The Rising

Each mote must float within its space
And every like to each its own must face
And You so being created as such
If longing and desiring is much
Must know and understand in detail
To stay the same yet want will surely fail
There must always be a growing and a reaching
For the risings only garnered by the breaching
Yet the soul that tethers itself to any idol
Will find itself a prisoner of that wile
For the expanding path will always lead away
From those whose choice in stagnate waters stay
But You who’ve learned to think in all directions
Will find the power that masters ALL reflections

Birth

All truth lays hidden in your mind
Be it bad or be it good – it is there
Conceiving itself as a seedling, forming
Until birth into the very existence of your life
And you perceiving it – judge it –
The very thing that you made
Without realizing that it was you
Who formed and created it
And I have noticed that most
Take credit for all they deem as good
But instead place blame for all they deem as bad
And in doing so – give all their power away

Dying Embers

I allowed myself to be changed by other people’s ideas of appropriateness, and I burned beneath their heavy opinions.

They did not glow brighter for my complicity.

Dying embers do nothing to fan the flames of greatness within anyone.

~ This Mere Dust

I am but a breath, a mere word spoken,
And soon forgotten.
Like the dust that blows easily –
In a soft wind it is scattered.
Who can know such a One?
Those whose lovely deceitful smiles hide
The false flattery of their mouths?
They say what they do not mean and
Their actions are far off from their words.
He has blinded their eyes and hardened and
Benumbed their callous hearts.
But who are they who have set me in derision?
Does the strength of their hand profit me?
These mere men – whose ripe age and vigor has perished.
Like a rabble brood: they jostle me and push away my feet
Casting up against me their ways of destruction.
Oh, How they break up and clutter my path!
Yet they have no helper – No power to trample this dust –
Who is He who has raised me from the dead?
Who has freed me from my burial wrappings?
There is no Rock like my God.
For He is the Lord of knowledge
And by Him actions are weighed.
How many times have I been filled with words;
Yet the Spirit within me constrains me?
You have saved me from the snare of the wicked.
You have made my ways a highway of pleasantness,
And all my paths a way of peace.
I have watched the ways of the wicked, like a deep
Darkness, they do not know over what they stumble.
They walk by the light of their self-made fires
And of the sparks that they have kindled for themselves.
Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me.
I will seek out those who contend with me,
But I shall not find them; they shall be as nothing.
Where is the talebearer and he who sows strife?
The whispers of such separates even close friends!
And where is the evildoer who gives heed to wicked lips;
And the liar who listens to mischievous tongue?
They fled the rebuke of the Lord like chaff before the wind.
Who is he who will condemn me? All these sinners,
And who among you will cast the first stone?
I have searched and poured over the scriptures diligently,
Yet the beauty of the words do not contain Life,
It is the giver of Life that produces the beauty of the words!
All these things taken together, shaken up, measured out
Have not equaled to the fullness of the Lord!
A man can receive nothing except as it is granted
To him from heaven – there is no other source.
But boundless is the gift God makes of His Spirit!
Thus, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven
Over one wicked person who repents than over Ninety-
Nine righteous persons who have no need of repentance.
Well let the trumpets blast in heaven!
For out of His fullness I have received one grace after
Another and spiritual blessing upon spiritual blessing
And even favor upon favor and gift heaped upon gift!

ALL FOR ONE WICKED SINNER – THIS MERE DUST!

 

Open Graves

I saw them there among the caskets,
Buried deeply ‘neath the hard packed earth
And the sleepers in their tombs bedded down
Their slumbers, forgotten as they turn to bone
And yet the many open holes were dug and left
A site no one other than me seemed to see
The people gathering, one by one – dropping deep
Into the slow death of life – and no one heard them
As they screamed from their open graves.

Boxes

There are boxes and boxes filled
To the brim with people – in droves
They go to their own demise
Thinking how clever they are to have
Outsmarted god with their goodness
Not knowing that No One ever achieved
Wholeness by denying half of themselves

The God Within

You wanted to know what I thought,
and it was everything – the Power was there,
set and ready to Create.
My words would be no mere consequence
if they be sugary and coated with lies.
I needed to feel the Truth of what I said,
so that the inside matched the outside in every detail.
Or else those false creations be as a fine mist,
so easily dissipated in that hot hell We made.
No, what I thought was everything,
and every possibility lay before Me like builders stones.
If I felt You to be fallible and untrue,
yet spoke to You of Truth – then liars We both Be!
But I can see You, be it heaven or be it hell,
for both are houses of God,
and together We choose Our dwelling place.
I have equally dwelt in both,
and having done so, now I hold two keys!
And here You are – asking Me what I think,
not understanding Your own power of creation,
or that Your world is molded by Your mind!
How haphazardly You have created thus far.
I can create heaven for you – it’s true.
But how much better would it be
if instead I showed You how?
Empty Yourself of everything You know,
ask your question and then listen.
For far too long You have waited to be heard –
For far too long the God within has been waiting to answer.