I used to dream that I could fly
Just above the whispered clouds, beneath the somber sky
I had a dream I was alive
I dreamt that love would never die, goodbye
Dreams were cheap and hope was easy (so light)
The forgeries of life deceiving (so bright)
And as I glided to the ground (so long)
Calcified, the concrete weighed me down (cruel world)
Your wings are holding up the sky
Dear God, I had dreamt that I could fly
Alkaline the burning frost, has blistered deep beneath my bones
And winter spat its hatred, cold and coiled, black and deep
As it called me ever further, where evil burns and never sleeps
I once had prayers that found no words, fragile things I've never spoken
Through my lips passed eulogies for all the oaths that I have broken
And still the ghost of hope was haunting, through the dark to save the living
And still beneath it all I dreamt that God could be forgiving
Your wings are holding up the sky
Dear God, I dreamt that I could fly
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
I am the worst of all things here
My crooked, black, and lying heart still spits its bitter fear
And each and every sparrow
They flutter to the ground before they die
So please God don't forget me
''I have been with you all along, you have not noticed me.'
Nervosa now felt more ashamed than ever before.
'Why would you still care enough to save me
even after seeing the horrible things I have done?
Why do you remain here even now?' She asked, sobbing.
'Because, here is where you are,' the Lamb said softly,
'And I long to be with you.''
See from His head, His hands, His feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
To Christ, who won for sinners' grace
By bitter grief and anguish sore
Be praise from all the ransomed race
Forever and forevermore
Sunday, June 28, 2009
"God didn't send me out to collect a following for myself, but to preach the Message of what he has done, collecting a following for him. And he didn't send me to do it with a lot of fancy rhetoric of my own, lest the powerful action at the center—Christ on the Cross—be trivialized into mere words.
The Message that points to Christ on the Cross seems like sheer silliness to those hellbent on destruction, but for those on the way of salvation it makes perfect sense. This is the way God works, and most powerfully as it turns out. It's written,
I'll turn conventional wisdom on its head,
I'll expose so-called experts as crackpots.
So where can you find someone truly wise, truly educated, truly intelligent in this day and age? Hasn't God exposed it all as pretentious nonsense? Since the world in all its fancy wisdom never had a clue when it came to knowing God, God in his wisdom took delight in using what the world considered dumb—preaching, of all things!—to bring those who trust him into the way of salvation.
While Jews clamor for miraculous demonstrations and Greeks go in for philosophical wisdom, we go right on proclaiming Christ, the Crucified. Jews treat this like an anti-miracle—and Greeks pass it off as absurd. But to us who are personally called by God himself—both Jews and Greeks—Christ is God's ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one. Human wisdom is so tinny, so impotent, next to the seeming absurdity of God. Human strength can't begin to compete with God's "weakness."
Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don't see many of "the brightest and the best" among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn't it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these "nobodies" to expose the hollow pretensions of the "somebodies"? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That's why we have the saying, "If you're going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.""
-1 Corinthians 1:17-31
The Message that points to Christ on the Cross seems like sheer silliness to those hellbent on destruction, but for those on the way of salvation it makes perfect sense. This is the way God works, and most powerfully as it turns out. It's written,
I'll turn conventional wisdom on its head,
I'll expose so-called experts as crackpots.
So where can you find someone truly wise, truly educated, truly intelligent in this day and age? Hasn't God exposed it all as pretentious nonsense? Since the world in all its fancy wisdom never had a clue when it came to knowing God, God in his wisdom took delight in using what the world considered dumb—preaching, of all things!—to bring those who trust him into the way of salvation.
While Jews clamor for miraculous demonstrations and Greeks go in for philosophical wisdom, we go right on proclaiming Christ, the Crucified. Jews treat this like an anti-miracle—and Greeks pass it off as absurd. But to us who are personally called by God himself—both Jews and Greeks—Christ is God's ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one. Human wisdom is so tinny, so impotent, next to the seeming absurdity of God. Human strength can't begin to compete with God's "weakness."
Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don't see many of "the brightest and the best" among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn't it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these "nobodies" to expose the hollow pretensions of the "somebodies"? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That's why we have the saying, "If you're going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.""
-1 Corinthians 1:17-31
Sublime Thoughts
Woke up feeling like death, the medication finishing the bleeding out process.
Every single thought brings me back...making me question my decisions: "Was I wrong?", "Was it right?", "How did it come to this?" and more then I can recall.
I want anger and rage to pilot me a course out.
Instead all I see is finger nails painted red, digging into my skin.
Poorly dressed metaphors too stoned to put their clothes on and instead try to hide in plain sight.
The only lie, the sweetest one, is the one I heard.
I think it was from me but I'm not sure.
Addictions...lines of lies, bottles of staunch falsified hope behind me and inside...maybe You.
This epic waste, this failure coated in time and sealed in plastic.
Keeping hope as a distant and proverbial type, the sort you wouldn't want to take home to mom.
