating. The label refers to painting that uses visual gestures to transmit emotions and emotionally charged messages. In the expressive work of Michelangelo and El Greco, for example, the content remains of first importance, but content is overshadowed by technique in such later artists as van Gogh, Ensor and Munch. By the mid twentieth-century even this attenuated content had been replaced by abstract painterly qualities — by the sheer scale and dimensions of the work, by colour and shape, by the verve of the brushwork and other effects.

Expressionism often coincided with rapid social change. Germany, after suffering the horrors of the First World War, and ineffectual governments afterwards, fragmented into violently opposed political movements, each with their antagonistic coteries and milieu. The painting of these groups was very variable, but often showed a mixture of aggression and naivety. Understandably unpopular with the establishment  — denounced as degenerate by the Nazis — the style also met with mixed reactions from the picture-buying public. It seemed to question what the middle classes stood for: convention, decency, professional expertise. A great sobbing child had been let loose in the artist's studio, and the results seemed elementally challenging. Perhaps German painting was returning to its Nordic roots, to small communities, apocalyptic visions, monotone starkness and anguished introspection.

What could poetry achieve in its turn? Could it use some equivalent to visual gestures, i.e. concentrate on aspects of the craft of poetry, and to the exclusion of content? Poetry can never be wholly abstract, a pure poetry bereft of content. But clearly there would be a rejection of naturalism. To represent anything faithfully requires considerable skill, and such skill was what the Expressionists were determined to avoid. That would call on traditions that were not Nordic, and that were not sufficiently opposed to bourgeois values for the writer's individuality to escape subversion. Raw power had to tap something deeper and more universal.

Hence the turn inward to private torments. Poets became the judges of poetry, since only they knew the value of originating emotions. Intensity was essential.  Artists had to believe passionately in their responses, and find ways of purifying and deepening those responses — through working practices, lifestyles, and philosophies. Freud was becoming popular, and his investigations into dreams, hallucinations and paranoia offered a rich field of exploration. Artists would have to glory in their isolation, moreover, and turn their anger and frustration at being overlooked into a belief in their own genius. Finally, there would be a need to pull down and start afresh, even though that contributed to a gradual breakdown in the social fabric and the apocalypse of the Second World War.

Expressionism is still with us. Commerce has invaded bohemia, and created an elaborate body of theory to justify, support and overtake what might otherwise appear infantile and irrational. And if traditional art cannot be pure emotional expression, then a new art would have to be forged. Such poetry would not be an intoxication of life (Nietzsche's phrase) and still less its sanctification.  Great strains on the creative process were inevitable, moreover, as they were in Georg Trakl's case, who committed suicide shortly after writing the haunting and beautiful piece given below

................
SYMBOLIST POETS
symbolism in poetry

Symbolism in literature was a complex movement that deliberately extended the evocative power of words to express the feelings, sensations and states of mind that lie beyond everyday awareness. The open-ended symbols created by Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) brought the invisible into being through the visible, and linked the invisible through other sensory perceptions, notably smell and sound. Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98), the high priest of the French movement, theorized that symbols were of two types. One was created by the projection of inner feelings onto the world outside. The other existed as nascent words that slowly permeated the consciousness and expressed a state of mind initially unknown to their originator.

None of this came about without cultivation, and indeed dedication. Poets focused on the inner life. They explored strange cults and countries. They wrote in allusive, enigmatic, musical and ambiguous styles. Rimbaud deranged his senses and declared "Je est un autre". Von Hofmannstahl created his own language. Valéry retired from the world as a private secretary, before returning to a mastery of traditional French verse. Rilke renounced wife and human society to be attentive to the message when it came.

Not all were great theoreticians or technicians, but the two interests tended to go together, in Mallarmé most of all. He painstakingly developed his art of suggestion, what he called his "fictions". Rare words were introduced, syntactical intricacies, private associations and baffling images. Metonymy replaced metaphor as symbol, and was in turn replaced by single words which opened in imagination to multiple levels of signification. Time was suspended, and the usual supports of plot and narrative removed. Even the implied poet faded away, and there were then only objects, enigmatically introduced but somehow made right and necessary by verse skill. Music indeed was the condition to which poetry aspired, and Verlaine, Jimenez and Valéry were among many who concentrated efforts to that end.

So appeared a dichotomy between the inner and outer lives. In actuality, poets led humdrum existences, but what they described was rich and often illicit: the festering beauties of courtesans and dance-hall entertainers; far away countries and their native peoples; a world-weariness that came with drugs, isolation, alcohol and bought ***. Much was mixed up in this movement — decadence, aestheticism, romanticism, and the occult — but its isms had a rational purpose, which is still pertinent. In what way are these poets different from our own sixties generation? Or from the young today: clubbing, experimenting with relationships and drugs, backpacking to distant parts? And was the mixing of sensory perceptions so very novel or irrational? Synaesthesia was used by the Greek poets, and indeed has a properly documented basis in brain physiology.

What of the intellectual bases, which are not commonly presented as matters that should engage the contemporary mind, still less the writing poet? Symbolism was built on nebulous and somewhat dubious notions: it inspired beautiful and historically important work: it is now dead: that might be the blunt summary. But Symbolist poetry was not empty of content, indeed expressed matters of great interest to continental philosophers, then and now. The contents of consciousness were the concern of Edmund Husserl (1859-1938), and he developed a terminology later employed by Heidegger (1889-1976), the Existentialists and hermeneutics. Current theories on metaphor and brain functioning extend these concepts, and offer a rapprochement between impersonal science and irrational literary theory.

So why has the Symbolism legacy dwindled into its current narrow concepts? Denied influence in the everyday world, poets turned inward, to private thoughts, associations and the unconscious. Like good Marxist intellectuals they policed the area they arrogated to themselves, and sought to correct and purify the language that would evoke its powers. Syntax was rearranged by Mallarmé. Rhythm, rhyme and stanza patterning were loosened or rejected. Words were purged of past associations (Modernism), of non-visual associations (Imagism), of histories of usage (Futurism), of social restraint (Dadaism) and of practical purpose (Surrealism). By a sort of belated Romanticism, poetry was returned to the exploration of the inner lands of the irrational. Even Postmodernism, with its bric-a-brac of received media images and current vulgarisms, ensures that gaps are left for the emerging unconscious to engage our interest

......................

