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.

Jesus wept. Not to damn the wicked, nor to ridicule pride and power, but because those He loved most would not listen, coming to Him for salvation. He created all and having none of that power or participation in God’s work I too am overwhelmed with the tears of His mourning. For to lose one to salvation is to release them through by choice to damnation in hell and death, forever. There is no joy in seeing even one go to the lake of fire.

It is entirely understandable that those on the side of the fallen will choose to be separated from God, but in so doing their desire to take with them those deceived, innocent or undetermined only makes sense to the dark. Their desire to consume all innocence or prostitute that which is pure is something so evil it takes growth to comprehend it. Even angels fell to this powerful deception, yet humans pay it no regard walking dangerously into oblivion. All while offered safety, power and love in the gifted Grace of God.

What then promulgates or invites the open ears and hearts to the salvation God has offered? What inclination of ear, mind and person makes a man or woman choose life eschewing Satan’s end? What call to purity makes a woman faithful, refusing to give that part of herself that will forever relieve her of the innocence, righteousness and purity that naturally associates us with Him? Some will give it freely, but most have it stolen in search of false love or ambition. Deceived to offer for inadequate payment the one thing that changes each of us forever, the loss of cleanliness before God.

Yes, to be born again is a marvelous thing. For in that instant all the rubric, fancy and fellowship with darkness is taken from us, leaving each clean, new and ready for transformation as heavenly life begins. Why then would those having twice received this freshness offer it once again to the blackness and evil of the wicked? There is no other answer than the greater love of sin. For a Christian to walk away from God’s forgiveness and cleansing is not simply foolish or stupid but a kinship with the night. Claiming salvation that couples one with the wicked is an abrogation of all truth, reason or clarity.

Thus, it is absolute ignorance to imagine those set apart for God, establishing for themselves permission to put Him once again upon the Cross to free themselves of further poisoning by this world or worse. Things make sense or they defy reason and honest understanding. The Church set apart to be holy, righteous, pure and true awaiting their groom dabbling in the dark is apparent lie. No truth may be found in those filled and sealed by Spirit walking away from that cleansing to return to a bowlful of their own vomit, repugnance and damnation.

Back in the biggest pile of straw, whistling and batting back flies as the summer seeks to steal 2nd from Spring. In champion flavor the boss writes a check with big numbers. And all who could not find reason showed for the gala, unwanted. Piercing highs and merciless drops in the charting the wind wrestled for supremacy with water. Snapping and diving the birds sought to chase freedom from pleasure. As passer’s bye watched the humpbacks and herons riding the waves of wind and sea.

Well thought and showered quickly raising to make it first to the dance. My footing a bit chancy, soft soled shoes singing the blues were just not sufficient this evening. In mercy and hope patience found the keys to the Buick. My two step haphazard I rendered decision to ballet the nonsense and measure. In rhythm and time adding years to the crime the bats were set free from their prison. In daylight, world’s run the risk of truth being shown to all who thought themselves prepared for the folly.

We pondered and longed for the things we never could have overlooking the blessing before us. Extremism. The twain of sanity called me back to the first footsteps, silence and willingness to surrender. Nothing is lost until something is gained. A man who thinks that he owns the world yet cannot define its circumference is 4/3 short of pi. Wondering alone down near the frozen river trying to dig up the coins buried an inch below ice. Scraping at memories that are best forgotten, the room somehow got a little smaller with each retelling.

Cannot find the reasons I had silenced your argument. Perhaps the will to listen had never been my mastery? For in the understanding, we are impressed to change, act and rectify our shortcomings in relationship. Days upon weeks turning to years I simply found no delight investigating the pain of each passing. Forgiveness is not simply for the things done in ill favor but for the things left unfinished or abandoned for reasons unwanted. There is no victory in fulfilling somebody’s wishes inconsistent with the expectations of purpose or those authorities residing outside the job description of the simple.

In the field of promontory, waiting. Far below the elephants and rhinos challenged all who would interrupt their pious slumber. All at once the crackle of bolt and sky promised relief from the ardent summer. Rock, beneath my outstretched leg reminded me of each nerve and bug’s encroaching hunger. In sleepy daze, my gaze saw cloud cover sun and breeze kindled with something a broad bit cooler.

Felt, the hope of an imaginary day. Pockets untorn, half filled by blessings of God’s intervention. In mercy I wept, not out of fear, pain but joy at the approaching night where all things are tested. Modification and preparation made I fell to expectation of dawn’s grand entrance. What faith instilled by the word of Promise upon my beset mind in worry and egregious dreams of upset, hunger and unrefined passion.

What language tells of peace beyond the bullets flying? Where men have never found contentment but pleasure in the disturbance of faith, fealty and charm. Unleashed to follow the urges of wanton wisdom devoid of concern for health and harm. How are things of beauty kept the same when the sanity of those who would own their innocence indicts their lack of reason or shame? How is shattered rose deemed blessing?

What promise of men whose belly hungers? Offer them the sky when lint of mind and heart is all that we possess. What frightened daydream endorses the taking of that which is pure to satiate our quest for poison or contempt for all thing lovely that they are reduced to average? Viewed below the crisis of intemperance challenges all who would stand against it. Only the bold and fearful under the need for worlds’ innocence.

What value in virginity when old men cannot demonstrate character to preserve it precious? Why whisper still proud deception to lure the lame to capture? What does infinity think and offer as testimony to those things which were held sacrosanct? Are we absent anything that is worthy of maintenance? How may I gaze on the field below seeking to keep my eye filled with that which is worthy when found it is gobbled to gullet for the sake of something sweet?

In the vast recesses of my mind and memory I never met a rose I didn’t adore, a child I didn’t find amazing and a man unworthy of the Love God first gave me. Dogs are always giving me what I give them, which is mostly love, attention and someone to listen when the people or other species won’t. We are in the perfect times for matching with works the words we have so often flippantly delivered. The chips are down, are we down too?

Pizza, passion and pontification are splendid but nothing beats a home with truth, dependence and guaranteed safety with love. Wrapped in the arms, fealty and cocoon of mirth/compassion we find the process by which confidence, goodness and health are formed. Why then do we require no understanding of family building, planning or education built into our education peer model? Why are personal finances, relationship skills and conflict resolution, essential tools for maturity not part of all curriculums developed with the intent of creating solid families that become and solidify the foundation of America?

We are suffering the loss of logic and the pivotal mastery of goodness which leads to greatness when ripened on the vines of social education. We have forgotten or departed from the sound science of faithful adherence to those things that make the home functional, fastidious and resilient in the winds of any anticipated storm. Having left the cradle of common sense we seek to jump from heights much beyond the expectation of survival, healing and temperance. When will Mothers return to prudent measures of solemn demand that match the evidence provided by societal history? When will truth and the grand truth that Jesus Christ is Lord alleviate our corporate dementia? Awakening first requires recognition of slumber or lethargy.

To wall Soldiers, not simply to fight or prepare but provide the eyes and sound the alarms of danger. We will never prevail over the coming chaos without fair warning which we have duly been given responsibility in provision. When will we step up to the plate for a large helping of accountability from which we have run nationally, eschewing our making, blessing and direction? To what future do we expect acquaintance if we are unwilling to meet the present and prepare from what comes following that expectation of present’s mastery? Do we have contempt for knowledge or just the part where it becomes sound wisdom and learned maturity?

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.