Salt or calculus and revelry of self-importance. I was never that clever, which in latter years has been tremendous blessing. For there is no honor is deception though most will counsel the ends are means justification. Especially when deceiving oneself to believe that conquest or charisma outweigh character. These are not the unintelligible ramblings of a man who thinks he could ever be king, rather the modest understanding of my place in this universal pecking order. I may not be at the bottom, but I am much farther the top than the other.

Seeking to impress when cowardice and avarice are viewed as asset is testimony to weakness. These outcomes are not my pleasure nor our destiny they are the makeshift tactics of men who have already lost and yet realized their plunder or despair. We were sent to make it sting or make them sing, preferably both in the same sitting. Our predicament or opportunity dependent upon perspective demands the inevitable and obvious choices that will evoke God’s tomorrow. For the heavens align to His design and were never meant to resemble mine.

Children of a good Father never confide with anxiety but in confidence and determined action. They do not lend ear to vacillation or wavering doctrine but rapidly expel those who speak in diatribe and false meter. Words of power are never blurted but offered with precision, timing and impact. For finesse is the mastery of grace not the bludgeon or brute force of offhand or deliberate strife. Few find peace in early years as is the price of pregnant moment. Most struggle or develop alternate planning and personality to navigate intemperate waters until storms subside or chaos reigns.

What then of the brash and willful men who have never met a master nor trusted demon? How faithful those who trust bravado and calamity? Will they find anarchy preferable to peace? I do not seek argument, though I find the content of your desire insufferable and will do all to dislocate you from its achievement. For something must stand or all falls. This is our time to show you the deep dug footing upon the Rock of Ages as the seas rage and the mountains are beckoned to deep. Am I one who believes beyond the fearful or the worried?

There must be a place upon the dais to receive reward or the fight was all for nothing. Are we to humbly give it all in expectation of an end unremembered? No the painting of mural and mosaic is never to simply annotate discussion, but to mark the moments where Love, Honor, Courage and Duty propelled men to action in defense of all that matters. Life not yet worth living until there is something worth its potential loss in defense thereof. Do we stand for and upon concept? Do we fight for words? Or is it the ground or the blood that must live or be spilled upon it that calls to heart our courage? What is worthy of my all in defense? This is the question each must answer. Is Christ and what He has done worthy of such venture? Is what He has done for me sufficient catalyst?

Eyes, the window to color the world or redirect filtered data. What wounds sieve these images? What hope denies the fear associated with intentional shock? What freedom in simply listening, or watching to ascertain siren’s need or defensive scheduling? What is the field of battle defined in perceptive possibility? Can we simply believe, anything, or as in the dark are special lenses a necessity? Is there, there is one objective truth upon which all fact may be discerned, checked and assured.

Access. What voluntary decisions provide membership or authentication in approach? Am I to master the denial of verity in hope of finding my way to realization of the vain or imaginary? What justification may be produced in validation or licensure of a self-produced branding? Do I create when I dream up those things, I am certain should be real and true or is my mimicry proof in lacking resemblance? To what camouflage do I retreat when light approaches or they hear my beating heart in darkness?

I am no master or your palisade, façade or prison. I may incarcerate you in illusion with audacious word and fearful manipulation of your fleshly expectation. What then happens to a man naturally free who refuses to see bond wither? What calculated effort of the wicked must be drawn across the eyes of innocence to keep them enslaved by nightmare? Wrapped in a deviously devised dissemble to relieve you of your hope, love and right to pursue the God who loves you. Dashed skulls upon the well-lighted shores of spirit’s authority. Irony, remaining in jail while door was never fastened.

I am powerful enough to remain unshackled by mind, foot or spirit. Not the gift of some internal prowess but the elusive and impassioned hope of a man with understanding. There are some things given to the faithful in belief that surpass all worldly madness. For in the land of my founding I will always be walking in the Glade with Jesus. Held, in ideas or threat or bonds of capture was never sufficient to stop the veracity of my freedom. For a man set free from sin and death may never Truly be held by the rooms and tethers of temporary torture associated with the test that all must abide.

Spring so chilly evoking memories of golden dawn throwing handfuls of cracked corn to all that gathered. Dampened socks, walking through grass that beckoned the arrival of tractor’s blade. How sharp the light as it lit up the forest bringing smiles to the fatless birds? With measured and oft unexpected precision it reminds everything that life has always been in charge. Into each day carrying the imprint of God’s DNA we find ourselves ne’er forgotten.

