The Modern Miracle

The tormented mind, bound by oppressive thought, thinks what it should not 

It entertains the solution as the only way, chained to the debts and regrets of the day

There in macabre sight, hanged, shot, turned off in plight

The reality is at the fingertip, in form of prescribed elixir to the lip

The patient grim company whispers with cunning lies, dressed as an angel in disguise

Looking to mirror with no good in sight, desperation calls to quit the fight

Anchored to the supposed better-off, the torturous voice explains away the cost

The seconds pass without a single doubt that the only way to, is out

The exit is quick–no walk through the Valley, with no person to hold, no will to rally

With the soul out of alignment, the body falls towards confinement

The divided mind overrides yielding to legion, fumbling and faltering past sound reason

 

There, with hidden hour arrived and ill forsaken plan contrived, a new thought arrives

Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light

The blurring prolongs the desired choice; in eternal seconds sounds His voice

And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them

Rather than reprimand from the tongue, no chide comes to silence the internal demon’s song

On battlefield and quite harassed, the one syllable fight outlasts

Realization comes in simple cries, overcoming seductive lies

Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles

 

Whether in progressive healing, or instantaneous revealing, souls begin reeling

The inner Spirit has room to take over; the body is given away to the Lover

The voices silence and wicked plans, with sinful nature, die; the will makes the decision, choosing Life   

No explanation will suffice, that the Savior performed this heist

The ugly plunder removed from heart, to change the motives and give new start

In front of mirror, the present has no reflection of the tattered, tortured, lifeless recollection

Now with a willful, intentionally joyous look, the answers constant, found in that old Book

Anchored in truth, desiring no other way, faith resonates and reminds that His miracles are for today

I walk Toward: Dialogue of the Worker

I walk toward
A journey from reality to realization
From four-walled caves
dimmed with fear
lit with power
Pressed to floor, pinned to planks, splintered by broken spirits
Torn
Engulfed by the excuses
Victimized by
Turned Away
Thrown a Blind Eye
Given Up On
Sold
Memory is foul play, massacred childhood, matured by misogynists
I was taken away
The litmus test of a survivor is whether I can work, whether I can be
accepted socially, whether I can withstand temptations of suicide,
whether I can be married
I am in a class of my own
Deciding to overcome the threshold of hegemony
Vulnerable to the world’s caring
Undecided on when trust matters
Wondering what agency means
Or just battling pain, questioning the earth, scorning
Wonder
Future
Possible
Sorting voices

I walk toward
“Close your eyes.  Breathe.”
Tremors come from mouths, choking, gasping.
Cannot exhale. Cannot find inhale.
Short, abrupt, staccato sounds
Day one stands still

I walk toward.
“Tree. Warrior. Salutation.”
Trees search for fertile ground, desiring to be rooted
Training begins with the armor of protection
Greetings exchanged triggering a welcome

I walk toward
“Tina Sister, Massage me.”
Massage me
to break misogyny
Tell me I can be

We overcome Day one at a time
Without promise, but with hope to lessen the recoiling and to displace
the disturbed dream
I call forth the little girl warrior, Pose into new abundance daily,
and dance on to give the present

Recovery

The cold slanders today

Smearing sun’s message

Though when present yields shadows

Blamed as an accomplice to deeds

Light, I beg, do not hide

 

Economy of God, be known

Speak of greatest utility and unmatched joy

Once withdrawal and contempt fade from luminous shock

Total assassination of that which lurks in darkness  

Restoring the indignant and wounded back to a Christ reality

 

Oh radiant transparency!

Recruit the long suffering

To bring story to the resigned suspicious

Truth be common once again

That we may be reminded Eros Turannos in utterances deep

Blogging

He stumbled upon an old heart’s page

That collected dust in a timeless age

Where eternity hit the soul’s speaking

There were the voyeurs entreating

Enticed by the God-send word

An unforeseen alienation occurred

Misunderstanding they engaged

Cerebral plots and curiosity staged

Without interaction there they met

Poised to lose what they could get

Never did they once test

The reality at its best

What the heck?

In August, I had the glorious aspiration to write more.  On the 20th, I started a job and that pleasure vanished.  I have been vigorously focused more on purpose.  But, there is a balance. There is a place where our very purpose is to understand that God loves what brings Him pleasure.  He’s that loving.  I just now have to silence the voices that tell me to put up a thousand posts to make up for the months I didn’t.  I guess I’ll just settle on enjoying that this is another start.  Ahh, the challenge of imperfection and releasing condemnation!