Restored, but not before having to give my word
Are my “words” my own?
To give?, To take back?, To withhold?
Witness blind-folded bound and gagged?
Pretend not to see?
Not to hear?
A sound-proofed rooftop from which to shout,
What was gently whispered in an ear?
It grates, it chides, it dis-kabbobulates
It’s a fine thread pulled unraveling the whole
Until nothing of worth remains
“Shhhh….hush you mouth boy,
Folks will hate you and how’s that gonna’ make us all look?”
Man, life was easier when all was fantasy, contrived, make believed bull…
Reality is a bitch!
You don’t really want this?
There is no place for “Truth” in the world.
Why do we proclaim to be in the world but not of it?
When our speech and actions proclaim we still love it?
The truth hurts,
But it’s supposed to.
Sin feels good till it’s something we resist and become opposed to
The pain increases before the peace becomes known
We cannot illustrate to others
What we ourselves have not heard
Nor been shown
Am I alone?
An audience of one in three
Points to home
If your grace truly is sufficient
Then I must have interpreted it
But nothing moves
So many anchored in places
And in safe harbors of comfort
Fearful to set sail
Shuddering in storms
Waiting for their passing in silence
“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers” God Bless