What calamity has this mind anticipated or conjured for reasons of excuse or whining. For all even the steep ascent are sponsors of our improvement. Beside myself walking with my morning shadow never thinking to ask him what he thought. For truth be told to make this day perfection. I never really wondered about those things beyond my reasoning, knowing somehow that the burden was not my own. A happy life of simple pleasures caused dimple for furrow forever, leaving behind the valley of my joyous grin.

August interrogative concerning productivity and harvest best left for September noon found their way to mind’s eye. As bud bid bird the word I heard caused faith to flourish as the seed found sun and sky. No mourning for days written. Songs sung few and new by mouths opened and shaped to bring trumpets and clarion call to corners and crevice. Dancing for no other reason than I am able. To table bring the fruits of labors and miracle unfinished, waiting for time to find its seat among the plenty. In mystery I found great threat to purpose.

Are you the hopeful champion of incandescent transparency? What shape your hands mimic as the walls of cave back away? Dervish damsels twirled in the feather light sound of days procession. Thickened air struggles to bring pollen from to tree to land and ground to air. Bees, unconscious of their buzzing match flight to the cackle and crackle of powers unseen. A soldier saunters toward the smell of honey, delighted by the opportunity to fight for something delightful. In the branch the tree dreamed of red, ripened fruit upon each vine.

In Spirit we forgot all envy. For when the world is your cupcake no thought of loss or scarcity enters the scintillating taste upon buds ready. Piercing the day the crow squawked, the hen clucked, and the scarecrow just stood watching. With petulant gaze the pony thought them paupers. Upon the roof so slippering and steep the cat laughed at sheep and dog running toward fed meadow. As I catalogued it all to form my dreams it seems everything was as it should have been. Into the waiting manuscript I walked with confidence and a smidgen of recall.

Those moments of pleasure and joy are not simply rewards of some entitled birth. They are the gifts are the foundation of faithful memories in well-living. What then of the challenges? Are they dismissed then or most aptly forgotten as the unpleasant remnant of distaste? Do they represent those challenges or detraction from the gift set of living? Maturity arguably occurs when the challenges are viewed as equal or greater reward measured against those times of joy and pleasure. Why? Because, they represent the stark, truth that life is not just about the sweet test of sensory activation but the prompting and catalyst of growth toward what lies ahead.

Each infant begins to crawl, but the emphasis or goal is to stand. As muscles build, coordination, balance and desire combine we find ourselves unlike all other mammals walking erect, in physicality not simply thought. My pleasures may be of mind or matter. Equally those times of trial lead to increased thinking capacity, improved emotional response, physical strengthening and yet may deliver the greatest impact in Spiritual maturation. This destination demands courage and hope to stand against coming catalyst to reach performance beyond previous possibility.

We as men and women are most truly increased when we learn and joyfully meet those trials set before with the certain understanding of our obvious improvement in endurance. In fact, those who shy from, avoid or lack the courage to resist fear and flight in facing these trials are viewed in disappointment. Why then are men so pent upon residing in constant pleasure absent any conflict? Why is conflict the basis for any good novel, play or movie and without such impetus viewed with boredom? Does this realization shock? That we actually find challenge and conflict essential to good living?

In faith, it is the man and woman who meet their challenges with joy that prevail. We excel when desiring the test, quest and venture of body and mind. To wrote, God enters the fray of the man who meets life’s challenge with joyous expectation through provision of the “Fruits” of His Sovereign Spirit to aid in the maturation and achievement of man’s stretching beyond the norm and now. He even promises peace that will somehow dull the sting and severity of the obstructions, pain or difficulties. Why then must we reach beyond the sensory expectation of eye, flesh and desire to achieve greater growth and reward of life not simply lived in pleasure but one that is transformed perhaps more by pain, endurance and effort?

Because sin or pleasure is easy and requires self-maintenance. Embracing challenge and change is a determined mindset seeking that which is beyond routine found in hunger, sight, lasciviousness and touch. What then is the drive to stand firmly and joyfully in the expectation of test and challenge? Certainly a man must not believe in God to want something more for himself? Even evil will test itself to gain muscle, power and dominion of mind and matter. Why then is joy the crux in reaching the sweetest existence? For the Joy of the Lord is our strength. As we seek to do the impossible, then miracle is our expectation. And miracle is only found in the Hand of God as is the offer and acceptance of eternity. So we stand in that knowledge, hope and determination to reach that which extends beyond us. We seek to be changed into something beyond sensory fulfillment, a quest to meet, know and resemble our Creator, God.

