Little known, less applied. For promise holds the wisdom in waiting. Moons are found out in collision or left to be cold, dried and harmless tidally locked to the brightness of a whistling Sun. One eye on the rules, the other on the outcome, knowing no rule will counter an ebbing life. In protected acceptance of the limits in time, we stumble in sidesteps to eternity.

Elated at juncture and stellar ejection, particles cast to the twenty-six planes we yet honor. Nobly, opened and read aloud, penned by the hand and heart beyond the torn curtain. Allowance, authentication and consequence. All must hold in their hand inclusion or relinquish their will till midnight flows bye weeping.

Into the light we ran unabated. Passing beyond our projected ignorance we saw wisdom leave us empty handed. Given, not accepted the glory and praise left to rot on its knees before treatise. We gathered to speak of those loving things lost in the fires of unwanted pleasure. All requested pause, few had the liberty to stand wanton or willing in the shadow of the coming dusk.

Sublime and written on thought’s parchment, the ink never drying less spoken. We believed, tossing the sounds through our teeth attempting whistle and wheeze. To please the fragility of each moment we froze them to be researched by the counsel. Sliced, resected and splayed for all to ogle and finger. There was no pride left to share.

Alone or so it always appeared. But nothing was made out of something. All addressed with hope the versions of their aspiring future. To declare peace as the end of what we wanted when war our pursuit revealed the cause of the blood in each nightmare. Fear has no purchase in spectrum. Diffracted or deferred, interred for a season, a whim at best leaves us shaking in tantrum. For none were saved, all were lost for statement’s sake.

Sequence, start, reconstitution, refitting, patience and projection. When readily available assets as courage and relief falter and fail, it’s a miserable march to the captured harbor. Trials and days remand themselves to memories forgetting at once that someone may recall incorrectly. Stop, stand, reflect. Dissecting the mental videos of how the treasure was stolen we were all left aghast at the thievery.

What fear this action taken to establish alternative retelling in hope of shaving moments or meters from twain’s register. We peaked in to the making of this mystery and found the confounding resolve to manipulate ministry, markets and mandates in order to conceal the indifferent reality. Must I be only me or is some vain imagination here accepted? Eclipsing the quest to be hopelessly evil apparently it is necessary to promote wide-spread ignorance.

Bring on the battles and mourning’s for being told and retold the massaged imaginations of Satanists and nihilist. Reduced to the remnant of Truth, steadfast in the Bible’s objective. We came to without the smelling salts of wakefulness remembering that one thing never changes. We held tight to the light in the dark and spark of Spirit’s call to reason. Upon this hill we make stand not of self but that stand made by the faith of the few in something beyond this. Speak forth in mighty murmurs stirring the Authority of God the Sovereign over all creation imagined and real.

When weaponry finds force in deception and reliance upon gullibility, those who stand the day arrive first wrapped in the Truth that Sets all men Free, that Jesus Christ is Lord. What then is preparation for a heart that shall remember the Word even in shroud and darkness? Trust, found, not fumbled, squandered or worried about. A reliance upon the provision, protection, promise, purpose and perpetual dependability of God’s Word. The enemy MUST Flee when spoken, as the disciple pulls the SWORD OF ITS SPIRIT. There is no standing against it and the field is cleared that triage may be performed by those who first found faith.

Realizing the dream. How turbulent the loss when all chips are on black and red is called? Why then the compunction, the Jones, the yearning to bet it all on black again, again and again? Surging endorphin’s, validation from those who’ve heard you whimper, being that guy for a few moments making up for years of blowouts, bad haircuts and no ability to demonstrate style. Win, the resounding end to a lifelong string of inadequate offering and failure to represent. Why must we live up to a father who really wasn’t that good at the job anyway?

