My eyes, this heart in league with enemy forces. Divulging internal compunction and revealing the porous nature of human conditioning. What fake fealty presumes to lead the deception? The honesty found in uncovering. Catalyst is not identification unless left to metastasize, decay or assimilate into persona. We are corrected or fail sans maintenance.

Why does it break? That it may be fixed or pass into irrelevance. If plastic or born of unforgiveness relegated to poisons within the soil and heart. I wish that I were immortal and free of mistake and pretense, but that is the soul of transformation. There must be dense matter and spirit, provoked by experience and interaction with gases, earth and catalyst. Then abrasive relationship with the universe shapes, binds, converts and awakens. To see the face of God within.

What governs the intake? What control manages receptors to divide the prime from the useless? What aperture the eye to filter that which is dangerous in seeing? No filters but the faith or intention. If I see it I become it. Challenging this statement we are left with the nature of our helplessness against evil. Without a presumptive understanding that protection may be acquired both externally and internally we are bereft of alternative. There is comfort in salvation from dominion.

Who leaps to defend the innocent not against tyranny but against prostitution of its inherent and exceptional beauty? What of the purity of my heart? Is there salvation for that which has been tainted, spoiled left to rot in the burning desires of man’s wicked leading? Yes, as all things heat makes it pure, no antidote but the burning fire of Spirit to rive the good from wicked. In the crucible things are made new, purified, sanctified in the approbating rebirth of master craft-work and metallurgy. What becomes of the renewed thing in man?

Turn me loose and I will be spoiled by the leadership of my own understanding, heart and defunct thinking, need or purpose. My eyes way too wide to control that which intrudes and is stored to be used against me from deep within the well of memory, fear and anger. Oh, Lord that I would be made anew, cleansed and remade without the unfiltered charge of my own light brigade in foolishness. Take it from me. It being that which I should not have, a thing that may only be seen or perceived through the eyes of your foundation. For I must compare my reality against the rock to see congruence or departure.

My ears scan the nonsense, the inspired and the malignant yet are fawn to its intelligence and application. What hand should remove that mean spirited shouting of my youth and ignorance? What eraser separate the intimidation and fear from the mere hearing? What slate to start again free from causality, pain and words used as hammers against doves? How are we to find peace in silence with the World screaming in perpetuity? What shield shall govern contempt in reason or paralysis in fearful adaptation? What of God helps me to shut out the unwanted when a model presented?

If each touch made in love then the fear of interaction removed as the intended becomes the assured. What youth adorned in promise? What shelter found in embrace? What dream realized in comfort, gesture or encouraging shoulder pat? Who then would remain poisoned in the pursuit of perfection, but those who have chosen the journey of wickedness? If only the world and my vulnerabilities were determined simply in choice and not so inalienably defined by the violence upon me. Oh, that this world would pass away, leaving children to their fancy, guided by the goodness of God, protecting all that would otherwise be wasted.