Its been some time since I’ve explained meaning behind the prose. Of recent I’ve received a lot of new followers. I love and appreciate that a lot! I am really encouraged by the interaction with those in the wordpress world. Of any piece of writing style on this blog poetry has received the most attention.

This particular poem is putting together cynicism at the past and the body of Christ. The optimist in me believes in a lot of people and movements and my current church echoes of a cry for “revival!” But sometimes when you have heard one message with the same bullet points it becomes questionable not because of the information but because of the lack of transformation. Its mostly on me actually. Yes, leaders are accoutable more than “followers!” but who stands before the Judgment seat of Christ? How many parables point to leaders? Not many. Whether a wise virgin or a foolish one or whether you are a wheat or a tare or whether you are a coward and bury your talent in the sand we all stand before Christ. And its a one on one conversation.

How many things do we need to listen to that are not the bible. Maybe I am young but it seems like its a money maker to be “prophetic.” I have no interest in attending some flighty prophetic conference that will give a lot of words that I could have just googled. I am not picking a side or am in a position to criticize but what is the truth? And who is responsible for finding it out. ALL OF US. Its not on one person or one church or one leader. Its on you.

Sometimes there is no other way

Sidewalk chalk with His body on the pavement

Son of Man that made the payment,

Blood spilled dreams now fulfilled in You

Furiously free and never at ease,

Backyard talks with the sun free of charge,

Who am I without the tabernacle?

Who am I away from that place?

Blue floor turned to gray,

Millions that see it every day,

Trouble with your interpretation

For it seems like the only way to look

At things is the gnostic things,

The inner knowing from all the

Pressing, from all the dressing

Seems fake sometimes that no

One really has the answer,

Seems like a form cause there’s

Little power,

Fear of being wrong is worse

Then being right,

I am not young anymore,

I’ve hit the books like the rest

Of them,

I’ve hit the floor like the rest

Of them,

I’ve been through suffering

At the edge of dying,

At the piling up shame and

Regret,

Guilt has killed me worse then

Murder, worse then lust,

Worse than girls and going

Much to far—

Self righteous is a warning

From the man that had all

The sex and wisdom needed

To be a man,

False is not wrong information

But manipulation in the power

That you have  been given,

Gentiles know nothing of

Being Jewish and we might

Never know what it is like to

Be bombed at everyday,

Who’s right? Probably no

One—who’s wrong? Probably

Everything I say and think—

Who is worthy? Not me,

To even speak?

To even talk of Holy things?

To even say that prayer is always

The answer is as good as curing

Cancer—its not an answer when

Someone is suffering,

So I am sick of church

Sick of the seats,

Sick of the liars next

To me, sick of all the probably

Messengers that have nothing

To really say,

Sick of language that is

Perverse, that is false but

Dressed up like righteous.

Most of all I am sick of me,

Sick of fear,

Sick of regret

Sick of looking at the cross

And not being changed—

Worthy is a worthless

Word to a lazy man that

Will not live different

Worthless is a show in the

Name of being different

Worthless are the bullets that

They fire, for I will not accept

Another’s calling when I am

Standing before Him,

No one really will matter then

But how I treated the confusion

And the cynicism, that is the greatest

Test of all