Skinny, by the grace of constant nausea and absent calories. Makeup too dark, pungent, legs too tiny to hold up the attitude and its poorly practiced projection. Being too cool for anyone to follow and nearing prostitution if anyone would ever offer. Noticed, acknowledged, who cares if they know me or love me? I am satisfied with some good-looking jerk having said my name slowly in the dark four times. Especially grateful that he disgusted my Dad and my Mom just stood there shaking her head in preparation for dabbing my tears. Why share perfection with a slob or some guy named Bob who never deserved my best, never mind the sacrosanct bounty of my fealty.

What is this world and its power over our motivation and aspirations that it makes us turn cartwheels, backflips and bellyflops in front of strangers just to say we lost all our chips and our virginity trying to be a contender? The entire sham is a deceptive scam to make us lose the true treasures permanently while we never would have been satisfied or fulfilled if we had won in the first place. Smells of the fallen. Though, I can ashamedly say having fallen for the flim-flam myself, that it is a pitiful way to start off adulthood, shrouded in embarrassment, knowing that it robbed all who believed themselves winners.

The reckoning and the absurdity that our parents experienced the same deception and still failed to stop it from taking us in. What then does it mean to be successful at the job of parenting the future of humanity, if we continue for thousands of years to churn out losers who failed at the first at bat? The one that mattered most and should have been practiced a thousand times before entering on deck. Is mankind truly that dysfunctional, absurd and hopeless that we have played for perpetuity the same game and never found our way through the maze was found in never entering?

We have gotten it right when we ventured and challenged collective thought or social recrimination to maintain our innocence against all standing odds and chastisement. Those made to look foolish in public or called every foul name in the offering were in fact the few who had mastered the art of ignoring the snake in the garden. Peace flourishes in our courage to stand apart from conventional label and understanding. It is good to be peculiar when being popular or blending robs you of all that is true blessing. Be who you are and don’t let the world dictate what you will invariably find were fool’s gold and bitter filled candies. There is no going back on all in. Better to keep the few pennies and the honor you’ve got than to lose it for certain in a game that has been fixed since our first recognition in Eden.

Shall we be sad waiting to reach heaven? Will our flames be dimmed by patience having done its perfect work to leave us wanton for nothing? Can the march to heavenly harmonies leave one mourning when discussion resolves in joy and supernatural elation? What will not be forgiven by the dawn of our meeting? All esteem quickens and strengthens as we near looking into those burning eyes of love and power.

There is no breach in having told me all that is to be expected. There is no fault in hoping until the light shows us home and we are called to bring our lanterns past midnight. There is no loss when all is gained in moment. This life leaving me to better things outside the whims of time. There is no fear of this things from which we’ve always been protected. There is no forgiveness so sweet as that which sets a man free to run outside of time, God having forgotten his crime.

Having heavy hearts and hurt is reserved for the dwelling of the quickened and the wicked. Beyond these doors there is no luggage and no depository for the refuse we’ve collected. The opening too grand to mark its sounding, the universe is found too tiny to include what my eyes begin to see. Martial heart and soul to weep the tears of joy in our recasting. Freed of dross, loss and ill thinking, my mind repurposed to greater depths of song, for the length that introduces the eternal. What and why are answered by the beginning of the dream.

Tell me Father, will we wait long for the others to come hither? Will we see the smiles on faces having left the darkened skies of war and pain, to find life and abundance this side of everlasting? What, pray tell may I do to help in your efforts, even if sitting beside you with loving smile is the greatest I may offer. Lord we loved them with all the adoration you gave us. Listening to the pain and the dangers of their fear all the while reminding them of hope and the evidence sans reason. For to this light we bid them gather and promise their heartd surrendered to your perfect hand of creation and revision. Into your arms we rejoice they soon will fall.

This heart and abiding by its continual desires, pressures and constant yearnings is not the drive which controls my existence. What are the yearnings of the man who died with Christ? This mind and its partner in the temporary crimes of sin, concentration on shiny objects and the unfulfilling promises of this world are the true enemy to freedom in everlasting rebirth. Yes, he just said that and fully believes that the struggle against my own will is the greatest enemy I will face in this life. Sin, Death, hell and Satan were defeated by Christ. Therefore, God’s enemies were beaten soundly at Calvary. Thus, I must initially engage them on the field of battle and allow them opportunities of approach into my life to give them authority to steal; my love, joy, peace and patience as I leave the skinny path of God’s Will in pursuit of my own mind or heart generated lusts for this life.

