In the middle of my nightmare I awoke to see the Light. The air beneath my wings though brisk would never lift this kite. An all together helpful sort who never left the farm. In film and some frustration will silence all alarm. For the river’s not beyond us but here beneath the sand. And thirst of expectation is met without demand. For simple is so obvious and difficult absurd. Basic transformation provided in the Word. The knife an edge so sharp to divide the hard and soft. Transfixed by maturation spirit hovering aloft. When lies are obfuscation to conceal what hides inside. It’s better to simply tell the truth then be dissembler’s Bride. In the brightness of the morning the night had lost its power. And the grasp with the darkness became so weak and sour. Crimson and the royals, blue and august gold. Lit fire to the prophecies and tales so often told. That we laughed at our twisted grins and shouted at our sin. The doors had opened oh so wide showing where the race would now begin. Freely forward toward forever never glimpsing left of right. Our hearts and spirit onward so certain of the fight.

They’re sold for gold and blood run cold. To mimic the great lies each promised bold. No place to run by avatar, too bad this dimension doesn’t lean that far. In shame of pain and eternal flame. The lake of fire was always the fallen game. But man achieves what the dark deceives and is ushered into all that he believes. No Salt for Earth, no transformed rebirth. To find the dust that comes of all man’s worth. Into their dreams the only safety it seems. They cling to hate and anything that glows or gleams. The fight for self and presumed wealth no concern for youth or general health. A mass of want to be absolutely blunt. They seek to kill not just to hunt. Is this the time when difference clear resolved in images in hope and fear? Reverence for the king and everything that His Kingdom will bring. To pray for real peace and of His Majesty sing. Or stand on the edge of chasm wide with a horrific grin revealing what’s inside. Divorced from God for eternity or in eternal joy find us His bride.

In torrents of their game less pride torn lives and cities left open wide. No heart no sound no relief from shame in awaiting innocence we find their name. Harmful hands and thoughts of gain no compassion felt in other’s pain. In the wondering from reason we find their faith. For sigil, angels, saints and wraith. The moon is easy because it reflects the light and gives them guidance in the lasting night. But Long enough to discuss the dark in whiskey and the squeaking sark. These winds that blow ominous and foretelling. The tears that fall so long in welling. It’s coming kids don’t lose your hope in bottle deep and smoking dope. Sober men look not upon escape nor to some mutant hero in crescent cape. To the King and all He will bring no one worry about any old thing. For the dark has lost and long awaits. The prophecy which dims all fates. The King of Kings and Lord of All the season comes as trumpet sounds from every wall. No reason but a thing of trust will fill your sails as it returns all men to dust. What comes beyond the end of thought is all that Jesus has long forethought. We cannot save in law alone the price of life, this skin and bone. Only Spirit will find in time the answer to each song and rhyme. The mountain high and skinny path forgiveness for each and every crime.

Do shame and joy mix evenly in my tears? Do we crave the cleansing shower of the soul? Embarked, wandering, what panel of elders guides your heart? What discipline governs and stays the hand of your war chief? What character teaches him as he dispenses judgment and retribution? Are we raising young men who have vigilantly watched and know that their actions are right, whole and seeking purity of heart and mind?

Yes, having druthers we all would wish to walk with those we love on this life journey to the well spring of eternity. Yet, alone, in righteous reflection and conscious observation of our faces in this mirror of actions and paralysis, we observe obedience or self service. None of those I respected will stand in my footprints as I give explanation to the King of Kings. We are together, alone before the fiery eyes of God and our story.

The thundering voice of rushing waters surrounds my thoughts held captive to His perspective. This has never been a thing of me, only expression of my choices in the vast array of possibility. For in creation I am the tool of His crafting. In guidance the image of what His hand made, set for consistent work of kings, yet with freedom to do otherwise. In the ominous depth of His Word upon my Spirit, I pray in full measure to be found right.

Do I have some duty to this nation in arguing for goodness and obedience to our King? Certainly, I would equally be counted among robbers, if standing as the jewels were emptied into pockets with a lust in their fencing. This is the time to stand apart from wickedness. This is the time upon which my story will be judged, having taken up guide on for God or waving flag’s surrender. Will I be found of this world or the next as Mankind struggles in breathing?

In the desert of tossed ideas. A gasp, cough or frozen throat is often good. For in what manner do I measure the quality of those thoughts sponsored in narrow or vapid thinking? Though I am made in their image. A presumption of eloquence, depth or application especially having seen the vat of pride within, is tempting calamity.

It is time to move on from the attempt at being good enough for any of you. That is a fool’s errand a quest without destination a road dry, sans forage or fodder. May God send me those who appreciate my hue, virtue and brand of elementary humor. For to be in debt to someone expecting eventual love is fertilizer without ground to plant.

Control is of the Lord. Navigation is of the Spirit. Right, prudent and wise are of the Father. None of this was my creation only my doing to match or hatch the impacts of my intention, hope and failures. There never was any expectation of measuring up to a set of metrics born in the damaged hearts and minds of men set out on a broad, dusty trail.

Have I failed. I hope not and hold fast to the Promises of Revelation at meeting. Treasures stored up by faith are equally anticipated by that same faith to which they were gathered. What awaits is greater than the inputs and outputs of a world that looks to metaphysics and concrete fulfillment. There are no pleasures but joy through Promise and kids awaiting gifts.

Culpability, shame for the torture of the innocent, bullying of the vulnerable and prostitution of those things that everyone knows are right? What duty of knights or those choosing some measure of valor, honor and character? What pleasure in dedication to those things that keep the fields pure and the food safe from taint or tincture? What adoration of young men not having been poisoned, ruined or infested with the parasites or social degeneration? Is virginity of person and heart of any value in today’s shock value culture?

If your hands strangled not, yet you watched in timidity or voyeurism you would spend conspiratorial accomplice time in penitentiary. Why then are those who drug, infect or laughingly sell youth into sexual slavery and dangerous, potential life long wounding allowed to reach the pinnacle of wealth, power and political bastion? These are not easily answered questions by a population who does not want to discuss their evil. Those with sin do not want them brought to bare in discussion of accountability of corrective action.

More than half of the Mob rule democracy wish to remain silent about our afflictions as a nation. Not the political apology tour of the offenses of Capitalism, but the painful reality exposed by the analytics regarding a lust to consume children and hide the evidence. We as mankind are filled with a blood lust to do wrong. That should neither be applauded nor concealed as we hand out awards, medals and continue to condone the opposite of evolution. Especially when those with a proclivity for this wickedness hold up the light of man’s transformation as evidence they have become equal to or surpass the Perfect God who made them.

It is time for judgment. Not by my hand or mind, appointing myself worthy of such thought and proclamation. We have once again reached a fevered pitch of putridity and obeisance to self worship. A man who believes himself righteous is perhaps the most dangerous of all. For he cannot abide discussion of his frailties for there must be admission of their existence. No, the only path to perfection is found in rightful admission of our collective poisons, those things which we may not practice but stand action less as they are taken out upon those incapable of defense. There is always the opportunity or risk of sounding as if I am painting with the broad brush of my perspective, but it is to God’s Word, especially prophetic through which we see ourselves either seeking His righteousness or our own gratification. As men, arguably we have done the same things for thousands of years. Certainly the names and places have changed but the actions remain identical throughout our history. How can anyone claim an elevation of the species without evidence to the same?