Stepped away. A moment’s breath relaxing or better described sitting upon my overturned shield. Relinquishing my hurry and relieving all who were certain to receive my blame. There is no upset or shame in acceptance of accountability due this man. In tomorrow miracles will aptly shine or gold, opal and promise.

The taste so sweet of Melton honey or crisp and clear milk just down from glacier’s ridge. Songs thought of reason and romance played to match wisdom’s resolve. In the dime’s time we chatted of dungeon’s plunder, dragons met and better yet our dreams of peace and passion. How do the children know that which has yet been learned or told them?

Gallant green upon tanned hide’s edge. Declaring the family’s faith and will to be remembered on battle’s field. We stood as ordered, set to tens and fifties, fighting for the rights of life and breath’s continuance. In daydreams we found surety. Opened to the causeways of mind and mystery, we sought the origins of time and temerity.

In fleeting jest, I laughed about the humble. All the while admiring from the sidelines of a life lived for splendor. In deep the pulse of life’s inherit rhythm. Counting out upon quick time the march of mankind’s escapade. Beset by meager and eager portions we were overwhelmed in doubt rather than believe. Firm the footing of a man whose supply is certain. Even if the wind recalls my heart may still be far from faith.

This ride the taste of breeze and fern as the leaves impressed my visage. To the sight of meaner things our fond recitation ventured. When first recalled we automatically found our plight strengthen but in remorse the mourning soon subsides. For all my words the deeds I’ve done mere actions. For lasting hope invested must call to order pride and require greater talent.

Cool, red sky morning. Purple poked a hole through the dusty black, anticipating arrival. A chirping reminder in the misty, morning march. Smoky clouds. Sweet the call to dawn.

Uptown a young man found his sea legs. Determined to do whatever it takes to conquer all the elements. A passing hand, corporate gang signs exchanged, as fury lingered in corridors beyond.

Whimsical patches of pillowed grey with highlights of maroon and white. Anxiety speaks. The gathering of personalities drowns out the voice of peace. Unkempt souls, denouncing their refinement offer rage and sage at altars on the subway.

We are dressed as the men who hold the pantry. In faith and depth we find shallow the public ponds of passion. Collecting dissipated heat we proclaim ourselves genius though others disagree.

Bring me those who would find their freedom. Defending with heart and hope the sweat of bloody brow. To build upon a dream of something left unspoken. A vision seen of places yet defined.

Incorporate the Gospel. Of flotsam and fealty, we pine in days remembered. Singing hymns and pious ramblings with words too large for teeth and tongue. The Brethren bid them struggle.

A bubble, a flower and petals strewn asunder. A murdered mystery of love. Bereft of the brief innocence in finding. We pitch headlong into the abyss of misunderstanding. Wanting what we were told was proper tomorrow. Holding to the hem of today.

Frequently standing atop projections I fail to explain the image of my ineloquence. Infrequent testimony of bliss and harm I shadow the grace with simple self-attachment. Finding nothing but a pot of old gold at rainbow’s end that simply converts to nothing purchased at Ended Days. Where is the pleasure of this treasure, I expended breath and might to locate and steal from defeated leprechaun, liberal or reformed, truth-teller preaching merriment? When statues speak it all begins to reek of poisoned paradise.

Miscreants have entered through the front door of the palace, even now feeding your children through straws banned in their nativity. Mirrors of hopelessness flash upon cave wall while everyone tries their darndest to pretend the shadows are real as they have seen the sun arising. Angels of Light are still, well, simply servants of the King. How then will emperor follow fallow casting to crush a world he was never meant to own? In decency, I must tell the naked king he is wearing nothing in front of children.

They don’t like my meter, measure, rhythm or key changes and all I can say in ad hominem is, who invited you any old way. Standing when now fashionable to kneel before pictures of an imaginary king, sheltered in the combinatory image of Zeus, Socrates and Aristotle pointing to sky and Earth promising thunder by four thirty. When in the throne room my reverence thrust me to my face before Sovereign explanation. Reality is when your knees will no longer hold you in the presence of your Maker whether unsupported or contrite you are pleased the salty sea of glass.

Your red shoes do not earn the kiss upon that ring. For Gold is not god but one letter removed just as the number of the man is just this side at the sealed door of perfection. We are not heroes of our own proclamation. And millions killed or lands stolen in legality or legacy are simply contortions of a proper heart for Messiah. This breaking was crafted before the beginning of your age, as God Himself dropped the gauntlet at the feet of man and angel. Wood, hay and stubble, metal, birds or madness can never be the king of a heart made in Heaven’s crucible venture. The products of genetics cannot make the seed that tends, starts or remakes Creation. That is only done by the Word a Word spoken by tongue and mind that sliced time, mass and gravity from the slab of nothing.