It must be recorded that God, My Father is Sovereign and may engage any of the forces, characters or enemies/allies in this world to chastise, teach or direct me to become the man HE intended. So, I must be mindful/heart controlling my situational awareness, battlefield readiness and mindset as I walk circumspect through this life, not as an infant or a man unaware/unprepared but rewarded as a man diligently seeking God through Christ Jesus. For I am not Sovereign except in my relationship to the King. I am not in charge but readily and gratefully accepting that loving correction in sanctification offered for my transformation by my Father.

What then must be my aspirations, knowing fully that the organs arguably in control of this life are in many set against my achievement of the tasks God has authored? I must assume that I am at odds with Self and expect these nefarious voices to attempt at many opportunities to lead me astray from the truth of God’s Perfecting Hand and Works in my life. That is tragic at best, but what an honorable and pregnant opportunity to live not by Will but By Word, Every Word that proceeds from the Mouth of God. It is a blessing to know from whence my provision, protection and promises originate. Not from internal measures, means of thinking/emotions but these remain value tools to guide me in determining those things most important, the greatest of which is aligning my heart, mind, soul and strength in Loving God completely.

No shortcut to perfection. It must be known and embraced with every beat to find the calculus of rhythm, change and stimulus sponsoring reaction. There are few things one would aspire to become but none as impossible, improbable or lightly attempted as the curvature of significant slope to call it near perfection. For an example alone we must recognize what lays beyond the range, scope and focus of man. Then to definition or recognition of success. Who then would acknowledge your achievement but one who is already perfect? The entire discussion must formulate outside of our own thinking for it too falls well short of qualification for purpose.

What then the rose, whose smell, shape, size, color and profile stand unique outside the panoply of candidates in the bushes? Who then would pluck such as this? Who then could make each one especially rare and different allowing the comparison from outset? What then of perspective for none may say that to attain such unusual standing among all that exist to have been named, the One, would contend with those in disagreement. And forever the comparison would be discussed as to relieve that perfect specimen of charter and position by having been bettered by the new rose, a better rose in all characteristic measure. And what then of processed demotion from the position of splendiferous, having been replaced in historical gradient? How is one called back once having been outdone by the more perfect flower?

There are some roads that lead nowhere but to the next challenge, trial or correction. These long skinny, swerving avenues do not honor arrival but process. Meandering through trope and trouble they sharpen, shape, remake, inhibit and promote growth to that level which may be unique enough for consideration. And if perhaps they near the clarity of thought, beauty and action that set apart a thing, idea or wonder to be reviewed for such label who then declares something, anything has achieved perfection. Becoming is the destination, the process is the thing and each item, flower, man or dog in fact leaves this world perfect as that is the outcome of travelling this dimension surrendered to the Creator’s purpose. Even those interred for everlasting punishment may be deemed perfect for eternal damnation. None leave this world in imperfect state. Their destination and next phase in process having been determined by the choice of where they will spend eternity.

Do we crave or seek perfection as it apparently is the intended general outcome of this short existence? Rarely, it seems do men set themselves upon the road leading to this status. However, it seems that we are enamored with the comparison of those things within the collective of modernity engaged in a historical pecking order against all things gone before. Men, want to wear this title, the shirt or have this ascribed to them in the annals of pathology. How great this misunderstanding for those who aspire to become or be defined as “the perfect” anything yet infrequently take the “skinny path”, the only one leading to that observance. For there is only one way to reach perfection and that being by believing upon and following the only one who ever was and still is perfect, the Lord Jesus Christ. Laugh if you will, mock me and Him if that be your ammo or surplus, but remember I told you the only path to its achievement. Perhaps, what evades you today in clarity will someday become your greatest hope. For that has always been mine.