.
IMAGIST POETRY
imagist poetry

Even by twentieth-century standards, Imagism was soon over. In 1912 Ezra Pound published the Complete Poetical Works of its founder, T.E. Hulme (five short poems) and by 1917 the movement, then overseen by Amy Lowell, had run its course. {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} The output in all amounted to a few score poems, and none of these captured the public's heart. Why the importance?

First there are the personalities involved — notably Ezra Pound, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams {6} {7} {8} {9} — who became famous later. If ever the (continuing) importance to poets of networking, of being involved in movements from their inception, is attested, it is in these early days of post-Victorian revolt.

Then there are the manifestos of the movement, which became the cornerstones of Modernism, responsible for a much taught in universities until recently, and for the difficulties poets still find themselves in. The Imagists stressed clarity, exactness and concreteness of detail. Their aims, briefly set out, were that:

1. Content should be presented directly, through specific images where possible.
2. Every word should be functional, with nothing included that was not essential to the effect intended.
3. Rhythm should be composed by the musical phrase rather than the metronome.

Also understood — if not spelled out, or perhaps fully recognized at the time — was the hope that poems could intensify a sense of objective reality through the immediacy of images.

Imagism itself gave rise to fairly negligible lines like:

You crash over the trees,
You crack the live branch…  (Storm by H.D.)

Nonetheless, the reliance on images provided poets with these types of freedom:

1. Poems could dispense with classical rhetoric, emotion being generated much more directly through what Eliot called an objective correlate: "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked." {10}

2. By being shorn of context or supporting argument, images could appear with fresh interest and power.

3. Thoughts could be treated as images, i.e. as non-discursive elements that added emotional colouring without issues of truth or relevance intruding too mu
...............
PROSE BASED POETRY
prose based poetry

When free verse lacks rhythmic patterning, appearing as a lineated prose stripped of unnecessary ornament and rhetoric, it becomes the staple of much contemporary work. The focus is on what the words are being used to say, and their authenticity. The language is not heightened, and the poem differs from prose only by being more self-aware, innovative and/or cogent in its exposition.

Nonetheless, what looks normal at first becomes challenging on closer reading — thwarting expectations, and turning back on itself to make us think more deeply about the seemingly innocuous words used. And from there we are compelled to look at the world with sharper eyes, unprotected by commonplace phrases or easy assumptions. Often an awkward and fighting poetry, therefore, not indulging in ceremony or outmoded traditions.
What is Prose?

If we say that contemporary free verse is often built from what was once regarded as mere prose, then we shall have to distinguish prose from poetry, which is not so easy now. Prose was once the lesser vehicle, the medium of everyday thought and conversation, what we used to express facts, opinions, humour, arguments, feelings and the like. And while the better writers developed individual styles, and styles varied according to their purpose and social occasion, prose of some sort could be written by anyone. Beauty was not a requirement, and prose articles could be rephrased without great loss in meaning or effectiveness.

Poetry, though, had grander aims. William Lyon Phelps on Thomas Hardy's work: {1}

"The greatest poetry always transports us, and although I read and reread the Wessex poet with never-lagging attention — I find even the drawings in "Wessex Poems" so fascinating that I wish he had illustrated all his books — I am always conscious of the time and the place. I never get the unmistakable spinal chill. He has too thorough a command of his thoughts; they never possess him, and they never soar away with him. Prose may be controlled, but poetry is a possession. Mr. Hardy is too keenly aware of what he is about. In spite of the fact that he has written verse all his life, he seldom writes unwrinkled song. He is, in the last analysis, a master of prose who has learned the technique of verse, and who now chooses to express his thoughts and his observations in rime and rhythm."

.............
OPEN FORMS IN POETRY
open forms in poetry

Poets who write in open forms usually insist on the form growing out of the writing process, i.e. the poems follow what the words and phrase suggest during the composition

This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification

‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation

It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing


A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
Fulfillment
We’re chasing


We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
Deep urges
Heart racing

Driven
By sensations


Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting

This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of *******


The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
Once out
and displaying

It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation

A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
Destroying
the bedding

All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading


Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
Volcanic
eruption

That lasts the duration
Loud gasp
We unlock

Filled with gratification
Written: July 8, 2018

All rights reserved.
Noel Oct 2013
The Circle of the Mushroom Ring:
Apocalyptic Sanctification

Feasting I wonder when the crumble will begin?
Alas we wait with our circle like friend.
Darkness entwined the vines where I sit
This shall be a night we gnomes won't forget.

History, mystery they all fall down
The human like creatures know nothing in town
for when we feast from this beautiful ring
all us gnomes will dance and sing.

Singing of terror in shadows they fall
creeping through forests watching them all.
I feel the time it grows too near
my senses feel nothing but their unwelcome fear.
Burn...

Fire to fire and dust to dust
Burn the village with pleasant disgust
Reap what you sow and scream what you plead
Ashes they fall, ashes they bleed.

Our minds are tuned with the ring of fate
We are the gods we create.
A mindless journey to tame the souls
to fill our empty heart-seeking holes.

Chanting and dancing we cheer through the streets
the wind of fire such a beautiful beat.
The cries of the children echo in flame
as I mock there howls with laughter of pain.

Steady I walk designing it all
Flooded by voices of the gnomes violent call.
Releasing the rage, spear-stick in my hand
right through the head, bold where I stand.

The village simmers but we do not
Tearing apart what we feel should rot.
The ground is no place for the blood of men
ashes to ashes amen to amend
The cravings wont stop, or my eyes will bleed.
for the fate of mankind is the mushroom ring.

-Do not forgive us for we have not sinned
We bless mother earth through our beautiful wind.-
Kelsey Long Jul 2014
Let us experience what love is
That ever winding light
A phantom of wrong
But what else could be wrong
A perfect picture of sanctification
The beauty of the garden
It comes down to the love of two
A divine picture, the elegance of love
A perfect pure
A shining light
A love of joy
And a waiting pain
Bind us, love.
Hide us away
Quiet our eyes
Put our souls on hold
Seal what's yours
And wait from the start
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
(Frederick returned at his castle becoming a lonely man.)
Frederick was laid on the bed, seeing that beast in his room.
'It does no harm', he thought. It was tall in the evening gloom.
He was hearing the bells ringing while trying to understand
Why in front of God, this love and marriage were banned.