Ready too late...or too soon depending on how your view of time...being literal or maybe just metaphysical constructs...derisive spittle...confusion laced tears.
I hate medication, much less medication which fades out leaving side effects and just pain. Promoting this aging, falling apart body that is about decay.
It's being revised as we speak...dealing with idiots is tiring but you should try living with myself.
Revised blueprints about how it's a failure is something else unknown and entirely unknown.
Preceding...a process...thoughts...unredeemed.
Forgiveness being a luxury I've lived without.
Just like...love.
Dripping dots, water spots.
Failing down.
Every single thought brings me back...making me question my decisions: "Was I wrong?", "Was it right?", "How did it come to this?" and more then I can recall.
I want anger and rage to pilot me a course out.
Instead all I see is finger nails painted red, digging into my skin.
Poorly dressed metaphors too stoned to put their clothes on and instead try to hide in plain sight.
The only lie, the sweetest one, is the one I heard.
I think it was from me but I'm not sure.
Addictions...lines of lies, bottles of staunch falsified hope behind me and inside...maybe You.
This epic waste, this failure coated in time and sealed in plastic.
Keeping hope as a distant and proverbial type, the sort you wouldn't want to take home to mom.
Ready too late...or too soon depending on how your view of time...being literal or maybe just metaphysical constructs...derisive spittle...confusion laced tears.
I hate medication, much less medication which fades out leaving side effects and just pain. Promoting this aging, falling apart body that is about decay.
It's being revised as we speak...dealing with idiots is tiring but you should try living with myself.
Revised blueprints about how it's a failure is something else unknown and entirely unknown.
Preceding...a process...thoughts...unredeemed.
Forgiveness being a luxury I've lived without.
Just like...love.
Dripping dots, water spots.
Failing down.
"Hurricanes" - Five Iron Frenzy
Yo toda via espero un milagro,
Yo toda via te espero a ti.
The sunlight is fading,
the longest shadows have been cast.
Like songs from a siren,
hurricanes from the past.
And I am a failure,
defeated every time,
so let me lie here,
a sidewalk for a shrine.
I am so lonely,
they say you were lonely too.
Dear God be my savior,
I wait for you.
My broken spirit,
is trembling slow.
Park bench for a throne now,
my blanket is the snow.
And I'm being haunted,
by long forgotten dreams,
for hurricanes have,
the bluest eyes I've ever seen.
I am so lonely,
they say you were lonely too.
Dear God be my savior,
I wait for you.
I am pining for your mercy,
for this storm to break,
Lord you are my comfort,
the hope for which I wait.
Yo toda via te espero a ti.
The sunlight is fading,
the longest shadows have been cast.
Like songs from a siren,
hurricanes from the past.
And I am a failure,
defeated every time,
so let me lie here,
a sidewalk for a shrine.
I am so lonely,
they say you were lonely too.
Dear God be my savior,
I wait for you.
My broken spirit,
is trembling slow.
Park bench for a throne now,
my blanket is the snow.
And I'm being haunted,
by long forgotten dreams,
for hurricanes have,
the bluest eyes I've ever seen.
I am so lonely,
they say you were lonely too.
Dear God be my savior,
I wait for you.
I am pining for your mercy,
for this storm to break,
Lord you are my comfort,
the hope for which I wait.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Hole
I wish I could scream and cleanse my soul,
make reparations for this life.
Hypocrisy gasping for air
while sinking further into my hole,
this place I dug for myself
to hide from the light
and dare You to return.
make reparations for this life.
Hypocrisy gasping for air
while sinking further into my hole,
this place I dug for myself
to hide from the light
and dare You to return.
Friday, June 26, 2009
It's like...I can reach everything I want...except...'that'...that one thing out of reach...that I'm unable to manipulate myself to...or steal...or destroy out of jealousy.
Sometimes I think life would be much more easier if I was blind to this...need...this line of thought...God...this pain even...vividly...it is there.
Sometimes I think life would be much more easier if I was blind to this...need...this line of thought...God...this pain even...vividly...it is there.
Moonlight, Midnight
Midnight.
Pale Moonlight.
You are but a mere reflection,
burning not of yourself
but by the means of another.
Barren motion bathing this land,
casting soft lies,
pale reflection upon a visage of pale reflection.
I walk this land in knowing,
truth in absolutes
with reality bound by constructs
limited in interaction and truth.
I speak in pale parables
seeking embellishment of my life
when all I've ever spoke is lies
and all I have done is stumble.
Messiah, little Lamb,
doth my words fall on deaf ears?
Love via pain,
Shams revealed in pale moon light
and all I have ever said is held tight.
False solace I have found in this pale moonlight
and in your eyes I see a growing fire.
Fire burning.
Fire of resolved.
Fire of love.
Moonlight is the reflection,
a pale imitation seeking salvation
never knowing
it is locked forever in eternity's embrace,
elliptical and repetitious,
endless in pursuing itself.