Chomping at a bit ill fitted to my bite. Working puzzles in the dark, hoping with candor to impress the Queen. No service shall solicitate gravitas and certitude. Only mild wisdom finds freedom in folly, laughing upon the uproarious films of one’s own missteps, down the back steps in flight to find accommodation in reason. Prioritizing the forgotten, the misdirected and the egoistic. Sheltering from a storm that just won’t leave the stage, quivering the trees looked on in wonder. In the misty dawn one rode home to the smell of molasses and birchwood.

Where the sky befriends each cloud. Found loudly humming the melody to something beyond scope or comprehension. An old song sung brightly with colors not yet welcomed to the rainbow. But in each prison there remains a bird dreaming, of escape, no grasping at the memories of flight. Once again aloft to skirt the depth in diving and fight the limits of physics in lesser and greater sphere. No fear just plain excitement as ride reaches apex and gravity beckons.

To the leash I need restraint. Forgotten boundaries and excess burden of imaginary promise. One such told me of the kindled feathered fire breathing in bellowed belches to quench or stoke the flames of magic, steam and anthem. Process the quickened heart allowed to love unbounded. As flowers in Moon’s light, dancing to dark silhouettes and shadow. We have hoped and treed the squirrels, polecats and racoons found scamping. To let them fun wild at dawn in the market square of plunder. What we recall was not much at all.

Torches held highly to shine the monstrous light of pursuit en company. Heightened bell tones leaving a mark as they seared the inside of ear and mind. For this day would ne’er be forgotten, written in the moorings of spaces, places and daydreams. Fashion and the mages of desk driven madness, practicing alchemy to feed to chemistry of a life gone to seed. Are we to calculate the excess, removing the dross with scant shod blade and waiting for the refire. Immaculate crimson gold sought to sift the wheat and chaff within me. As I stood naked for the toll. Not knowing nor recalling passing this bridge in such a hurry. We fought for miles with barrels full of inches and misspellings.

Syntropic recall all emerging in reflex action to the call of wild nights yet measured. Do not abandon the shores of telescopic humor, booms of laughter reverberating in the hours of morn, spliced in before cold rise and slumber. Into the wood to chase the good in moods set to music yet written. Born of space without time prose without rhyme in a day yet remembered by those forgotten. Eclectic spurred onward to sky’s touched only by the breath of vision and purpose we leapt for greatness and fell soundly into the hands of leather which bore us.

Trying to be full attracts flies and all manner of indoctrination, folly and supposed sustenance from the feeble and the dark. The depths of masquerade invite the layered and the slight. Hands fast, openings determinedly exploited by the hungry and the opportunistic. No innocence left in the cached hues of Peet and bog. Buried to be lost to recognition and forgotten by the flowers of morn. We are kin to noon and abhor the hour of chant and curse.

Thespian with reluctance is a man who tells truth when lies are in the script. Anodized by walking through fires that neither burn nor tarnish but brighten to reflective countenance. In the quest to be repeated I shout sharp tales and livid lines of imaginary vintage, but few hear and less retain or second. A stout Amen springs from rear of the forgery. Will he want or won’t he will to do what the bill retains?

In the glass he sees the seas and feels the breeze as the nighttime tease’s morning. As dolphin leapt and dark things crept in from the shadowed forest. All sought joy, both girl and the boy wanting nothing more that wanting and waiting for nothing more than everything they’d been promised. Overwhelmed is not reason for revolution but seeking the comfort of the beveled edge. Solace in loving beyond measure, with the reserved pleasure awaiting me at mid state’s crossing. Left dried and over done by a warm bout of sun that split the winter wide open, there is no mooring for the man soaring the skies of hereafter, dashing parsecs through Orion. Star ward to the brisk running rivers of sunlight and dream.

What kept you screamed the clock having lost grip on the soul of man? What drivel tales will be told of the bold run you made to escape the shadow of the sun? Into relief I pass all passion and power to find the bold comfort of these days spent in delivery. Launching into magic, not sorcery of spirit but the things beyond deep thinking. To see the dreaming heart of God. He imagined me in a thousand different seasons with a million melted hearts standing against the carpeting waves pummeling my glass to crimson valor. For Love is the embrace of those beyond control of time, those days of wonder lost to grip of man or angel. The roads beyond the moon leading into endless sky where birds have led us longing.