Man Made (circa semester abroad)

Man, Made

Masterpieces. They have masters.
They had the thought, the dream, the vision, the job.
A creation. Creative touches
-Don’t touch! They are on display.
Unreachable, unworkable, many unforgettable
Do we get it though?
When we stare, photograph, or analyze?
Do we recognize the being?
Or is it just, another one.
One, two, there are more than a few here.
Here- hear the reactions? The attractions bringing the crowd.
The same crowd that passes them by, doesn’t see them for what their worth.
What are they worth? Worth an afternoon? An entry fee?
To watch them be? Or ponder at the purpose, the reason.
What was the intention? To awe at their dimensions?
To read a detailed description describing their state.
But look at the state that they are in.
They are broken, aged, missing arms, legs, limbs.
And yet they are still treated as works of art.
But if art is a sculpture, a figure made with unique features, delicate creatures
Then why is it that the sculptures, creations, masterpieces, of our generation, belonging to our population, lack the popularity of the passer bye’s eye?
Do we not see them?
Do their stains and missing limbs scare us instead of strike us with awe.
Awe, but they are the ones with souls!
Sold out of attention to give to them? Are we?
We, I say we because this isn’t a sermon. Sir, or ma’am that’s who they are.
No different than the we that we are.
Are we supposed to pay their fees or just let them be?
B.C. See them as people, person, per son.
A son , a daughter, with a creative master.
Not Angelo, De Vinci, but a divinity. I believe.
Leave them be? Or believe that they are what I be.
A masterpiece- I have a master.
Who had the thought, the dream, the vision, the job.
A creation- creative touches.
Don’t touch. They are on display.
But maybe for today. We see that they are man, made.

Singing Hallelujah this morning

For the first time. . . singing hallelujah


...thinking about my head and my heart.

The Head and The Heart

I know this, I've felt this before.  I am here, once more. 
I've done it again, haven't I?
Sigh... Curse this sin that I'm in, immersed in it.
I even chose it.
I've drifted, biffed it, picked it, blew it. Again.
It's a pattern, a refrain:
Darted my mind, so stumble my eyes and extend my hands, only to abandon my heart. 
As if my heart has ADD: it's attention then given to Addiction, Distraction, Depression. 
And so there's retention.
I retain my choices, my target, my aim, all for my own gain.
Again I do choose to make it about me.
Even though I've cried that plea, to be emptied.
Over and over. 
But I still don't get over me.
And the emptied, I fill with filth. 
I rinse with repentance but then I repeat. . .
And I'm left to repeat my repent.
It's exhausting.
Exhausting that I can't extinguish this part of me, this sin. 
And I actually chose it AGAIN.
Is my heart is tethered to sin?
And it returns back to him?! to men? no, to me.
Pure irony that I could feel so trapped and yet be so free.
So contained by this pain I feel, but want to believe what's real.
Because if my head and heart would sync. . .
And what's real was not just a part but the whole of me. . .
Am I deceived? Or would my heart control and the vomit of my soul be clean?

fear or free (draft)

the difference between free and fear is one letter, but one word. love.

Psalm 4.19.2011

You did this. I'm talking to You.
I'm lying on the floor. Broken. Exposed. Lips blue.
I'm alone, so alone.
How many tears do I moan until you come and wipe them away?
How loud my sobs, my screams until you beam down, open that door and pour light into this dark dark place.
This space full of loneliness, regret, shame, disgrace.
Louder my cries, harder my hits, more immense my fits, more pain?
I can't bare it.
And you! You said you'd take it.
Well! Here IT is. And IT hurts.
It hurts so much that I fear any pain or loss to come will make me numb.
I can't, I won't be able to do it, and still believe.
Why did You leave? You had to ascend?
Well send Him back. . .
Make Him do it again!
Because I have more sin.
Because I don't feel forgiven.
I can't see my name written.
And I can still taste the forbidden.
I didn't, couldn't listen when you cried "it is finished."
And so, I diminish to this floor and beg that You would remember Your promise once more.
You have to be at that door, even "with me" on this cold floor.
You said and You are.
So let that Truth reign over this wintered heart.
May it be to me, as You have said.
My broken heart, forever wed.

Selfloss

i feel so selfish. so consumed by what i can consume. so enriched by my riches. so infatuated with who i've dated, what i've hated, what state i've made it in. And this, stating all of this-how i feel, is just another selfish deal.


the deal that ive been dealt an amazing hand, foot, head, it was all included. a platinum platter that will likely never shatter. and yet, i blabber, complain, about what i've yet to gain, how i give back to those in pain, help others regain, and so it just goes in vain. what vanity.


it's vanity that according to me, which happens to be the only record i play these days, everyone else is aimed the blame. it's society that has actually done this to me. you see, in this society, the only side we see is our own. what we own is ours.


the hours we spend spending money and time, is mine and never, never Thine. we continue to mine for the gold simply to let that old dream unfold, to get a hold of the American mold for success, sucks for the rest, but i find rest. i mean even the great fall was not my fault at all. which makes this sin that i'm in, the fault of those men. my selfishness is not even mine to confess. well, i do jest.


but no jester can just let this all fester. just let the mess of flesh, of my selfishness become the nest for my pain? so lame. and if we're being honest- my greatest fear, that brings a flood of tears, that tears away my pride and makes me want to hide and abide only in the hope that this fear will disappear with Truth. this fear that makes me want to remove my own flesh in order to make the me that i hate less- is the fear that my selfishness lessens the You that lives in me.

My three cents.