Broken

Broken we watch the things which are breaking
as the innocent break from our innocence taking
we watch the helpless abused for their guileless smiles
while our own hearts are hardened by our pitiful trials
we watch the useful get used till their empty and wasted
their fruit left unripened, their best juices untasted

We fall to the ground overwhelmed by our sight
for it feels like the sky all our lives has been night
and the darkness within us has matched the darkness without
and so thoughts of the morning fill our soul with grave doubt
we’ve watched so much darkness flow out from our souls
would the bringing of light in not only bring holes?
would we not be fractured beyond all repair
if that which flows from us was no longer there?
Watch thus yourself closely that you may not fall prey
to that which we doubt most, the dread breaking of day.

And broken we’ll weep for the things we’ve been breaking
but not comprehend grief from our innocence taking
for the helpless need helped from their pitiful smiles
and their hearts they need hardening for all life’s harsh trials.
the useful need using before too old and wasted
their fruit after all is no good left untasted.

We fall and rest on the ground, well pleased by our sight.
And why not? For the sky all our lives has been night.

For Ryan

As the light sifts softly
through the dust which hangs still softer
in the morning air
a memory of the bout before the dawn
the grappling of the good and true with you
from here we’ll limp
with holy unhinged hips
to remind us of the one who’s whole
the one who is our home
the one to whom we go
as we journey through the trees.

An impassioned plea for pens, paper, and the printed word.

[note: I should mention that I wrote this when I really wanted to write a friend a note and a poem for his birthday but had no pen, just a computer. The words felt empty and so I wrote this instead. It's based on a quote another friend told me that was ironically in a book that said, "books are where words go to die."]

Books are where words go to die,
but here they’ve never lived.
They’ve never felt your eyes
except through the veil,
never felt your touch or been a part of a page
which, leafing softly, fluttered in your ears
casting scents of new or aging paper
upon your hungry nose.
Here they are sexless fantasies which
emptied of their power need
complex circuitry to bring them to light.
No warm soft light illuminates them,
only cold backlit translucence.
Words here are like cut flowers
which, while in more amiable and accessible surroundings,
are far from the home where they became beautiful.
Like animals in a zoo, there is a sense of settling.
A sense that though complacent in their cages
their eyes were meant for the hunt.
Like your elders in a “home,”
their wit and wisdom dulled
through lack of needful relationship.

Yet here we mistakenly hope,

trading beauty and sense
for a chance that somehow without them
we will communicate truth
more efficiently.

Meditation on Isaiah 53

All
pornograhpers, slavers, and ethnic cleansers
molesters, racists, and liars
cheaters, addicts, and whores
all drunks, sluts
and abusers of the physical, sexual, emotional
all oath-breakers, haters, and homos
bitches and witches
bastard children and adulterating parents
all terrorists, extortionists, and gossips
slanderers, blasphemers, idolaters,
all the arrogant, unrepentant, and reprobate
heretics, cannibals, and violent

have hope.

paradoxical,
beaming hope.

shining brightly
in the downcast eyes
of him who carries

the iniquity of us all.

You is.

You is.
You is the was
you is the now
and you is the gonna be.

You is the word that was spoke
to make the sun shinin’ day and the starry dark night.
You is what made the fishes swim
and the cow to chew the cud.
You is what makes rain drops fall down
and the sweet corn come up outta the dirt.

You is what made most all that sees the sun and some things that don’t
Jesus, you is what made the sun shine today,
and you is what brings the clouds across the plain.
you is why I’m breathin’ and why I’m cryin’
lovin’, laughin’, livin’
Everything that’s livin’s only livin’ cause you is.

But the thing is that most a what’s livin’s broken.
and the livin’ end up dyin’ someday…
but you is dyin’ too.
least ways you did one time.

The thing is that of everything that’s dyin’ you is the only one ain’t dyin no more.
Cause you is the gonna be.
You is the livin’ again.
You is the big brother of all o’ what’s been broken, dead and gonna be livin’ again.
and count o’ that you is gonna be King of all a what was, is now, and is gonna be.
and every broken livin’ thing that sees that for you there ain’t much difference between the was, the now, and the gonna be has gotta go ahead and make you 'is King.
cause the gonna be happened a long time before the was was even a gonna be.

So when you is born in a feedin’ trough you is already a King though none o’ the kings that was would ever think much of ya.

And when you is lovin’ the parts of us that’s broke, it hurts so bad we don’t believe in kings at all. But you is still a King that washes our dirty toes, confusin’ all our ideas about what you is.

But when you is gonna be breakin’ in next time… well kings is gonna be hidin’ cause they gonna realize that they all been doin' is playin’ dress up and weren’t really kings at all…

not compared to what’s gonna be.

Something I wrote as I began to sense the air turning to gray...

Tonight
we wait
long have we come from distant lands

long coming we come to this moment
and now
tonight
we wait.
in the darkness we have heard the distant star's song
and now
tonight
we wait.

the cellestial anthem beckons us to fix our gaze upon the East
and now tonight we wait.
In pitchest black before the dawn
tears streaming in silent anticipation
water the ground with the sorrow of long-suffering
as now
tonight
we wait.
broken from our journey
longing for the break of day
sobs of yearning break
as the air turns to gray
we look to the East as rays of gold
stain the sky and as day comes in all its splendor
the seeds planted in barren ground long ago
watered only by tears and warmed by mere starlight
spring forth in life.
love has come.
love has come.
love has come.
the wait is over. now floods of joy stream down.

And the song! The song which began among the heavens millenia ago before the darkness. The song which has been sung by seraphs before the throne of God Most High. The song which had its origins deep in the Sovereign's heart ahd flows thru all the Holy One is and does. The song of all and the song of the One and Only. The song of creation and the song which destroys the old for the sake of the new, redeeming what was forfeit for the sake of its hearing. The song which has never known beginning and sees no end. The song which governs time. The song of our Savior who sings over us leaping and shouting and magnifying, creating, loving, caring, knowing us. The song is given to man. And all the weeping, the sorrow, the bondage, the heartache, and the pride is replaced with tears of joy, thanksgiving, happiness, freedom, light, and wholeness. True honor is given to man as he takes his place giving honor thru the song to Most High. Looking ever eastward whence comes his King.

"God is not like me" or "How I learned that freedom doesn't come with comfort."

I thought you small
I thought you weak
I thought you looked
a lot like me.
I thought you safe
I thought you white
I thought you’d let me
sleep at night.

I tried to put you in a box
But it seems that not
the strongest locks
could start to hold you in.
I had you down
I had you snared
But it seems I’d grasped
no thing but air.

and then...

into the world you made, you came
not the least bit weak, nor tame
you spoke, you bled, you died, you rose
and when I lay in sin you chose
to save me from myself.

Then it all became so clear
that all I’d once held close and dear
was just a pile of shit.

But you...

You it seems are not like me
Not weak, not small
but strong and free
Your love abounds so mad, so wild
and it demands all from this child.
As that is how I acted while
I wanted you to be like me.