No End

No End

No end to the healing lines

Blind eyes opened and

Spoken oppression

Dissipating

Anticipating

5,000 fans

Of winded revival

Fires, where will

This renewal go,

Where will this

Afterglow blow,

Where will all

The lines end,

Where will Heaven

Begin and the earth

End, it shall be both,

It shall be least severe

Means to save the boast

I Corinthians I shall

Lean, glean, and bend

To be clean, revival

Is not survival, its

Overcoming every

Shortcoming that

Seems to be in the way

The Kansas City Conflagration

Kansas City Conflagration

 

And from this city it burns

40 foot long tiki torches

Surrounded main street

Escapades and like hair

Succinctly in braids,

These memories pull

Back forehead and forge

Ahead the barrage of

Projectiles we used to

Keep our lives a never

Ending fight, a meteor

Splitting our sky, a

Question to pry, you

Always had me fist

Clenching, starving

For wisdom over the

Grease we ate, aligning

Our stomachs, kept us up

To speed of this life

Full of declared promises

And outlined prophecies,

Can anyone touch these

Mysteries? Can anyone

Question the histories of

Theologies past and now

Present?

 

We last want to

Hear that the coming of

The Christ is near, and our

Stroll around this town

Watching, waiting, knowing

That one day this city will

Be like a match striking the

Dry tumble weed that would

Impede our lives on empty

Roads, revival will combust,

In him we will have

To trust, 5,000 souls to now

Feed, prophetic history to meet

Its maker, to supersede our

Dire need to be politically

Correct in our conduct,

For his conduit will be

Us, men and women who

Live with one thing to bring,

One song to sing, one eternal

Gift and a million hours for

The great exchange and looking

Back it was the eerie pyre that

July night, we expunged what

Could be called garbage, we

Emptied the garage, set embers

To melt the façade that we had

Our lives together and perfect

Was the requirement, and this,

No land of retirement, rather

It was the conflagration of

The lusts of the flesh, the aching

Eyes to fixate on manly pride,

The fight to only abide in his

Ride that encircled this city,

Must set ablaze the thick

Black haze that could suck

Us down like a whirlwind,

We were storm chasers,

Weather announcers, no

Firefighters to put out our

Grate to become nothing,

Dead to live, starve to feast,

And like yeast building inside

The bread, we chose to press

Onward, ahead, the hearth would

Continue to be the ash heap of

Journal entries with weep stains

On repeat.

 

The conflagration of Kansas City

Was, without hesitation the

Scintillation in our sky, the

Endless nocturnal nights of

Singeing our rights and melting

The Crown of thorns,

It would be known that

Whittled down to nothing is the

Greatest something this city would

Ever know.