Get Up!

Reflecting on how good God is and how much we can hate ourselves.

The great delay as some would say
The hours to slave away—making the
Rent, making another dent on the freeway—
Its rims, its rubber, it’s a life sucker—
Waiting is hard for the hard hearted, for
Saving is a once but changing is a daily
Must—heart hardens with no more mercy
Pardons, judgment day coming—one life,
One death, one sentence, one gavel drop
For this body on borrow, this pain with its
Sorrow, this rental of a shadow I carry with me—
Peter power for the sick, just one touch and power
Is released-
To long now has man hated his existence
Has lived in constant resistance,
To long now has this body been hated at,
Motivated to change by sun and waves
But there is sand in these dreams, its morsels
Is with me called knowledge, called glory,
Called covering the earth like that great big
Sea—
To long have you casted your shadows and covered
Your eyes, they shine bright with light—it is always our
Fault though we get the salt, its always our decision though
We get mercy in the revision—
We have been down for to long now—
We have sorrowed much to long now—
All face death but some carry its sting—
Loss is never a crossword puzzle,
Is never ten letters or less—its sorrow
Carries day to day until escape is desired—
We groan, we wait, this tent is for rent—
His signature signs anyone’s departure—
God up above, daily misunderstood—
Words in red make me dead for I cannot be
Perfect with all these beautiful imperfections—
You have a slant, you have a dent, its all the same
God but no one is not special, air it like a commercial—
Made unique, made with purpose, made to no longer
Hate what has been perfectly made—eyes now light up
With truth, this body has purpose, this flesh is not a waste
Of Your time, I am Thomas, I am doubting, I am now shouting
That those wounds were real, those scars will stay indelible,
Will stay incredible—Jesus Christ is no superstar, is no musical
On repeat—He bears the wounds meant for me, meant for
Humanity—angels look down and cast their crowns—only
This tent of a body can carry light and truth and give it back
As proof of Your love—we are down, we are hard pressed,
We are full of sorrow but the greatest change comes with
Just one look at Your fiery eyes—I will speak, I will seek,
I will say all that I can possibly see—up now, to the highest place!

Video Replay

Daily is a mystery

Forged in the mundane

Starved out in the rain—puddles of

Pain they passed out then—everything is

A movie played on replay,

I was once the seed,

Crafted before birth to

Carry the berth

Called it purpose before,

Called it wanting to explore

Call it love for more, never settled

Never satisfied—blood that is red,

Pain that is a guide always looking

For the wrong kind—how has one changed?

How does one gage it?

Seed to bread now ready to feed

‘The lips of the righteous feed many,’

The dead give every penny,

Every last mite, every last might,

Every last late night, every last part

Of the oil it takes in the toil it takes

To keep on giving—

This life is like a video played on replay—

Used to be shut in, used to be closed up,

Used to be in the crowd all the time—

But every last drop has been spilt,

Every last bit of You has been poured out—

Alive is the replay of the video mind you have

Given to me—

Shut in no longer, seed no longer,

Now something stronger,

Something of vinegar they gave You

On the edge of my sword I pierced You—

That man that suffered in the flesh

That stayed silent as He was defiant

Against the accusation—

Honor is a hollow tragedy no longer

Filled in with the story of glory You have

Written—

Bread is where I am, feeding on love

Instead, vultures are above, the sea is

Below filled in is hollow—

The shut in man has nowhere to run

Just stays on the run—

Facing it, facing the world, facing your life—

That is all it takes sometimes—

Let mercy be on replay

For this video of a life You have

Given me

Probably Not

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

Rewarder

Caffeine tower

Empty lighter

Cigarette full of empty

Something to say has always haunted me

Talker, fast walker, a use to be runner

Sunny side up on those eggs

Dark shadows like bags to carry

Roads real scary for those that want

No fear—worthy is a worthless word

Without the work of not being sure—

Effort is a slave to the peace it takes

To please You, never a yoke without

A stroke, never rest without nights of

Regret for time spent on paying rent—

Is money my curse when I don’t have

A purse to fill with empty pennies?

Questions with no answers is my cancer—

I will answer them in due time

But until then I will sacrifice

The caffeine, the sugar, the lean

And the fat and the news that You

Reward those who seek You, its in

Your hands—the rewards that You

Have

Numbers

Numbers

Is one plus one,

Its equation is not equal for He was made just a little

Lower, He was this desire that has laid ahold of Me

I am not positive, I am not negative

I am desire, I am equal to the lowest man on the

Earth,

Your secrets possessed me now–who will go for me?

Send me is what the Prophet says–but He cannot say it

Until He sees what He is and HAS to say yes to–

Glory supersedes skill and intention and your fallacies

are measured in the moments that you

Risk is a disc that spins in Your head–

You are near! You are the numbers

It spins and sins against me–

His commands stretch out over my lifetime–

Numbers and days–it all adds up to a risk

Like a disc that spins in Your head–

I will risk it, I will risk the numbers to

Be spent on You,

If it doesn’t cost something

Than it won’t last–

Give me the numbers I need

To live fully for You

Fragile

How fragile I am
In this crevice again
In the heat of the light
I barely seem to see,
how broken it can become
to stay numb at the dawn of
New things
Now I am still lost in these
church seats
Capitol hill stands still
Who can rule?
Who can reign?
Who can take away this
Pain–
Love like this, that kind that
takes over your mind,
That rules that which no one
else can take over–
I have space for someone,
For anyone who can return
And rerun the memories of
what it would never be like
without it–
Worthy is the man that
never did sin,
That never did give in,
That still said it would be
hard,
That felt it for us,
That took it upon Himself,
How fragile He was,
How broken He became,
How insane love is
That even fragile people
like us can carry Him in us–
Fire, flame, burn, burning,
Earning that love can never
Be given but wasting all my time
to get it, well, that is a cost I want
to be willing to–
Fragile is a gift
Poor is more
And that seems to be the
Most important thing right now