Hero words take up swords
and slice through false beliefs with the authority
of the one sent.
Poetry is a place to find refuge. You are here
in the observations of my soul. Reminding winter of
its boundaries and cultivating plump vines for harvest
in the desert of despair.
I love the way you invite
me to touch truth. I run my
fingers over your tangible promises like
oranges ripening in an infinite orchard. A tenacious
orchard unhindered by blight, drought, fire, or suffering. Each
morning, I pluck encouragement, understanding, and endurance from
your Word. I tear into the tender flesh of submission and humility. Your
Word fills me with satisfying joy as I
squeeze out the fresh juice of Your Spirit and drink the glory of Your creation.
He remembers his covenant forever, the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations…
Psalm 105:8 ESV
The demoniac:
Forgotten.
Dressed in rags and chains, I was not
ready to entertain kings.
You crossed the unclean threshold of my grave,
your royal robes billowing in the sea’s warm breeze.
My heart strained to near you.
Dare I hope.
Demons:
Hopeless.
A crown, only seen by our eyes, testifies to us who you are.
Naked, we claw with rocks at vulnerable flesh, mutilating your earthly jewel.
We’ll make you unrecognizable too. Soon. Flesh out, God.
Forsaken
Forsaken
Demoniac:
I scream for
release from day and night horror. While they cried out to
remain fast.
I was a scarred lamb within, and
a roaring lion without.
Demons:
Mighty Samson would not tame we beating beasts.
Demoniac:
You, Son of God, entered my tomb and knocked
the breath out of me.
What man chained you commanded freed.
Clothed in righteousness, I now cling to you.
You are God in flesh!
You are God in flesh!
A demoniac commissioned to share the truth of your
love for mankind.
(Inspired by Mark 5)
When tears are not released,
The soul forces its way through,
like a poorly dammed-up river.
Expression is as natural as breathing.
Allow lament to wash away the debris of hopelessness
and reveal comfort.
Allow quick squalls of anger to have their say.
Allow tears, contagious with laughter, to water
parched landscapes with joy.
Allow fear to escape in truthful torrents.
Jesus wept.
Tears erode isolation, intertwine
humans, and declare to a God who hears,
“I need you!”
Muddled religious platitudes
leave me questioning existence and further
hush the echoes of truth. Hypocrites!
“God bless”ripped of its earth-quaking power
by unrepentant ministers who curse children with trauma
huddled naked under their self-righteous protection. Why would I want that?
Savior? What a laughable insult. I am god of my fate.
I am independent. A pull-yourself-up by-the-bootstraps kinda
person. Connect to god any way I choose. Or none at all.
I can stoke the flame of my passion with a flip of a channel.
Obstacle or object, I can abuse or manipulate people like pawns. Bend
them to the will of my mood.
The world is crammed with little wack-a-mole idols
popping up with flashy egos. “Look at me!” And I look.
Devoid of humility. Empty of truth. These are the ravenous monsters I sacrifice to?
Forgive and forget or take revenge are one and the same when I am god. Distilled of life-giving
obedience i forget to trace God’s instilled image in you.
To forgive and remember. Now there is the coup ‘d’ etat.
Sin, the abyss of separation from God. Sin, I once recognized and crumbled
to my knees in repentance. Sin is now bridged by
religious arrogance and social norms. “You do you.”
And in the end, when soul is spent, I ask. What is really different between Saint and sinner
if truth is what I make it?
Develop in me an eternal perspective.
I know you see me. Let me see you.
Like Hagar, my sorrow is not hidden
from you. I feel abandoned. You are in the desert of my loneliness.
Like drops of water, like manna, you feed my soul with
your presence. You satisfy me.
Jesus was not a victim of sin.
I am not a victim of infliction!
Helping others—my balm.
Opening my heart to infinite possibilities keeps me
Pressing through the gaps in my filmy understanding.
Pain is but a speck on my timeline, and I
Expect good things from a God who sees me.
Dog-eared smile tucked in
the green pocket of my heart.
—Courage, sent from home.
Some of us push against your goodness
Undeserving. Wretches, Self-Stamped Rejects.
Then we spin our tale, convincing everyone
around us of our version of truth. But I couldn’t
ever burn, cut, or tear your imprint
out of me. I was and am grafted into your image.
And when remembered, it’s easy to
surrender to your goodness.
Askew,
The world pulled the thread
of my fragile existence, and I
unraveled to nothing.
God found
a lump of thread unsure
of use.
Colored fragments of His
image.
Unhindered by my
knotted abuse
He untangled and restored order.
Knit me together, humming
tenderly as He wove my new life,
pink with purpose.
Woven into a tapestry of eternity.
I am a sturdy cord of three strands,
no longer alone.
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/