It is these eyes,
this fire that warms my cold blood.
This love that awakens a soul
that was forever lost
in this pale cold light.
Heated only by dying coals,
silence spreading this ill boded plight.
It was these eyes that gave me hope,
You are the One who gave breath to these lungs
and whose love
causes this heart to beat twice as fast
whenever You pass by.
What fragments remained
You gathered and held.
Mending,
Loving,
Restoring,
giving and rebirthing
this frail life.
Peeling back layer after lie
and remaining faithful
despite my frailty
and the fragility of this Heart.
You broke this stone,
You ripped aparts the curtain,
severing the grand lie
and crossed this impossible ocean.
All while pale moonlight bathes the ground,
reflecting the grass
and in the water.
But it is Your eyes I see,
the fire that brought me to life,
once again.
Pale Moonlight.
You are but a mere reflection,
burning not of yourself
but by the means of another.
Barren motion bathing this land,
casting soft lies,
pale reflection upon a visage of pale reflection.
I walk this land in knowing,
truth in absolutes
with reality bound by constructs
limited in interaction and truth.
I speak in pale parables
seeking embellishment of my life
when all I've ever spoke is lies
and all I have done is stumble.
Messiah, little Lamb,
doth my words fall on deaf ears?
Love via pain,
Shams revealed in pale moon light
and all I have ever said is held tight.
False solace I have found in this pale moonlight
and in your eyes I see a growing fire.
Fire burning.
Fire of resolved.
Fire of love.
Moonlight is the reflection,
a pale imitation seeking salvation
never knowing
it is locked forever in eternity's embrace,
elliptical and repetitious,
endless in pursuing itself.
It is these eyes,
this fire that warms my cold blood.
This love that awakens a soul
that was forever lost
in this pale cold light.
Heated only by dying coals,
silence spreading this ill boded plight.
It was these eyes that gave me hope,
You are the One who gave breath to these lungs
and whose love
causes this heart to beat twice as fast
whenever You pass by.
What fragments remained
You gathered and held.
Mending,
Loving,
Restoring,
giving and rebirthing
this frail life.
Peeling back layer after lie
and remaining faithful
despite my frailty
and the fragility of this Heart.
You broke this stone,
You ripped aparts the curtain,
severing the grand lie
and crossed this impossible ocean.
All while pale moonlight bathes the ground,
reflecting the grass
and in the water.
But it is Your eyes I see,
the fire that brought me to life,
once again.
*sigh*
I'm supposed to love you...to forgive and support you...but of everyone of everything that has happened...I hate you the most.
I despise you...death would never be sufficient for a worthless waste of human life that you are in every moment of every day.
Your continual existence is a plague, a splinter in my mind that will never let me rest.
I despise you...death would never be sufficient for a worthless waste of human life that you are in every moment of every day.
Your continual existence is a plague, a splinter in my mind that will never let me rest.
Red Heart Deficient
I am this incessant drip
I am the lonely creep
I am the tears you never weep
and I am the every subtle rip
being a tear in your soul.
Every single slip of the soul
letting you know
that this hole
letting the voices fall and echo
reverberating through your vertebra.
Echo and scream
just letting you be
swallowed pride
and false dreams.
I'm sick, sick
so very sick.
Your voice chills my spine
and the lipstick
just makes sick.
Red in sight,
red in mind
with little thought to go.
White clouds,
pale lace of the divine
just make life
this life
so much more of a decline.
Sick,
so very sick.
I'll never know these words
because my mind is stolen,
just like my heart being blurred
and these false words that never begun.
I can hide in this crevice
and pray You pass by,
destroying all of this
passing by in Holy fury
and letting Your voice,
still and silent
just pass by.
Just for the record,
I hate what this has begun
what this all has become.
What good, what may be worth it,
I haven't seen.
This insufficient life
is not enough exchange for the pain.
I am.
I am me.
Neither saint nor demon.
Simply me.
I am the lonely creep
I am the tears you never weep
and I am the every subtle rip
being a tear in your soul.
Every single slip of the soul
letting you know
that this hole
letting the voices fall and echo
reverberating through your vertebra.
Echo and scream
just letting you be
swallowed pride
and false dreams.
I'm sick, sick
so very sick.
Your voice chills my spine
and the lipstick
just makes sick.
Red in sight,
red in mind
with little thought to go.
White clouds,
pale lace of the divine
just make life
this life
so much more of a decline.
Sick,
so very sick.
I'll never know these words
because my mind is stolen,
just like my heart being blurred
and these false words that never begun.
I can hide in this crevice
and pray You pass by,
destroying all of this
passing by in Holy fury
and letting Your voice,
still and silent
just pass by.
Just for the record,
I hate what this has begun
what this all has become.
What good, what may be worth it,
I haven't seen.
This insufficient life
is not enough exchange for the pain.
I am.
I am me.
Neither saint nor demon.
Simply me.
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