Portage, straining eagerly the uphill. Ride, having lost the urge to go faster. Relentless in the will to step back from the edge of cliff, sanity and complex pursuance. Stammering in lasting attempt to say something funny and make the Queen laugh. Applause is offered by them who admission was unrequired. The donks and dunks, flips and plunks make the day one which should have been recorded. Separated from the pack, hovering back because blending is beyond reason.

Puzzled, they laughed at my straight face not knowing the seriousness of the moment. Wishing secretly, we had taken the back stairs, as new kids we thought it all fancy. In plum and purple the dark light was truly maddening. Even our egos refused to be defused in the darkness all was apparent, no matter how masterfully we remained hidden. Conjecture of the next prefecture was rampant as daylight was basted in pitch. We hoped for the best all the while wishing for better.

Leaning on the trellis, climbing to the forbidden realms of the starless dream. Tennis shoes only reasonable for hiking spun in the sand, refusing to stand firm in the footing above us. At least we prayed while most of them stayed in the confines of rules and good behavior. But, in that pregnant moment was birthed the child of our imagination. Colorful as rainbows in spotlight we danced while diamonds fell from her hair into midnight. The path was steep, the leap beyond our will but somehow the courage had found us.

Some to avoid, some to bathe in the sunbeams of circumstance. We forgot more than we thought we’d remember. Relinquishing the reigns suddenly the ruts are too narrow to hold me. Crashing through forests unventured the ropes and the leather creak in harmonious madness. Sharing our definition of appropriation, we steal and call it borrowing or brotherly kindness. The margin was written in error. Down, too long to count we fell into those things we thought we had been escaping.

Fist open, small white stone, the shape a shimmer of the glorious moons of Mars. Reacquired awe in the moments of reverence before tickled fancy and giggled smiles. A while since the stage has emptied still shaking from the harmonies and melodies that spoke to me of dessert and dawn. Please step lightly in the brief moments as we readjust our Tear ducts for the flood and sniffles. There is no description nor explanation for the feeling of having been raptured prematurely while eyes twinkled, and the dead were sullenly remembered.

Still blinking in the flashed brilliance of the time set to rhythm of this beating heart. Shall we sing of dreams and dance still thinking of romance in a bottle. Woken to the cold drips of refreshment paled to the warmth of Sun’s absolute welcome. Influenced by righteous thinking I fall headlong into daydream of the flowers, falls and furlongs before the Gates of heaven. What random dose of fire has swelled my aspirating heart to think and pause before realizing that essential meeting. The sense of nervousness left my mind as peace washed the thoughts of the man evaporating into memories and life.

Traipsing to the daylight. In kinship with the woven paradigm of shifts and curvature of space wrapped in itself spiraling to somewhere yet known. Vortex overhead as the symbols, suggestions and lures pulled me through Rosen upon Einstein upon Feinmann hypothesis become real. Beyond not explanation but sensory absorption. Analysis impossible and speaking in tongues improbable as God alone makes sense of those things I can simply gasp in audition. What promise is left to heart and mind as they have become inadequate to tasking? In the Kaleidescope of flight the dirt leaves the corner of my eye as i see the clear first and foremost I am stricken in solemnity.

Content. Left emptied but joyful at the echo. Nothing known and nothing needed as somehow my wantonness resolved eternal. I am undone and speechless before the mooring of the golden dream and the glass river bent toward an ocean of starlit skies. Scant reason for question as answers seem too plenty for induction and assimilation. What is happening, when or why seemed irrelevant. The skill and the precision filled my receptors dealing passion and pulse in rhythmic discord beyond the scope of humanity. I am nonplussed but simple and pliable by the forming hand of closure and remaking. Into the realms of inexplicable yearning, I have been fed for retooling beyond control of time.

