My Spirit will not die

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My spirit shall not die,
I will walk thousands of miles,
I will surely live, I will not give up,
be it the gory depths of hell where sinners weep,
or the Holy heights of Heaven where Saints sigh.
But here now, in this earth,
I will fight wars, and be sure,
that no man will reach where I’ve gone
or ever be who I am.
The world is not over,
Victories are won only after
fights are lost, but challenged and then the glory
will come.
Inch by inch, The world won’t know,
But I don’t care for such short sighted wishes,
I am created to be a flaming torch
meant to inspire and give life to what is dead around me.
The day’s symmetry will not change,
reality’s gospel will remain untouched,
but I will live on, and not fear Death herself,
I will live as a spark
in the hearts of men, in the hearts of fighters
and warriors alike… Remembered and
cherished… No shots will down my tribe.
They too will learn to live,
I am here to live… Don’t take away what
rightfully belongs to my soul…!

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Fatal Attraction

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Why sing songs to bait one to fall
into love …?
Why buy roses..?
Why trap one with emotional threats and
fake over dramatic tears..?
Why validate our value with impermanent
hordes that will only exist one day in the memory stash..?
I have not yet learned to understand human
love. For all I know it often appears as the
answer for all human woes, wishes and hurts,
but I know that it doesn’t.
No human being has the cure for this life’s
great evils and ills. Only Jesus does.
But I struggle hard to love like my Lord does,
I can’t still grasp the power of why He had to
give His life for a worthless criminal like me.
What He does for free, I put a price… For
I am poor in love,
I only love what loves me in return,
I love what appears pure, sublime and seems
much needed.
For I am broken, damaged
and exist with deep flaws.
I can only long for dreams, but what I
seem to attract are messes and chaotic beings,
much like me.
We pretend to the outside world and to ourselves
that we are everything that we had ever wanted
ourselves to be.
What a fake hypocrite I am for the cause of love!!

The Silken Carpet of the Dark

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The night is when I am truly alive,
I find myself speaking to ghosts from memories past,
conversing with dreams and hope,
longing deep and more,
The night is what I am made of.
I speak often to God,
sinking slow into the billions of atomic shores
that are not enough to capture his infinite, unfathomable
heart.
I pick apart each thought,
the heart is no longer a maddening
series of shocks, reactions and preoccupations.
The weight of the world has eased off my heart,
I lose myself in the furthest stars,
whose crinkling glows pierces my own heart.
I act deranged, trying to stuff all the empty silence into
the inward chambers of my heart… I long to inject them
whenever I weep for Freedom when the ambulance sirens return
in the hot and dusty mornings,
when the difficult, self worshipping egos cloaked in
religious righteousness return and clamor for obsessive attention,
when the sickness, the poverty and the inability of my own
brokenness returns and I see myself with hatred and sadness…,
Tell me how I can fit the architectural depth of the uncommon peace
that the night offers into my Dreamer’s starry, murky, unspoken heart.
The night is when I truly desire to live,
the day is but a labyrinth for me to maneouver through.
I am clueless and lost, who are all these strangers..?
Why can’t I remember their faces..?
Who will remember me..? Who can look past my mask..?
When will God appear to me…?

– The Poet of the Unseen