He fell asleep dreaming that while his stallion was grazing
In the green grass, his wife, Jezebel, was lying in the meadow,
The castle disappeared, while the time changed the life by rising,
And in the mirror's fate, that cruel reality remained only a shadow.

A life sound replacing the silence, which with a throaty grumble reigned
Touched Jezebel, and he embraced her, while she was sleeping there.
He saw that those two red icing eyes were keeping her enchained.
He woke her up with a kiss, and her sighs disappeared in the air.




She saw him, and said,' it’s like I wake up from a long twilight sleep.'
The surrounding assaults me with his new bright .This I’m really sensing.'
He smiled, ‘Sometimes, the memory of these kinds of dreams I keep.'
'It's a beast here envisioning me, and making the string's bad fate sing.'
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
(The ceremony of John’s coronation as a regent.)
The festive procession included the bodyguard, the table knaves,
The royal servants, the aristocrats, the dignitaries, and fighting braves.
The aristocrats carried a tabletop, on which the king's dress and jewels
Were laid out, and the councillors followed them according to the rules.

The insignia was carried by the dignitaries and displayed for the public,
Though, they wanted the kingdom temporarily to become a republic.
They carried the scepter, the golden cross, the golden eagle, the crown,
And the sword to the altar, while using words that end with a frown.

The archbishop and two of his suffragans accompanied the new king
Being followed by the bishops, abbots and clergy, who started to sing.
The procession entered the church, and the cardinal led John to a chair
In front of the altar in order to hear the sermon, the epistle and the prayer.

After the obligations about doing justice to clergy, widows and orphans,  
The king bound himself to demand nothing from his people or from persons
Visiting the kingdom that contradicted the divine and human rightness.
The new king promises to abolish the evil laws for the moral lightness.

The archbishop appealed to John to lead a good government, to care
For peace, and to protect the church. John said,'Before God I swear'.
He put his hands on a Bible, and the archbishop anointed his hands.
John said, 'I'll ask my dignitaries to collect from people their demands.’

The crown and the sword were on the altar to be used for consecration
The king was ready for the reception of the insignia during coronation.
After sanctification, John retired to a room to be dressed in his royal attire.
Returning to the church, he listened to the main sermons and the choir.

Kneeling before the altar, from the archbishop he received the sword
With words that resemble a pertinent prayer addressed to The Lord.
Drawing the sword from its sheath, he swung it in the four directions.
During the coronation, the still kneeling king asked for God's protection.

The royal councillors helped to place the crown on their king's head.  
The magnates symbolically extended their hands towards it, and said,
'The king receives the scepter and the orb!' The archbishop handed him.
At last, the king read loudly  the Gospel , and the choir sang a hymn.

The crown devolved on a minor being too young his duties to execute.
Requiring her protectorate, to govern in John's name she stood resolute.
Surah secured the throne for John to avoid the future succession struggle .
The handle of the political turmoil and  the intrigues she had to juggle.

Surah schemed to gain power, and to rule the country in John’s name
Thus, she defeated  the neighboring countries being hungry for fame .
The subdued  states could not regain their independence again.
This way, the neighboring kings became vassals during John's reign.

John's quick , easily wounded temper led him to make rash decisions.
Even so , the death of all the successors became Surah's  inner visions.
She made him feel slighted, when people didn't jump to his commands.
He lacked the patience for dealing with his administration's demands.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2017
There's no reason
To suffer loss.
Jesus died at such a cost.
Go to His feet
Upon the cross
Be refined.
Remove the dross.
Though by the waves
You're turned & tossed
It is horrendous
To be lost.

You endure and wonder why.
You suffer storms
And glowering skies
You see your loved ones
Leave & die.
You think you're free...
It's all a LIE
All the while
You weep & cry
Life is short
It's just a sigh...

Why have this hardship
All for naught?
Things aren't pointless
As you're taught!
Try to give this
Poem thought...

If you're born of God
You have a choice
Hear this message!
Hear my voice!
Forsake transgression
Every vice
You may want to
Read this twice.

We're beset by enemies
Who will do
Just as they please
We may burn
We may freeze
We may get sick
To cough & wheeze
We are beset
By some disease
But there's a mindset

And it FREES!

I'm talking now
To those elect
I hope it is
Of some effect
It will help in all respects!
Satan's power is inept!
You are GOD'S
And you are kept.

If you are His
You are His prize!
Don't listen to
All Satan's lies
Be circumspect
Be ye wise
Know God's power
Sanctifies

You will endure
All kinds of trials
Burning flames
High & wild!
God's not always
Soft & mild
He will chastise
A wayward child!

For that furnace
Burning flames
Burns the dross from
Those ashamed
This is no joke!
It's not a game!
You have God's calling...
BLESS HIS NAME!

He will heat you
Young or old
He will heat you
Weak or bold
He will refine you
Just like gold.


But there's a purpose
To the pain
To this fate we are constrained
So our love cannot be feigned!

But

He catches tears
Which fall like rain...


Of this fact you can be sure.
It will help you to endure.
He wants His Bride
To be pure.

When he sees
Your metal shine
Pure of body... Pure of mind
And to your mirror
He's inclined

He will see your
Beauty. Grace.
Because He'll see

HIS PERFECT FACE.



SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/31/2017
I have been doing a Bible study with a dear friend and sister in Christ. Because I have been enduring so many trials, we've been studying Romans 8. And many other scriptures, too many to mention here. But the study has been all about why Christians have to endure such suffering. This world, when it fell, became cursed. Everything changed. Adam had to work the soil by the sweat of his brow, and Eve had to give birth with much pain and hardship. The ground was cursed. Evil things came on to the world. And evil men and women. There is no avoidance of this fact. One must face it. But facing it with joy is a completely different thing. There is only one way to be joyful in this life while facing great hardship. God. The Father Son and the Holy Spirit. Jesus sent a comforter to help us through the agony of life. The Holy Spirit also bestows wisdom so we can sometimes avoid some of the pitfalls that may beset us.  The Holy Spirit knows all things. So you can have words of knowledge. I have experienced this. I've known things that there was no way I could have even extrapolated them. I don't know if there is this certain power that Satan can give people too. I imagine so since he can approximate everything God does. But there is a huge difference between divination and words of knowledge. Anyway, back to my point. The Holy Spirit also comforts. If you keep your eyes on God, Jesus, as you're going about your day, facing the struggles that you have head on, you will find that the tasks you have and all the insults to your Humanity will be unable to distress you. You will find patience in all things. And you will find joy and peace. if you lean on God and do everything unto Him, you will be much happier!

