It has all gone

It has all gone. The buildings and their walls, the ground and its plants, the heaven and its dew; all have gone away from me. They are present but are empty without meaning, the things of this world. My eyes are full of seeing and my ears are full of hearing. Close their channels for I wish to have no more pleasure. The dawn comes when I hope for eternal night, and the days are cold and wearisome. I yearn to stop the seconds and to hold into the night my fleeting peace before the world stirs. How has this come to be? Such distress and hopelessness without cause are troubling to consider when there are still so many days to come. You, dark depression, why have you come for me? Why have learned my name, the lowest in the earth, what could I give to you. I am dim and slow of speech, I am a shadow in the wake of earths glory. Of all the mighty men to engage, you have chosen the least to destroy. Was your mouth opened bearing sharpened teeth dripping drops of want for my flesh the day I was born? Were your claws clenched into the palms that you hoped would be filled with my sorrow? Why have you come to me to make all things to be filled with thick despair? Be away from me!

 

No Way Out

 


There is a lonely island in the middle of the sea that I know. It is a dark place tastelessly sweet, and repulsively seducing. I have been there many times before. I open my eyes and find myself its prisoner. Its own captive to draw me to it in my dreams, she anxiously hopes that I might not escape. She wishes to confine me with thick despair which wraps around my heart. I collapse to the sandy earth while flashes of light from the clouds far away grow closer. My fingers bury into the grains which are as fine powder from glass that has been ground. The tips begin to bleed. My helpless eyes behold the endless ocean of black liquid expanding all directions. The depth thereof is mere the length of a mans hand, but I dare not tread as it has no end. I am engulfed by despair who is void of sympathy for my frightened mind. There is no way out. The faint odor of things decaying is brought to me by the steady but fading wind, now a whisper to my nostrils. I must break free from this place.  

The dead ones are calling for me, for me to swell in death as they are. The fallen ones. The ones who guard the subterranean jails of those awaiting the White Throne.  If I lay my head down to sleep, I may not rise again. I am ever in bitter anguish within my heart. I feel alone.

A breath inside of me animates my resolve, to leave this place. My eyes behold the truth that I have glorious hope. The world is hell for the saved and heaven for the lost. I can not wait. I can not wait for perfection. The respiration of my cells will function in one accord. We will do our Masters will. Two great commands. We shall love God, and we shall love the inhabitants of the earth.

Plastic Words

I both love and despise the English language. A mode of babble that came from not its own, but borrowed. What does that mean about those that use this language? Is there some inherent inferiority of a cheap counterfeit hidden at its heart? Is there anything that is original? I suppose it is the language of vagabonds, traveling through foreign lands and using the implements of that land until crossing over. I wish for there to be order but there is little in the melding of French, Latin, and German. Can you spell and construct without error? No because there is no stable relationship between phonetics and the way a word appears on parchment. Is English cheap plastic? Instead of inferential anticipation of some known system, there is the need for laborious memorization for each and every word… that we both love and hate.

My Heart

My heart, where have you been? In the darkest room in the sharpest corner, beaten and bruised you continue forward. Nothing has been able to stop your pulsing consonance, a chord of various emotions fueled by your mind. These things have claimed others, but it will not claim you. Can you remember how perilous it was not so long ago, how far have you come! He has been leading you this whole time out of the dark forest. Can you not see? There is a journey I fear that lays yet ahead, I have life still to spend and a will to yield to His. A beam of light now shines into my heart, I am getting closer now. I hear a brook running peaceful near me not far. I will be led to it and regain my strength. I will heal. A beam of light now shines into my heart.

Which Way Does the Wind

He stays in the land a ways from the buildings and smells. One foot presses into the earth while the other escapes its burden for a moment. The strange man claws tightly around the old trunk of the angry tree towering high above him. Slowly he peers around the side of the ancient oak into the city of people. His clothes are burned and tattered, willfully obliging as his covering from nakedness as it looked like only they chose to stay on by worn threads. Without shoes, the dust clung thickly to to the wanderers bare feet. They were gentle, as was he. Timid and slow to disturb the world he was, full of love and fear.

His face filthy, he beheld the ones for whom he longed. Gazing he knew them all although they did not know him. Not as he was now. The cars rushed passed the curbs, and the lights flickered, and the people walked this way and that way to some other points seemingly not related anyone to another. A dog loose and running amok ate from a garbage can toppled onto its side. The birds circled and hovered overhead and the workers worked their labors. On and on the motion did not cease, the ones he held in his eyes beheld nothing but the bodies and life they each spent on their own desires.

Strange dark hair he brushed from his strange face. Sitting quietly behind his wooden guardian he looked back in time. In youth the man knew the ones from the city, and they took out his organs and broke all of his bones, his head they crushed and his heart they ate. Blood spilled to the tile floor in the hallways and rooms, and everyplace outside. They tore at his skin and stopped his throat. The city ones in their homes and with their beds and food; they once reached in and put the poison inside of him.

Oh how he loved them all. His blue eyes let fell drops of dark cold blood, bled from wounds inside of him from long ago. Oh how he loved them all.

