I know your pain love. If there’s any one things I am sure about you is that this world has really done you wrong. If there were only one song I could sing about your heart, telling the truth about your concentration. It would have to be, It could only be about the wounds that had made you power less. Powerless to see the happiness and grace swiftly floating on bye. The only sound I can write about in the dark is the sound of your dropping tears on parchment, or pavement or the tile of your kitchen floor. One things I’m sure of is that your wounds are never gonna heal, because they weren’t made by steel but the stolen moments of love painful grip and the torture of families and how they know just how to bring a person down, to hold a spirit down so that it never forgives, never finds time to live, never escapes the instruments of inflicted pain. Never again may I laugh in the night, about something so silly as the wrong clothes in the rain. Never again will I tell all the tales of beauty, and wealth and overcoming youth in the battles of reason and season and rhyme. Never again to take the time to tell all the world of your smiles. For the Wiles of a sorrowful enemy have captured you for the length of this life and they can never get out so I can never get in to see the dreams to hear the wonderful dreams about the screams and the torturesome nigthmare that only seems to come when something incredible promises life within hope. But in the sky so blue at the moment and pink in the corners as the sun reaches how to paint, there are such dreams that you never will follow but were certainly written solely for you. And in the heart that will follow there’s safety from hollow in the real concrete love of this life. No more knives, or nightmares, no more worry filled wonders only marvels and wishes and dares. To the sun that you refuse to acknowledge the dark is just a transition for scenes. Teaming with life the rose on the hill grows larger than the twinkle in your eye. For nothing can die if life is the answer and no love can be lost if you’re the romancer caught up in the dream that is held together by the glue of your indomitable spirit every time we hear it we Jump for Joy. For the dance that matches the song in my heart comes to the part where we stand on the top of the hill with lightning parading its fusion in the distance but we remiss take heed to the moment prayer for no end and whirl in the wind arm in arm, thinking of safety not harm working with whit and full charm, refusing to give into alarm we find the mystery in the shade of the trees and the cool breeze calms the fire of our furious fears remember the years and counting the roughshod our treasure dancing into the wee hours of dawn without a thought or a yawn, the music goes on without whimsy. So flimsy the past that we easily reach beyond it to untie the bonds of time and the hopeless reason found in incorrectable moments, Wrongs set to right in the songs of the night as we reach into light from the dark of the night. We are fearful at first but upon whetting our thirst we shout out with a burst of lyrics and harmonies stronger at first than we wanted to be but it is time to see the joy not as weapon or toy but as truth of a life lived for purpose.

Looking to all creation, imagining the transformation when God is through. For so long He has allowed rogue forces and disobedient men to promulgate a strangeness into perfection intended. What does sinless portend, what is the hand that wields Iron Staff, what are influences absent conflict? The innocent first indication of absent fear and resolved threat. As they grow and mature in God’s pleasure without worry, cry or tragic realization of their frailty. We shall for once see Creation’s mouth controlled and its hunger for innocent flesh and spirit abated.

We were not meant for tragic harmonies. We were not designed for the joy of the kill, but to grow, restore, nurture, encourage and collect. Meant to bring before God the blessings of our improvement that He may rejoice in our will to be like Him. My brutish days have gone, thankfully. It is greater to be defender of the frail and lose then to conquer all the vulnerable masses and live. My conflict has never been with Men, nor do I fight God now, but struggle against the dimensions of my own spiritual awakening. Seasoned to become that which is impossible without God’s persuasion.

This dance is not to prosper the wicked nor to convict the overtly to their travails and crimes. It is the last attempt at rescue, that they who believes themselves top of the food chain may see that they have divined incorrectly. That the iniquitous may in seeing they are the frailty of man may find the humility and fear before THE Sovereign All Powerful authority and remember themselves as babes. We are caught in the trap of our own impoverished thinking and palsied argument. For our attempt to reconcile our sin names us immediately among the most foolish to have known this world. We are here to minister in joy and pray in the power of live living. Intercession in appropriate timing to see those headed for damnation saved and set aside for God’s very best.