It's the difference between passing a kidney stone and birthing a baby. When your time of pain and sorrow is done, you have something to be joyous about! It's the difference between hard labor doing a senseless task and building a bridge. You have hope and joy of the other side of that construct! And what is the other side of the bridge for us believers? Heaven. And the Glorious Prospect of being with Jesus for all eternity. Having glorified bodies that will never get sick or be in pain. We will never grow old and we will never cry. What a glorious thing! but my favorite Prospect is Jesus. I can hardly wait for his return! I just don't want to be embarrassed about my service here on Earth. I want to hear him say,

"Well done good and faithful servant!"

Amen? ...AMEN!!!

I just want to thank everybody who's been reading me. The response to my poetry has been awesome! I thank you all!

I'm going to be reading tonight, God willing.
May He bless you all until then!
Jaye Bennett Oct 2011
Vacant. Empty. Twisted. Lacking.
Chills shoot though my body filling the cracks whatever is left
Let go of the Meaning of LIFE and one is lost

Worried. Angered. Freaked. Spinning.
Words jotted down upon an empty page to show giving proof to rage
Reality is no kind reminder in correction of humanness

Stupidity. Irony. Pathetic. Foolish.
These eyes have absorbed from the outside world all which is meaningless
Vibrant life left behind to retrieve if one is wise

Hope. Love. Joy. Peace.
Never take the God-given gifts taken for granted or hard ways shall teach
Throw them aside as ******* and despair will find what's left

Trash. Pathetic. Waste. Shameful.
Such trash is how I perceive some to view my vehemency
No integrity do they see in what these eyes hold scared

Purity. Integrity. Honesty. Valiancy.
Which spring from the soul and mind diluted from ones first breath in the flesh
Access to God diluted from what cannot be achieved

Sovereignty. Omniscience. Omnipresent. Agape.
Witness madness for what God has been met first hand is just in righteousness
Full of grace and mercy to those who Seek Him

Loving. Wise. Holy. Eternal.
To those Who serve Him He gives of Himself correcting those He loves
Comfort is naught promised for character is His measure  