The man had been saved from the sulfur, and from the burning. He had been rescued from the ocean of death by a Champion. Looking down his hand began to shake and grasp for something unknown. What has happened? What has gone wrong? Will this damage heal or will he remain in despair. And why? He covered his countenance and wept without restraint.

One day he went to the building where his brothers and sisters go, he went inside and sat down. He stood up and sung the hymns and bowed his head, he sat down and raised his eyes. When no one was looking he drank into himself the room with all his family within. Biting hard now his teeth ground as he fought back the tears. An institution was the machine, and all were processed beautifully as they remembered all the steps and missed no beat. It hurt so much. He stole another picture of them. It burned in his brain. The minutes were passing too quickly. Soon it would be over and he would have to leave.

The final steps were completed and all rose to their feet and proceeded to the lobby where there were drinks and chairs, and all talked to the others and their faces bore smiles and pleasure. The man slowly walked over to the coffee holder and poured out some comfort so that his hands would not have nothing to entertain as his hopes for the comfort of another was at its elevation. He sat in the plastic chair against the wall. His two eyes begged them, they begged them to come. They wanted it so bad. But they did not come, no not one. The man went through the great doors and fell into his car and drove away. Oh how he loved them all.

 

Into the darkness

I do not have discipline. I do not have strength. I am dying, my breaths are wearing out; they grow increasingly thin. Words are empty shells because their invokers are the dead, so they are dead. What hope do we have left to hold in our hands that suspend lifeless and purposeless at our sides. They reach toward the earth that will cover us in the end and take us away into oblivion. We cry out for You because we can do nothing else. The knowledge is almost complete now concerning the brokenness that beholds the world, in fire and torment we are engulfed by the damning winds of guilt. We wait to die. We wait for the release into the forever. We are waiting for You. You gave to us what could not be wrought by ourselves. We can do nothing of ourselves, we are helpless and wandering. We look into the dark for comfort, but instead we chew our lips and bleed our tongues to hide the pain of aloness. There are too few of us it seems, waiting to be repaired. Most of us are dumb and blind and can not distinguish light from dark. We are but children called into fierce warfare quickly aging and fainting in exhaustion. Please let there be more like me, where has my family gone to? Where are my brothers and sisters? Will they enter into paradise with nothing in their hands to be tried by the fire? I am in allegiance ever as it is day and pay with life the grace that was given me. I pay with blood, I pay with fear, I pay with terror, I pay with misery. Please release me! How much longer? How much more will there be? I can’t take any more. The days are gruesome, they call for the laying down into the grave, but we continue on. I can hear the arms moving slowly ticking without regard to my hell I am living in. I can’t stand the pain, I step outside of myself. I call out to You and you hear me, You see me. Am I being good? Will You love me more? How ignorant I am to look for drugs in Your holy places. The damage stems from my youth, unexplainable disgust and hurting inside. I can’t breathe, here it comes again. In and out I am brought high and low. I hate the dead. I hate the slime that pours out of their mouths. I hate the putrid smell that permeates into the hopeless air. Will I see you again? I wonder as I see them, will I see you again. I claw the nothing for You. I am ever your son. I am ever Your child. You said all of these things would happen, no lie have you said. The rest is had in at the end of the race. But something is amiss. I pray tell me what ails me. You are my designer. What is this killing me. Why am I so sensitive to everything around me. When one speaks I hear screams, when one touches I feel battery. Why do I feel so alone? I have much work to do. I have years and years of work to do. Where do I begin. The spikes pierce annoyingly into my hands and feet, every step I take as painful as the last. The swords are pressed into my body and keep me at alarm. It NEVER stops! I can feel it in my physical body at all times. I have so much to do. I have good plans that are unfolding. I requested them from You and I believe You have granted them. I piece the steps together and press on. I never quite. I never deviate. I ask for more, I will Not return empty handed! I will comply. I will to do Your will. I asked for this, this special task. You know me so well. A quiet life would have killed me fast. Good work you gave me to do. I accepted. My work is to tell them about You and your great love. I will see it through.

The Message

I raise my head to send it through the stars. Is it getting through? Desperate, I try to remember all of the words in Your letters. The birds begin to announce another day in torment, can’t they just wait. Time is made, atoms are made, neurons are made; how do you see a spirit? A foreign dimension to which I am wholly apart but wholly unaware, I try to catch the clouds in my hands. Futility and hopelessness. My head is going under the water again, if only I could get this message through, or maybe it has made it already. How would I know. I look for answers but get no reply or sign it seems. I am not the only one though, I remember David saying the same words and weeping. How many rivers will I make until You are stirred? Perhaps this is the message that I am making now, resolution to know the truth, but understanding it I request wisdom. When! How long will You be silent! My chains I have placed upon my limbs keep me from wandering away, but I have attached myself to the sun and now it is burning my body. How long until You reply? I sit lonely in the corner, I lay crushed. My heart is broken, my knees won’t let me up. I could not be pressed lower into the dust. Where are You to give me my lessons? My name is faithful, and I will keep waiting. I count all of the blessings You have given to me. I remember how many times You saved my life. I want to see You now, but I know I must wait. You have never lied to me or wronged me at any time. I sit and wait. I pray another prayer.