Posts for June 27, 2023 (page 4)

     “For though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of:
     for necessity is laid upon me;
     yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!”
          (1 Corinthians 9:16, KJV)

Belief in God can strangely
make an absolute mess of human relationships
especially in interpretations of His will.
Did we not all make the promise to do His work?

We say things like share the love of Christ
and help bear each other’s crosses
then the moment comes to practice what we preach
like the dreaded pop quiz. Have you studied?

A man gets his arm broke
and everyone rushes to sign the cast.
Man gets his spirit broke and everybody
rushes to the other side of the pass.

Listen up! There are devils in the church!
They may not all be evil but
sometimes careless is worse!
A time and time again lesson;
            be careful who you surround yourself with.

Of our little group:
   
                        One had such a magnetic personality
                        drawing you closer, but not into his circles.
                        You could run off cliffs at the edge of his smile.
      
     One was so given to her work
     she never noticed our flatlining friendship.
     Revealed regret can’t resuscitate this relationship.

                                      Another failed to recognize Christ
                                      in the least of his brothers
                                      in one of my moments of shattering. Fucking goat.

            Another looked me in the eye and said
            I’m not your savior. 
            Aren’t we supposed to be His hands and feet.

And then there’s you.
Falling in love may have muddied God’s plan
or it might have been His plan.
Either way, the light you drew people in with
and the way you turned that light off
when they were suddenly getting too close
ran the risk of leaving us confused,
like we were now lost in the cold vacuums of space.

Those were your choices.
They must be respected even as I will ask you
if you’ve truly been open to God’s will all along.
Sometimes love is as simple as helping someone
finally feel forgiven of their sins.
But if not you, then maybe our community
of supposedly intentional disciples, maybe one
could have tried to help me endure such a hard fall?

That’s the part that truly hurts.
You are heartache where they are abandonment,
like I’m not worth saving; I trusted the wrong people again.
They are the shadow I have fallen under.
It’s taken a lot to recognize it
but now I know my time amongst these people
is coming to an end.
I’m not waiting for them to hear God’s voice.

 
Shadows stretch long
         in dessicated wasteland
                   and I am once and for all
                             shaking the dust off my feet.

Either the root
of this unpulled pain
isn’t going
to kill me

or I’m writhing
at the end of
reprieve

bare
neck

beckoning

My dog snores
from the recliner

feet stretched out,
head propped on the arm.

Every now and then
her nose twitches, feet jerk,

and her eyes become slits
reflecting light from the window

as she sighs like the earth
rests on her conscience.

Set aside a little,
Just enough to notice.

Wrap it in plastic,
Seal it in a jar.

No rainy days or nest eggs. 

Just a little morsel, high on the shelf, if you’re worried about running low.

Music is not only for the ears,

But for the soul

For every emotion,

Every lonely night

It’s something that is shared

No matter what you look like

Or who you are

Music is for when you can’t find the words yourself

Or when there’s no one to dance with

Music will hold your hand during your darkest days

Music is for the soul

It feels a little surreal,
If I’m being honest.

Picking out a ring.

Giving ideas of how
And where
I’d like for you to propose.

Making comments
On who will be invited,
And who won’t.

Looking up venues
In my spare time.

On the journey to the end
he sought remembrance
for his life

He asked the statues
preserved and abandoned
“What is it to be remembered?”

Silence was all he met
so he moved on to
literary sets

Asked each book
he had come to read
“How do you live on with your author dead?”

Multiple words
but not an answer to his search
and time was ticking, what a curse

Time, time, perhaps that’s who should be asked
“Oh Father Time, how do I persists
when my flesh no longer exists?”

“You look to things for the answers you seek
but everything has its peak
then falls, remembered only in a memory recalled.”

“So, people is the answer?”
he asked, fervent,
dying gasp ever-present.

“Not quite,” interjected Death,
“for people expire as things do too,
to be remembered then is an errand fool.”

“So there is no answer to my toil
I am to die, with nothing of me
left in the Earth’s soil
just a husk of a body,
my soul departed,
some broken-hearted.”

Tearful, he looks to Death
a question unspoken
itching to ask

Death offers him a token
“I think remembrance is a chore,
it is love that has brought you much more.
It may not have lasted long
and will surely be forgotten
but it brought hope and happiness
in this world so rotten.
So what does it matter if you are remembered
when you had cherished times together?”

He nodded, appreciating Death’s words
then he closed his book
took a stuttered breath
heart gave out, but still searching
What was my life all about?

Sound is not silent.
Unknown lucrative torment; 
Hounds do not repent.

I don’t understand
why the fireflies forgive
children who crush them

Coughing up the cheapest spraypaint
on the floor in a strangers bedroom.
The girls drank my watered down story,
they’ll think of you, continents away
parading your half-sung mania,
pitting cherries with your teeth
like some man’s wet dream, some
pixie girl with the dark-eyes, smile, 
some bad replica of the better thing.
You’re only alive on camera, while I
breathe sweet cigarettes, wildflowers,
straight from the mouths of nymphs,
these girls, drunk and glimmering
attentively assemble likes butterflies
on my sugared hand, comb my hair,
mix me peach Lipton in paper cups.
When I say it out loud it makes sense,
in a foreign language trying to simplify
your existence, they’re sorry for your sins
like I feel anything about the bullshit
glossing my lips. You’d think I would’ve
gone home crying that entire spring.
It’s funny because I’ll forget every line,
yet the verses sit dormant in the blue glow
of my phone, weapons to protect against
ever changing my mind. What’s on paper
is out of my head, means I don’t feel it, so
when I’m done writing you’ll be forgiven.
You can’t change how you appear
charoaled onto my journal, not pretty,
each crosshatch growing into a monster.
Its a good story for the drinking game,
sweeter people whispering about how
even in this cruelty they’re better than you,
and at least they’re honest. The stars spin
falling arrows, I’m surrounded by archers,
who let me love everything now, much more
than pacivity, domesticity, more than you.