Sanctification. Tried. True. Loyalty.
Purifying His people through teaching His ways is the foremost goal
As choice gold refined and proved accordingly
I started this poem while one of my closest friends at the time was in B.T.
SøułSurvivør Jan 2015
~~~

I pray this every morning.
And with every ♥ I put on your
Site I ask God to remember this
Prayer for you.

Creator Father,

Jehovah Rohi ~ our Shepherd

Jehovah Nissi ~ our banner

Jehovah Rophe ~ our healer

Jehovah Jireh ~ our provider

Jehovah Shalom ~ our peace

Jehovah Shammah ~ our ever present help in times of trouble

Jehovah Tsidkenu ~ our righteousness

Jehovah M'Kaddesh ~ our sanctification


God in all your manifestations
Be with my friends today.

Give them
emotional
mental
physical
spiritual
relational (interpersonal)
marital
******
financial
educational
employmental­
creative


healing, growth and restoration.
Make every aspect of their humanity
WHOLE. HEALED. DELIVERED.

Let no weapon formed against them
prosper as it says in Isaiah 54:17

Let all who look upon them
do so with favor.

Place warring angels all around
them to protect them.

Put your loving arms around them
and bring them hope.

In Jesus Christ's Name I pray,

*AMEN
I don't like to broadcast my
spirit life ordinarily.
But with each ♥ and thought
Towards you this prayer is
Being heard by God.

Some may not believe.
But I thought that you
Should know anyway.
There are many people who
Are really struggling these days.
I hope that this brings you
Comfort that someone cares.
And I have news for you...

... SO DOES GOD.
Fear is what we know not
A future expected to rain hails
When no roof covers your head
And blankets not warm enough
To protect you from the strong winds

You fall to know your knees and plea
To a higher force that bends ether
Moving the wheel of time with sun
Separating darkness from light
Hoping it crafts you out of your wooden self

You set your heart right,
Feet and hands clean
And wait for the eclipse
Lunar or solar, moving stars
Changing seasons, a new start

And so, to live a worthwhile,
I acknowledge my fears,
Plea to a higher force of unlimited energy,
And set myself right for the rapture
The unknown occurrence of opportunity
All I need is one strike
Just one
Depression, concussion, vague delusions.
Visions, combustion, surreal illusions.
Confusion, confinement, clear conclusions.
Depression, demoralization, epitome of exclusion.

Twirls and Whirls, Headaches and Heartaches.
(in between) B a l a n c e and D   i s o   r i en tat i o  n ;
Insomnia, phantasmagoria, and distinct pseudomania.
Sought and fought, dear “Soli Deo Gloria”.

Salvation, Submission, concrete Sanctification.
Then Forsaken, but now Forgiven.
Religion, Redemption and now: Relation.
To testify, evangelize and to show His glorification.
To see more, visit http://www.plighttowrite.wordpress.com
sinner to sanctification
reason over revulsion
reaction begets agitation
converting intransigence
drowning in sin
flailing for a life raft

Music: Pete Seeger
John Brown's Body

jbm
Oakland
010913
Frieda P Feb 2014
Haunted in my flagrant dreams,
    awake on hallow'd ground
you watch me breath
        as I seek you out
cold spirits taunted past
           spasmodic verses chant
hollow insides afraid to sleep
  your  sanctification renders me
                  uncomfortably conscious
numb within breath's shallow inhale
       undone in the nothingness of rhyme
   fearing truth's brutal reality
     bewailing in grief's heartfelt desire
pull me up to new sight'd heights
   in your wayward plight's surrender
       save me from this cruel humanness
My patience is exasperated
So negative connotations
Are analytical advice, on a diagram of ******
for life as AnNotation

Used as emphatic confirmation
That my formations deformed,
so be warned, you won't be warmed
by hearing I've conformed

To be socially reborn or Reformed
no Solubility just scorn
Death of Altruism not reborn
My attempt to succeed is Forlorn

****** without pleasure like ****
With an actress who's *****
Unable to reject the amorous nature
Of the advancement taking place

Only to try to post placate
But u can't humorously play hate
That's like calling *******
a play date, and tho karma may take

Action a day late
It'll subtract your pay rate
And I try to listen when they say wait
Otherwise I Trade faith

For fortune so pray fate
Has Infallibility and acts
With revenge and intends to ignore
Its Sanctification on your behalf

But without assured Omniscience
Or Predestination I'm left
Wit bitter taste from various Mongrels
so nefarious I wish for death

Developing an Aversion to breath
A Discrepancy now remains
Some say lifes a gift and it contradicts
when I say it's inhumane

A reality based on haste purgatory
Where narcissists splurge on glory
And act like a real life purging story
living to fill their urge for gory

Temptations and never hoarding
Desires to control with moderations
like earths resource no Conservation
But this is just my Observation

Or maybe there's no correlation
and I just **** a curation
Maybe my pessimisms Pervasion
Has damaged me for the duration

Of life never to vacation
From my imprisoned state
So internally conflicted I'm eternally
Restricted to unsolicited hate
HEK Nov 2012
Picture in me the ravening beast
and you’ll have a sketch of my character;
though I’ll warn you
it is not I who stalks deadly in the night,
looking for soft flesh on fleeing feet
and the taste of fear.
I save my prowling
for the scullery door and
the elusive glow of the hot oven.
I am the Thing That Scuttles,
the Devourer of Grains,
a card carrying member of the Cheese Sanctification Society.
(Progenitor of Pestilence, too, if you want to get fancy).
Stop up your cracks and close your cellar doors.
Anything less than a full lock down
I consider an invitation.
There are no spells to keep me away for long.
No beauty dares kiss my lips
and try to change me.
Isn’t that grand?
I know of no creature more comforted
by their own monstrosity than I.
This was a very silly poem. I don't know where it came from, but...well, that's poetry for you. PS: If you get the "Cheese Sanctification" joke, you win a lot of virtual points!
Renae Dec 2013
Without flaw
Selflessly
Worthy of life yet
Willingly
With untainted love
A sacrifice
Not with judgment
With perfect understanding
Of Sanctification
And human feelings
Dealing with wisdom,
Sealing with patience
With undeserved kindness
Righteousness
The right balance
The only solution
Our Ransom
I believe this needs no explanation
A Psalmist Jun 2016
What amnesia is this? I can’t remember.
Can someone wake me up, September?
I know what I know, or I think I thought I did.
I see what you’ve shown me and heard what you said.
But is it in one ear and out the other?
Is short term memory loss something I suffer?
I have seen your goodness time and time again,
And that makes perfect sense why I continue to sin.
Wait, what? That doesn’t make any sense!
Yet that’s what continues to happen after repentance.
I taste and see that the Lord is good.
But I don’t see and savor Christ as I should.
I know this must change if I want to draw nearer,
So I’m starting with the man in the mirror.
He’s broken, bad luck for seven years,
Of confusion and chaos about things unclear.
A response to an altar call, where that came from I can’t say,
But did it ever come at all, if he wasn’t altered in any way?
And I’m not talking about the 3 years still at home,
I think that pertains to my 4 years on my own.
I’ve been told so much truth and studied the Word,
But all for naught because I can’t recall what I’ve heard.
I sin because I forget, and I forget because I sin,
A vicious cycle with no apparent end.
I look at myself in the mirror, and want to remember when I go,
But as soon as I leave, he’s just somebody that I used to know.
