Welcome

Take me to the Place where the saints gather,
To the convention of the just made perfect;
Where the clouds of glory settle and tongues of fire dance;
To the atmosphere so pure that I come undone to be refined.
It is where David dances and Solomon sits to be taught;
A place whose gates Sampson’s strength does not qualify him to guard.
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Relapse

When the past, long thought dead, suddenly becomes the present…
Of course, it’s usually the unwanted past that creeps up – go figure…
So sly, playing possum, waiting for that atmosphere – the crack in the psyche.
For it knows, that with the pressures of life come cracks and fractures;
And oftentimes the more rigid the structures, the deeper the damage,
The louder the snaps, and the more forceful the bursts.
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Still Grateful

Here’s a story for those who love such things:

I was once a man (seems like so long ago) who didn’t have much,
But I knew how to love, and loved all I had.
One day I got something I grew to adore and prize
Above all else I had, and I desired not much more.
But not long after, I began to lose the little that I had.
After each loss, I would say to myself and to Him on my knees,
‘I’ve lost something quite dear, but I’m still grateful.’

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Quote

Quote #46

“Heavy lies the crown of fear on the shoulders of the hopeless. It weighs down the thoughts and steps, shortens the arms and blinds the eyes. Fear feeds itself with kin and kind, till all that’s left is absolute despair. The crown of peace is a crown of reeds – light and friendly, almost a halo. Readily available, but easily taken off. Adorn your heart in royal apparel, and don on the crown of peace each day’s dawn.” – Makafui.

#Isaiah 26:3
#SpreadCalmNotFear

Tribute To My Muse

My muse is a beautiful maiden, the most ravishing demoiselle;
Exquisite beyond description; Wise beyond compare – without peer;
Her smile carries the sun, the moon, the stars, every source of light;
Her words are soothing, sublimely subtle,
Poignantly apt, incisively noninvasive, completely compelling;
She is the perfect picture of contradictions dressed in paradoxes,
Crowned with the ultimate enigma, surrounded by barely unveiled mysteries;
Her steps are silent, even the dust isn’t disturbed if she wills it so.
She walks with the grace of a majestic feline,
And the stately elegance of a sunrise.
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Fathers

To fathers – past and present.
To the past, a tribute; to the present, an ideal;
Because it would be a truly sad world,
When the best Dads are the dead ones.

“My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!”
A teacher whose words marked the path to the destinies of generations;
Fell along the way, leaving only a silent lifeless landmark
No more will I hear him whisper from behind, “This is the way. Walk in it.”
I refuse to recall the dirge about ‘how the mighty have fallen’;
When I cannot find your trusted well-oiled shield’s protection.
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