Using Joy as weaponry. This day I looked through storm to the quiet a part of me knew lay beyond. Never shaken, harkened to the quiescence of God’s sleeping form, concretized in ships bow. Harkening to hope held by promise of the ages, shielding, pathways, exits that never fail appearing precisely when and where needed. Long, Kind, cooling breezes interrupt the incessant heat of furnace fire, whispering of peace when battle’s acquired.

In harmony the Word lingered repelling the encompassing cries of fervent fear. Leaving the enemy despondent as pastures lay unaffected by smear, ritual or distant magic. We tended, mended and landed upon sullen knee smiling at the hatchlings poking beak above soil ready for the fertile works of sanctification and discipline. Oh pure waters of life and peace shatter the screaming dark and leave the fields ripe, ready for scythe and storehouse.

Focused upon that which is unseen, never heard and hardly felt as the hand that holds time slips beyond its material masses. We are the tools of infinity, runners and rails of mobius existence finding way to beginning and beyond end to rebirth where time has lost authority. Sing praises to a King who makes wounds into scar and pain into pliant works that circumstance loses impact and time has lost control. We are the things of everlasting abiding in the King, eaters of the twelve fruits and dreamers in the garden.

Courage, rapport, standing hope kindled in the lighting of creation a fire beyond wind, water or fuel but burning as a reminder to time that there have always been something beyond it. This day filled with the fuels of molecular transformation to see purity in the eyes of those who have never known impossibility yet believed. Cupped waters of life staring at the pray in juxtaposition, encamped certain, awaiting dispatch by God’s simple roar. Calamities footing, chaos guided by artful hands to make that which cannot exist in fury but purely in calm. Utter surrender to Potter’s twisting fingers, pliable, blended shaped, fired and painted as mastery of Life, loved by Maker, Marked for entry to New Jerusalem and the hall of God.

Sweet humble memories, opened up to time. Reckless fantasies, fresh upon my mind. Days gone away too soon, leaving work undone. Rising of the moon just twice, searching for the sun. Heart almost full of hope, dreams and splendid smiles. Walking in such peace all day, as the footsteps turn to miles. Answer the call to arms to stand your place in time. No reason to do it all that would shout down the rhyme.

Lurid and Lucid two Brothers on the road, picking at the dates and figs wanting to implode. Series of almost there’s we start and then they lead, battles are won and lost according to the creed. When simple is too difficult and tough is easier as you please, awaiting the Hand of God supplication on my knees. Days turn to weeks on end and patience pulls by our strings, no wonder that they music’s loud and in the distance class bell rings.

What is the price he said as he picked up each hefty piece, no furniture or friend be found included in the lease. Fashioned for a neighbor created for my friend, I thought I would give a gift but kept it to the end. Time spent on diatribe and argument transcend, long are the roads we’ve lost and deep the wounds we mend. Trials and our testing ghosts befriend the oldest tribes, supported by the delicacies and brought low in our bribes.

What is free crushed between palm and thumb? Where does light descend each night as we give in to the rum. Sights, fights and circumstance feed history to no end we’ll only know the conclusions when we get around that bend. Horizon takes a dip into eternal sea, fiery halls and construction calls fulfill disparity. Sanctioned moves and thoughts so pure that none may hold them dear, hunting hoards with crystal swords corral the world in fear.

We lean not on understanding our costume nor our shield when God comes calling for us all must be revealed. We lay bare in attendance to the King our hearts filled with peace and hope, we’ve got no frame of reference, no policy or scope. For proven True is His Great Name in Power, Truth and Love, nothing we’ve wrought in our crucible will stand the teswts above. So willing and quite ready we kneel awaiting Word, then it came in His Holy Spirit alighting as a Bird. Heaven’s readied for us our homes are now complete, with the river of life flowing through it across each golden Street.