Mother

Spring flowers bloomed conception,

as she carried a force with umbilical connection.

Sang songs of familial relations,

until snowflakes glistened the new life cascade.

A frigid orange air whispered secrets better left to a howl.

Still

he was comfortably cared for.

Mature trees blistered blood-stains

above impubescent seedlings.

As seasons altered and changed,

adolescent scents choked out hope,

pollinating the atmosphere with songs of red age.

Connection disconcerted

confounded by careless captions,

or

lyrics of hate.

Sixteen years passed,

and

they found themselves at an impasse.

Ripped her out of the present,

a forced recollection of the past.

Joy rendered fantasy,

clouded by dissonant breath.

How ironic –

She: granted life

He: returned death.

“I’m sorry

mom.

You gifted me with sight,

how dare I not see

the Christ in you,

reflecting mercy on me.”

Forgiven for all said

and left

undone.

Suddenly.

Harmony falls, like Autumn, from trees,

while expectation sprouts legs – be free!

Under the same season’s sun

hope journeys forward and on,

to an orange-chorded sea

where meaning is tanned

by photosynthetic minds.

With new life emerging

out of murky red shorelines.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

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Death is Dead

Oh, death.
I dare you to bring your sting!
But you can’t,
and that’s why we sing:

Death will hold no power.

Death – you’re a snake with no venom,
a feline lacking your claws.
You will strike everyone, but you can’t kill us all.
Jesus lives, His love greater than death.
We give Him praise,
long after our final breath.

With triumphal music we swoon and swing,
“Jesus is King, not this petty death thing.”

The Fear of God

Dear God, why should I think You’re good in a world that’s falling apart?
The flags and lies, picket signs raised high, the endless enveloping dark
Now here we sit, drifting further from You, two thousand years on their way out
Now here I am, as I’ve grown to know You, still haunted by my fears and my doubts

Just a man, just a vapor, just a waste of your space
All the good that I’ve done is in spite of myself
I’m not sure that I can look You in Your face when I finally set foot in Your kingdom

Dear God, what went wrong? We hate ourselves, we hate our brother
We so desperately want to find our way, and all You say is “love one another”

And little babies starve to death, emaciated, out of breath
Unfaithful wives make vows untrue, husbands beat them black and blue
Junkies vomit in the streets, writhing, twitching in their skin
Sell themselves to die some more, rotting from the outside in
Parents steal the innocence from their children, scared and shaking
Drink away the guilt at night, brings quiet to the endless aching
And evil men boast on TV, swimming in a sea of wealth
While misery beds honest men, and lonely people kill themselves
And everyone cries out Your name, as the world is raped by selfishness
And no one knows the way to heaven, we only know the emptiness
And the storm it rages in my heart, and the endless empty roars in my ears
My world is coming all apart, I’ve no strength left to dry my tears
And through it all I hear Your voice, breaking my heart, breaking my will
Calms the storm inside my soul as You whisper “peace, be still…”

You place Your hands around my heart, You quiet the emptiness in me
A king that kneels, a God made a servant, You set the captives free
You wait for me, a wretch of a man, no record of wrongs do You keep
You are comfort when I mourn, You are strength when I am weak
Jesus Christ, the king of kings
Though we ache, though we cry, never break, never die
We sing of His great love again and again
And His love reigns forever, and forevermore
Forever and ever, Amen

This song is probably one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. I can’t stop listening to it.

Song written and recorded by the musical group Showbread. I hold no rights to this song or lyrics.

In Hell

The first place to look for Christ is in Hell.
Beaten, battered, torn apart.
Spit in his face,
vinegar smeared on his lips.
Four nails hammered in flesh,
supported by the pain.
Wrapped in darkness,
bathed in violence.
Worshiped in blood,
acquainted with sorrow.
Tired, hungry, forsaken.
This is love:
God in need.
The first place to look for Christ is in Hell.

Divine Excretions

The Lord of Lords, the King of Kings
squatting down to take a shit.
Constipated for many days,
the hole is now a full pit.

Defecation as a divine
demarcation. This is our
God? Our Messiah? Crucify!
And at once the people cried:

“What blasphemous waste is this,
that God should have to take a piss?”

Call Me Unique; Name Me Nothing

Raindrops, hugs & kisses, and stabs in the back
Though I’d prefer you stab me in the front, because pretending to care is ten times worse
I can’t offer you logical proofs, but I can give you my whole-y heart
Normally I wouldn’t write something so cliche’, but lately I’ve been reading about vulnerability
Taking me back to my days in the city that I barely remember
Things were less hopeful then (which is ironic, because I was surrounded by a mutilated corpse)
With its last few breaths it promised to stab me in the front
And in the back it went
So tell me – was it time well spent?

That’s okay, though, really – I expected as much from the Body of Christ
“Forgive me if that’s blasphemous”
There I go again practicing pretentious piety!
I’m just as much a false prophet as you!
This poem isn’t looking very much like a poem
So let me mix it up a bit
But what is a poem?
(Define: “poem.”)

Ponies were riding down the escalator racing to find meaning
Highlighting all the houses that stood out among their blinders
Feeding in the ones with no complexity – reveling in complicity
Oh structure, dear structure, do you exist?
Only if there’s a foundation to rest your twisted neck

There we go, a real poem
I may be skeptical of authority, but I’m not Postmodern!
Who’s Authority, anyway?
I don’t have a name, silly.

Already/Not Yet (or: “Sorry, by the way.”)

Dark truths written on paper
Truths insomuch as subjective experience is objective
Peeling back, reeling back, so I can know what’s inside my mosaic soul
To be known by myself, and to be known by You
You want honest,
Well – fuck You.
I say that and feel a twinge of sorrow and regret
A siren that signals that I’m different than that arrogant boy who was always
blaming, blaming, blaming everyone (and You)
Not by much, as far as I can see,
But dear Jesus, I’m different now
Thank you – You’re setting me free