Is it valid, your love for me?
Is it solid, the weakness that separates me?
Is it true that I don’t know what is true
That I cannot be known apart from You–
Heavenly is a remedy for temporal
Disturbances, a ruckus I have raised
For this highway to be paved–
Sitting is pain, silence is a hollow
Train through this town–no supplies,
No asking why, no more things to carry–
No more being silent for the things that
Bother me, but do they bother You, or are you
Restraining so it won’t kill me?

I am bothered that I feel smothered by
Your eyes, by a God who never lies,
By a covenant that I cannot break,
Flesh is cut, bird blood in a rut,
A cross is between us, but only one
Of us has been raised up, has been
Raised up forever!

I will not go for You God,
I will not speak for You,
I will ask over and over again–
Am I valid? Am I solid? Am I
Empty when everyone sees me
Full? Am I fool for the sake of love-
Am I the Nineveh messenger bent
On rejection or am I also swallowed
Up by my own fear,
By my own despair?
By my own repair that leads
To nowhere

Am I valid?
Am I solid?
Or am I focusing on that which
Can keep me from believing that
You are good,
That you are near,
That Your mercy validates
The parts of me that cannot
Save, that cannot hear, and
That cannot speak
I will go, I will say,
But I will need mercy to
Lead the way

What Shall My Message Be?

What Shall My Message Be?


Blessed Is He who is not offended because of me

Shall I tell you your story, how will he reveal his

Glory to the earth that was before our birth, steps

Laid that you cannot take away, carried or huddled

Shall the earth become disheveled, when dispensations

Don’t save the left behind rather me turn, kind am I

To judge the makings of beasts overturning middle

East’s you watch with daily feasts around the

Dinner table, thus is no fable, Israel is able

To survive with enemies at every side, I

Choose to hide and abide in you,

Asking this haunting question: what

Shall my message be?


I know for certain that one day

He will remove the curtain

Of earthly realities and light

A match to all my possessions

Stored up in barns, and in this

Harness I confess that I am

The only one coming out

Of my grave, for I know he

Can save and I know he gave

It all but that man on that

Stage I cannot be like him

I cannot repeat his revelation

I must be my own situation

I must hold onto my confession

And as I really walk day to

Day I will daily ask: what

Shall my message be? Will

I act and do according to

What you require of me?

Will my body be rip to shreds

Or will I face the dread of that

Day with boldness? Lord, I confess

I must live like this.

Plastered County

Plastered County


In the nonstop traffic,

Can’t tell how far is next

Stop, blinded by the addiction

Of rushing across white stripped

Lines and the yellow hazard

Zones, this plastered county is

Addicted to blindsided negligence

Of innocence like coke addicts

Sniffing and snorting as if it

Was as easy as pixy sticks

In a straight row, how far

Will this county go? When

Will it let go?


We’ve played tricks on our

Selfish minds, we’ve hated

Long lines in supermarket

Sweepstakes, it’s as if we

Are always aching for

Contentment but without

The ointment, resentment

The parents that give license

To parry reprimanding,

Afraid it will lead to

More burying of fear in the

Ground, but here’s where

The plaster covers the heart,

Your face means everything

Like the beamer in front of

The Lexus that’s in front of

The Mercedes that upsets

Traffic like a tumor ever

Expanding, the rumor has

It that you’re getting fat

And soon you hide like a bat

Appalled at this plastered

County that validates identity

By the bullets of vanity like

Velvet silk, slipping in this

Land of milk and honey, not

Holy matrimony but rather a

Calligraphy of escaping to the

Next greatest vacation spot,

Seems like this is all we got,

The ability to fake it,

All of life and its attentiveness,

Implants to juxtapose that

Single mom who never did

A thing wrong to earn a

Life of an arduous uphill

Ascent, vanity has many

Nearsighted and the impetuous

To wait with the plastic surgeon

Meanwhile the burgeon is

Headlining the broken

Station wagon of world

Outside this county,

Rich with bounty,

Comfortable like

Fluffy stuffed animals,

Fake smiles and new

Basement tiles, anything

Tactile, the rest of the world

Sits and stares, aims the gun

With flares and signals

The plastered county with

Much despair, whether or

Not you earned it is not the

Point of contention, or your

Early pension, sure you’ve

Earned it but will you close

Your eyes to the rest of

Humanity spinning out of

Orbit, what can vanity do

When its spinning upside

Down without the ability

To respond?  The harum-scarum

Life that makes mtv’s true life,


How am I gonna write this

Poetry, will it be entwined

In redemption in my given

Section of freedom in this

World, will I weld the sword

And say that when vanity is

Asleep Heaven is awake,

Choose, your life at stake,

Whether or not you rake in

A million dollars a week,

My eyes will grow weary

And will seek to

Repair the nearsighted,

The victims of plaster,

For surely, our God

Puts together disaster

Ridden lives and the hardest

Heart like a million open

Ended knives peeling off

Each layer at a time,


I am the messenger,

No different then

These plastered county

Victims, I am just like

Them, so God,

Please Come!

Shoot The Messenger, Save The Passenger

This is part 3 of the Messneger series. Many more to come. My heart is stirred over the loss of millions that are living life without Christ, without the way of redemption; unsaved. We are the Sons adn daighters of the living God which means we are his mouthpiece and as the world grows darker we shall shine brighter and if speaking the truth means death on this side then we have done what He has asked us to do; represent Him.


Shoot the Messenger, Save the Passenger



Speak tricks

Wrapped around

With syntax

Playing the Sax

Steaming the sound

Of the sentimental



Men, women,

Who died for

Their nation but

Did not regard the

Master of all Creation


Altruistic syntax

Blown up by

Public speech

Giver, seeking

The river of the

Human mine,

Open, without

Token, He, She

Has spoken,

Where shall they

Take their broken

Life like a passenger

On a plane,

Flying against

The grain

Who do they stand

For, And who do

They blame? Are we

Not all the same,

Singularity the way

Who should they worship?

And is it really worth it?


Passenger life in vain,

Smothered by

Self good,


Shoot the Messenger,

Or wait for later because

What I am saying is the


Passenger never came

To the altar, they never

Drank His water,

Sat at his streams

Of free goodness,

Rather they lived

Void of godliness

Like mammals in

Hibernation they

Engulfed in humanization

Spoke like arrows

Piercing the elusive

Heart that gives way

To the sway of the

Evil one


Like said before

Shoot the Messenger,

Pleading subpoena

To save the arena

Of the Passenger,

They won’t relent,

Self pleasure

Is their treasure

Human rights their

Activist, mercy sunset

Not apart of it,

Redeem them

For they know

Not reality,

They have no


Sties have

Blinded their

Eyes, God of

This age—their minds.


Shoot the Messenger,

For they reach out

To the Father,

Surrogate the hate,

Stand in the chasm

Of the self phantom,

Already dead spasm,

Yes, til death do us

Part, God, you have

Our heart.


Shoot the Messenger,

Save the Passenger

On the road paved

With good intentions

And more inventions

To cause an uproar

They are Hell bent,

But your Son, you

Sent, Come and

Save, Messenger

Won’t relent, even

If shot to death.