And I wish it was a fault of the mirror, of why I forget so fast,
That it was the mirror that was broken, or at least made with stained glass
Because the reflection is of someone who’s stained,
Stained with sin and a stain on his face,
Both known by him, while abstaining from grace,
Because it’s this grace that makes him feel like a disgrace,
A misfit who’s been misplaced,
Who’s misused and abused grace.
Because I know I’ve been cleaned from all my mess ups.
But still trying to apply cover-up and make-up.
Trying to cover-up sin so no one can possibly see
And trying to make-up for what I’ve done despite being set free.
I want to forget these, I’ve wanted and I’ve tried,
To remember grace and forget what I’ve applied.
That I’ve applied myself too much and I’ve applied fake-up,
Trying to fake it ‘til I make it, but making myself throw-up,
Throw up my arms and say I can’t take it anymore.
I know I can’t remember a lot but I know I’ve gone through this before.
It’s a familiar feeling, this déjà vu.
It’s a familiar feeling, this déjà vu.

That I am annoyed with my memory destroyed,
That I don’t know how to remember and I forget how to think
And my chain of thoughts has a missing link.
When did I forget how to fight sin? That loving God wasn’t a chore?
Why can’t I remember the joy he’s shown me before?
When did I forget how beautiful He is?
When did I stop saying “He is mine and I am his”?
I don’t know if I want to know, I’m scared to find out
I’m afraid to readdress my old foe of doubt.
I thought he was slain; we had a battle and he lost it.
But I guess that wasn’t the case. He’s just a skeleton in my closet.
And he’s got a bone to pick with me, some business unfinished.
He’s back for round two and this time with a vengeance.
If he wants another go, I’ll try my best
To recall what I know, and pass this history test.
So what was it before, what truth did I heed?
How can I remind myself of what I need?
I don’t know…..i guess I’m history.
I can’t remember how I last had victory.
But just because I didn’t know doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
And that right there was the lie I was trapped in.
Two years ago was more than a matter of salvation,
I was questioning exactly when I had regeneration.
Was it high school? College? Was it still to come?
I knew I had seen change but where was it from?
But someone can know if they’ve been born, even if they don’t know their birthday.
And I can apply that train of thought in a similar way.
I don’t know how to love God like I used to,
But just because I can’t remember doesn’t mean I never knew.
Things aren’t as black and white, not a matter of hot or cold.
There are such things as infernos that start to grow old.
There can be blazes that start to dwindle,
But that just means it’s time to rekindle.
God knows we are prone to forget and drift into embers
But that’s why his word instructs us to remember.
If we could always abide, he wouldn’t give us those commands,
But it’s because we fall down does he tell us to stand.
To stand firm in our faith, fixing our eyes on Jesus
To look in the mirror and think of how He sees us,
How he seized us to clean us,
To redeem us and teach us,
To tell us to remember what he’s done on the cross,
To give us solid faith, and not be a wave that is tossed.
But don’t get me wrong, amnesia can be good because even Jesus forgets
He remembers our sin no more, they’re as far as the east is from the west.
And that’s why I don’t recognize the man in the mirror.
I’m expecting to see someone who’s no longer here.
The old me is dead, a memory from the past.
He was destined to die, never meant to last.
So in this time of personal reflection,
I need to see myself through Christ’s resurrection.
My identity isn’t in all the wrong I have done.
It is a soldier, a servant, and especially a son.
If there’s one thing I want to share that I’ve learned over the years
It’s that sanctification isn’t easy, but I urge you to persevere.
We’re all on a journey, and I say don’t stop believing.
Think of the praise we will be receiving.
“well done my good and faithful servant.”
Hearing that from the one who’s love is perfect.
There will be sin and doubt, persecution and suffering,
But oh the joy that comes from being with our king!
So I encourage you to remember truth and fight the good fight,
And don’t ever forget in the dark what you’ve learned in the light.
Byron Oct 2012
I am the artist
echoing into oblivion
echoing
I am the artist echoing into oblivion the song of degenerate youth and reprobate age.
giving up my right to opinion to play the devil's advocate
because he was once an angel
why must we demonize anyone who wishes to match us in greatness?
do we fear our own success so much? or is it failure?
or is it virtue left to the necessity of virtue?
I am God because I must be. if you could be, then I could not
echo into oblivion that Satan was once good
he is still good
he wants nothing more than to be Christlike
this too is our fate
our desperate plea for sanctification
is commission of suicide
whether we seek evil. or perfection.
we are fated to damnation
is this justice?
God is a petty child. impotent if matched. a bully. silencing those of power. crippling those with promise.
echo into oblivion
child of God. seek not Christ. hell is your fate
hell is your fate
hell is yours
hell is you
hell is
hell
Joe Satkowski Aug 2013
pay no mind or matter to any emotion submitted from here on
because if you don't mind, i don't matter
and i think this pact is mutual

are you willing to sacrifice anything?
for that matter, do you have anything that you would want to sacrifice, or do you even have anything worth sanctification
i guess
is what i'm asking you

it must get hot and uncomfortable after you take your face off
and it must have been uncomfortable the entire time anyway
come home and take it off
who are you anyway?
Kirsten Autra May 2010
I prayed for sanctification;
Was awakened by tears.
A devastating crash,
That lead to the death,
That was fed by my breath;
I cannot take back that which I did not take.

Do not ask for my reason,
You were never so sure;
When you are forbidden to understand my rhyme.
Disease stricken, left with no cure
After all--
One can only borrow time.

I don’t plan on ******,
Nor do I plan to sit under the clouds of doubt.
The course that was chosen
May not have been correct,
Now I am left frozen
With little respect.

The world around, in chaos as it spins,
but I only feel the stillness
Of your heartbeat fading.
A life full of turmoil and sins,
Until you confess
Of a life that is degrading.

Currents take me and make me
Fight harder to reach the shores;
An argument of morals and values
When suddenly your voice roars
And boasts of better times.
You have lost that which was not found.

The explosion was full of toxins,
My poison seeps out my bloodstream.
Thoughts twinkle and die
When they try to hide
In the shadows that do not welcome a soul;
A darkness so deep once it was sold.

Nightmares after each waking,
And now my words are what you are taking.
While I am left baron, and empty
When it is I who has left me
For a better place where one can save face;
Silently
        Wiping the tears away
Kirsten Autra Oct 2010
Let the pieces fall where they fall,
because my thoughts
are crashing fast
& I don’t know
if there is time
before they cease to
exist.

As I search for sanctification
I lose myself in validity.
Thoughts pulled and thrown across
my mind that has no boundaries,
except for the ones I have
created.

I can see all that I want to,
but it is hard to interpret
the truth, and what lies
it holds and transforms into
beliefs.

The pieces have fallen,
& in all my searching,
I have discovered the only answer is
accepting.
Walter Daniel Mar 2021
owls pick clover leaves so that their disorders are detected, remarkable
power of being, peripheral parts of their existence, satiric reality