Tender reach in marble sands restrict hands and eyes from blowing beach. When clothed intense, standing firmly with eyes perched atop frozen, stony brow. Looking for the battles of tomorrow’s past. What skilled and muscled hands wield the guidon as belching fire and percolating Earth consume the last of worlds’ peace. How gentle are those who preside over the termination of life? How commanding generals who no longer have mouths to feed or ears to listen? How willful the stupidity of man as we seek our own eradication.

Do children counsel argument and hope of winning against any odd the victories of men, marsh, meadow and street? How honorable the medals pinned upon the gangs who beat young men silly for simply wanting to pursue their God. What lust in burden presented by heads less frequent to the surge? Is their pride in motherhood for the bloodlust that presents so madly those who would dash the dreams of stellar saints? Where do these accolades deliver the hearts, minds and spirit of youth, but to the waste for transfer?

Who delights in the removal of the elders wise or those who find things pretty, making every decade a new invention? What joy is found in the silence of giggling children, or the hearts of teenagers turned to anger, hate or strife? What worth in ignoring the warnings regarding fourth generation who do not and are not eager to know God. Grasp at the hasp closing the door to the blasting turmoil and harshness of reality’s gone awry. What questions would we ask ourselves in darkness waiting for a breath of clean air and light?

There is no harmony in self-entertainment. Standing microphone free regaling the audience of personal prowess and laudable wisdom with laughter sustained by the fear of your well sponsored threats to those innocents few. Specializing in self-merchandizing we find our names common word spoken by the willing and the woeful. Tears not joyful, not voluntary but the flow of grieving episodes of welfare, seizure, terror and helplessness. As God weeps for the blood of those who owed nothing and found nothing but loathing.

The men of muscled past. Build upon the fear of dominion and psyche bent or suffering. There is no safe harbor for those without protection but the wings and the secret place of Almighty. Leaving them absent that introduction is a frightful and devious error, anticipating God’s indifference to their ample cries. Do not so short sell the patience of God Almighty for those He holds dearly. If He loves you without indifference, unquenchably, unconditionally, then why would He eschew the grand love of those having done nothing to anyone? Stay thy mind and greater thy hand as it aspires the screams of damsels, old men and children. For your provocations if not met by courageous men shall certainly get direct counsel from God Himself at your meeting.

Dressed in the fervent breeze and idyllic margins of morning. Dancing upon the plasma between dream and sleep. Mixing elixirs of Majesty and ministration. Into the twilight we soared, iridescent feathers flailing toward stars to capture light as tapestry. Meadow spoke and yelled at rain for coming lightly. Into deluge of dawn the forest welcomed the silken black of summer’s night. Our minds ran on fueled mosaic and wonder.

Clapped twice, that the night would give way to sentry, posting partizans in pageantry twice cocked the crow in steeping. Yet we did not run but hid nonetheless from the prison of cowards and wisdom. Fear drove us forward as if mad to the hills, cupboards and caves of our imagined safety. Lost to the felled swoop and the swollen nightmare we touched our flesh as the wounded. Keeping in-between here and there we found no period for sentence. Naked we answered not the King’s request in sounding.

Folly ventured and beauty resistant to capture, we plodded home, hooded weeping for the loss of bag or bounty. Oh, how merciless this age that gives not plumb nor succor to thirsty frown. In brigands gaze we found the maze and sought the best of what all are after. Finding nothing but rusty granite and poisoned waters we dare not swim for our freedom. Lying low we sow the seeds of weakness, hate and crazed mind. Singly loudly as we whispered hoping the prisoners would pass us.

Twice mastered, once clinging to the cliff face to take yonder castle. To keep what we stole and peer as voyeur at the plenty. Not invited by pledge, promise or courage we raided that which was found open and pried loose all that could be plucked from the marrow by bone or arrow. There is no hero of passion, no soldier with fortune and no servant who wants more than nothing. Into the hills we disappeared seeking solace and healing on the dark side of the mountain. By morning the warnings were over and our sad sullen daydream a historical tear filled with madness.