quotidian and cynical, disorders represent internal struggles, passive
owls' reductive and holistic approaches to heavy squalls ships madly
run into, ships shaken in confusion, captains gone, crew members
thrown into the sea, owls recognise a woman does not have anything but avid
interest in men, her husbands offending each other, a pervasive pattern
of dysregulation making life doubtful than uneasy, a commitment
to passionate detachment dependent on innocent identity
impossible, nothing is possible because owls' holy life is precisely
mapped out, grave consequences of sanctification and glorification, mythic
characters not remembered only because of their relation to dead
figures in Orpheus' old legend, speaking about a Jew sacrificed
at Auschwitz, events revealed with overtones existentially psychic
From "Aestas, or Walter Daniel's Very Difficult Poems for Readers"
http://aestas.sakura.ne.jp/
A T Bockholdt Dec 2017
Jorge

still in the night he
does not remember why
—sounds of her sighs

her small ears
pressing into the tight
space of the day

or the tenderness between
him and her
held in the air

the repeated denial
of the time set chained  
to hold their plans

were revolting against
trysts
spent in another’s gaze

2. Sebastian

the tenacious sense in
arrangement
lets slip imitation

how I could possess
your breath
and bear it

delicately freeing
my stances
I strained

in celebration
at the sanctification
that you’d
granted to Saint Sebastian
in Irene’s
blessing

will healing hands make
poetry
or trap the shaking  

of my languid silver pens  
taut but not
ready

3. Carlos

the sweet words
brought
for the lovers

that beats hard
each
hesitance

leaps
without fear
regarding

that
their time is
now here

the shape that
your
sighs take

suggesting
as if
limits don’t exist
This is part of collection for a senior portfolio project at CU Denver
Project is intended to represent the stylistic distinctions of great American poets through the imitation of their poetics and/or their subject matter

In this three section poem, "Enacting Imitation," I work to closely mirror William Carlos Williams poem "3 Stances." Williams uses enjambment to subtly infuse multiple meanings into his sparse lines. Williams poetry also enacts a metaphysical level that allows the reader to see the poet's space of thinking and anxieties in writing which we see in "Danse Russe," wherein Williams finds freedom in writing for himself. I also use his ideas of the variable foot to employ certain rhythmic tones and speeds into this imitation.
RJ Days May 2015
VI
With an archangelic blessing
they stand open naked exposed
one gaze of longing
one gaze of wonder
there is need of nothing
save one another
beneath stark colors
beneath fluttering imagination
beneath divine sky
neither highest peaks
over verdent fields
nor deepest riverbeds
under raging flows
prevents this sanctification
As trees may burn
As serpents may strike
As gilded beams beat down
Time halts or never was
Whilst raptured crimson wings
effortlessly suspend
any pretense of twoness
worshipping this momentary
omnipotence
cursing the ludicrous
notion of morrow
Their curving bodies are
but one--
*--at least for now.
This is the first in the start of a series I'm planning.
nivek Feb 2015
found out everyday
you put yourself, on the line
a channel for the unseen
healed as she rushes through
the sanctification of the ordinary
everyday seemingly mundane
Maria Tom Aug 2014
Lost in translation
Bathed in sanctification
Absorbed in deception
Drenched in manipulation
Off the gratification
In the constitution
Of my ignorance
Pure innocence
Igniting incense
Made sense
Finally
A cruel
Association
Of my negligence
I withdrew
A solid adieu
Poetress2 Apr 2019
My RIGHTEOUSNESS, like filthy rags,
weighed heavily on my mind;
I BID my Lord to take the weight,
for I knew He would in time.
~
A quiet KNOCK on my heart's door,
I answered it right away;
T'was my Jesus, standing there,
in His SANCTIFICATION ways.

JUSTIFICATION He brought to me,
the moment I opened the door;
Satan would BUFFET me each day,
when Jesus became my Lord.
~
When Satan threw his NET out,
trying to LURE me in;
His plan, it failed quite miserably,
this QUACK, who was nothing but sin.
~
My Jesus, He gave me a hug,
it showed His love and CARE;
I knew He would never leave me,
for my God is just and fair.
RIGHTEOUSNESS, KNOCK, JUSTIFICATION, SANCTIFICATION, BUFFET, BID, CARE, LURE, NET, QUACK
These are the words my husband gave me to write a Word bank poem with.  I really enjoy writing them.  If any of you would like me to write a WB poem for you, just let me know.
Alex Sep 2019
Contemplation & Procrastination cause Starvation of Salvation,
Intimidation of Reconciliation cause Deprivation of Sanctification
Hospitalization due to Laceration leaving imperfection, never to see Immaculation
Revitalization of Harmonization based on the Perseveration of Consideration through Consolation.

Devastation & Humiliation cause Trepidation & Depreciation fading Animation,
Disassociation from Civilization & the Population results in Saturation,
Ramifications of a Situation pertaining to Infatuation & Obsession won't bring Rejuvenation,
Desolation & Isolation with out a friend
Desperation & Depression
foreshadow a means to an end

-Ajm
Wrote this after a near death experience..
Ryan Seth Cole Jun 2020
A sword beaten by steel hammers and forged in the fire. The arrow thats pulled back before it is sent into the whiles. A collection of hardship and reprove to understand a time.

Where as demons and angels influence all but stagger a man's walk on a thin wire.
A breathe of resiliance and stubborn heart thats entitled to what He think's he deserves until He knows the truth and his speech is soured.

Egregious revalation to what he has done. He has offended the Creator. He has crucified His son. A confession is made and the war is won but the battle for submission is nearly but one.

A sanctification is initiated and a process is begun. This man's action's and word's are revealed by the sun.
The work that takes place is a tedious and time consuming one but the man's character is revealed to himself and to everyone.

He stuggles to find himself and align himself in the will of God. He yearn's for purpose and does'nt see that each moment is purpose that each exchange matter's. Everything is considered in everything he does.

God enables his obediance when God is often sought. This man comes to find that more often it is not. It is a miracle and blessing he has made it this far. More mercy has been offered than one might oblige. More forgiveness and patience. It is a miracle this man has not died.

Our protagonist finally makes it to the frontline. Where he is not perfect but God's will is pursued. This man speak's out and into open air. Where devils and vipers gather like moths to a flare. They come one by one. Collecting like froth on a stagnant bank. They come to hear this man speak but they're heart's are anything but blank.

His words shoot like arrow's never missing thier mark. He uses The Word as a sword slashing every falsehood, piercing every heart.

He continues through the day into evening's dark. There is but one that stayed. There is but one man among them that get's a new start. So the cycle is transfered but the job is not done. The wars is won but the battle is not just one.

-RSC
A journey of a man from sinner to priesthood. 2 cycle's broken and 2 cycles created.
The staircase is steep and cold
my moist fingertips stick onto the banisters
I so don't want to go, not now
my Gods give me just a few more precious years
let me prove my worth to your's and all
let me rise from the ashes of defeat

I will be your sanctification on all that I light
in your name in the joy and abundance of us
I cast 20,000 temples to our name
claim myself the last in the name to glory
and as I rise to heights never attained
all that walk near me I will help in the name of Poetry

So now I tremble for the love of Poetic writes
and do claim to do all in my powers so weak
to gain my energy, to get back to you
so with the love of this wondrous art
I ask on bended knees, hands clasped
give me the power to delight in writes


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Jonnelle Jackson Apr 2016
Ride on this wave with me,
Inevitably passionate,
Wash your tides onto my shores and make me melt.

We made love on hot coals,
As we burn,
Please my soul,
Grasp the winds of my spirit with your fingertips.

******* desperation on your lips,
With each kiss,
Pull me into the shadows,
Lead my body to righteousness.

I want you,
Mind, body, spirit,
You make so much sense to me
Yet I'm still confused and left in astonishment.

Caress my skin,
Understand my story,
Once I awaken you,
You'll never sleep again.

My body a temple,
Sanctification,
It's a safe place for you,
My fountain is youthful,
But take heed,
Greed is a deadly sin.

I promise you'll fall completely,
The oceans of my world have not been yet discovered,
Many have tried and drowned along the way.

My lips whisper sensual words,
Making love to whistling winds,
*** turns into ecstasy,
Each touch,
A vibrating,
Pulsating,
Pleasure.

Thereafter,
Your blanket of security validates my desires,
A safe house,
My protector,
The taker of my virginity,
I find solace in this freedom of our unity.
The staircase is steep and cold
my moist fingertips stick onto the banisters
I so don't want to go, not now
my Gods give me just a few more precious years
let me prove my worth to your's and all
let me rise from the ashes of defeat

I will be your sanctification on all that I light
in your name in the joy and abundance of us
I cast 20,000 temples to our name
claim myself the last in the name to glory
and as I rise to heights never attained
all that walk near me I will help in the name of Poetry

So now I tremble for the love of Poetic writes
and do claim to do all in my powers so weak
to gain my energy, to get back to you
so with the love of this wondrous art
I ask on bended knees, hands clasped
give me the power to delight in writes


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Dave Hardin Oct 2016
Meeting Your Plane

The night nurse plane that ferried you home
Pulled covers of high desert blue over
The unmade bed of the day, careless meringue
In the rearview mirror, sanctification ahead
Drifting in the back pew of the cellphone lot
Dancing embers of arrivals and departures
From some distant bonfire where we huddle
Beneath a harvest moon, stars and planets
Skating holding patterns on a black ice pond.
thepoeticwit Nov 2018
Alas, see one is
become unworthy
to question the mysteries of
salvation and sanctification.

When the believer,
the saint
falls into sin,
he is rendered silent
before the throne of God.

The awkward tension
between friend and foe
is felt.

he asks,
"What does it mean
to be saved?"

And though try as he might,
his jaw is sealed shut;
he dares not make a sound to speak.

Silent as silent accusations
pile upon himself.

In his mind, screaming
"LORD, HAVE MERCY!"
Yet dares not draw near
to pray.
Little was it known that lustful sins arise at the peak of 3am in the morning.
God's Oracle Mar 2021
Between the ones who have perished...May your weary souls rest in peace
To the ones still living...continue your race to become Illuminated and be clothed with Holiness...be peacemakers, be meek and humble, Don't judge your peers nor the ones mentoring you
Live and Learn, Enjoy Life to the Fullest, Don't listen to the rehearsed television programs...News or Mass Media Productions constantly being thrown at our heads by the Media Giants
THEY LYING TO YOU!!!
Do your research and learn about what it's truly going on in the World but what is NOT seen with  your mortal eyes awaken your spiritual eyes, check your energy signals your sending to others in inaudible, unwatchable, untestable, undeniable, undermining the masses by The Control Of THE WHOLE WORLD by constantly transforming yourself into an Angel Of Light...How Dare you violate and deceive the Entire Planet under your constant intrusion and invasion of the carnal beings known as "Humans" and slowly turn them into your pawns and then even more deadly slowly but surely killing them OH so softly...so smoothly, placing your snares and hexes, tempting humanity with your disobedient insolent and seductive indulgences that are being presented to US daily everyone running around the world worried about PETTY ****!!!
Wake up worry about your SALVATION you and everyone who says...God won't see...for all your works and all your toils here on Earth are MERE small repetitive trials that we face the powers of a World within this World the World of the Unseen the Spiritual World...Be Observant nearly everyone in this entire planet has heard about the "WORD OF GOD...the Gospel Of The Living Word Of God...THE HOLY BOOK...which if you look carefully and follow the Blueprint Of The Spiritual World...with Your Spiritual Eyes Observe this Evil & Monstrous  Size Of The Vast Immense Darkness we are facing TODAY!!! Wake your *** UP Ladies and Gentleman...Soon Religions will slowly merge between each other concluding each strong point of the Book Of Sanctification has long ago ordained to become our encompassing reality. Sadly, Every event here on Earth is being slowly staged to glorify the Flesh and The World and Leave God out of everyone's lives...Hence they love to point their fingers and grab each other by their throats saying I hold The Complete Truth to ALL of YOUR problems and ailments Carnal, Spiritual and Beyond. Oh You Brood Of Vipers Clothed in Sheep Clothing confusing and causing dissonance between The Carnal & Spiritual working with many people to continue to contribute to desensitizing human beings slowly with indoctrination and control of the majority of people that are Spiritually Asleep still....Living and Breathing people who are Alive and Thriving Materialistically who seem to others as Good and have NO Intentions of planting the seeds of Corruption, Self Loathe, Self Destruction and Perdition towards others yet...Deep inside this is exactly how they LOVE to masquerade  themselves and "Call GOOD...EVIL...AND EVIL...GOOD" beware among ye those are the False Teachers and False Prophets that have come to deceive in the end of times ..but yet I know I speak no blasphemy when I say my words here in this piece of my heart and me speaking from deep within the confines of my inner being conversing to the reader in ways other than the ordinary or mundane I speak eloquently about the extraordinary the surreal the imaginary or spiritual experience that comes along with every passing thought every passing action every practice that we are doing either in the light or in the dark just know NOTHING is hidden from GOD...who reads our hearts and signs our souls who is the author of everlasting life and salvation who had to pay with his precious and perfect, holy, righteous, meek and humble, becoming The Embodiment Of Every Human Male or Female...Here today or yesterday or 2000 years ago...or the Generations to Come...We must know he came to Earth to be Subservient to The Heavenly Father's Will and TOTAL submission of his own Life to save the Lives Of ALL HUMAN BEINGS. In the Cross He Bleed To DEATH till the Reaper took the Prince Of Peace To Hell for 3 days and 3 nights to roam around that hellish place we call hell...Yet Was Resurrected First Among the Dead To be In the Right Side Of The Heavenly Father FOREVER. Amen
Enjoy For Now Mortals OUR Lives are being subjected soon to a World Wide Change in the LAW of the Land and the ORDER & System Of All Things.

— The End —