Elders

We need the influence of the gray hairs
The ones who have tasted the choking air of our less taken road
The ones who survived the assault of foolishness and the curse of being scared
Who fell in love with wisdom when they felt like losing hope

What we need is not merely people older than
What we need is our elders
Wrinkles who understand youthful intelligence and
Know how to inspire us to make it better

We need the old folk
With strong heads on strong shoulders
The ones who command attention like Captains and Generals
The ones who can train young hopefuls into soldiers

The ones set in their stubborn ways
Because being stubborn is what kept them alive
The ones who know God and can call out the immatures and the fakes
And yet give loving guidance over grandma’s cookin at the same time

Grave, responsible, playful, hard nosed- we need our elders
That courageous, legendary, heroic breed of old
Too many young people running around with only idealism as their helper
Whatever happened to love healing the world and truth anchoring the soul?

We need to believe in our elders
And we need our elders to believe in us
Factions fracture, but oneness overcomes failures
And above all, we need to return to in God we trust

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Monarch

monarchThere are some amazing truths at work in this world.

Take the butterfly for example.  Bypass, if you can, the smooth glint and grin of tilted wings harmonizing with the wind.  Look beyond how it floats through gravity’s realm, deftly impervious to its clutches.  See deeper than its origin story of predestined transformation.  Know all of that, and see none of it.  Look at the butterfly… and see- a butterfly.

The butterfly is an amazing truth.

Why?

Because it is a butterfly.

It is a self contained, blossoming bastion of unique beauty.  Its very not-contingent-upon-your-approval existence is, itself, bold attitude defining it outside of its attributes.  Look from afar through a telescope; look up close with a microscope.

Same miracle.  Same butterfly.  Same created existence wrapped up in something that both you and I lack.

The closest we’ll ever get to being what the butterfly is is through idiomatic literary extravagance.  Metaphors, similes, and poetical analysis analogous to dimensional paralysis- we must freeze the moment we enter the butterfly’s world, and create a memorable memory to cling to when time catches us back up again.

There are some amazing truths at work in this world.

More than there is time to tell of them.

But the butterfly is one, and your neighbor is two.

Just a couple, out of a long line, of synchronous, disparate truths… and amazing to boot.

Public Enemy Number One

There is one mission.

There is one enemy.

The mystery of external affliction is unraveled right here- anything that bites and maims from the outside is under direct orders from something traitorous inside.  The idea of multiple enemies sprinkled throughout our lives like night twinkles along the celestial sky is an illusion supremely designed to keep us off balance.

There is only one enemy.

The will of the soul is indomitable, and the only thing to do with something unstoppable is to point it in the direction you want it to go.  It may not destroy itself, but it  will destroy its world, and when its senses come back to itself, its heart will have been poisoned by depressions that dwell beyond this world.

There is only one enemy.

There is only one mission.

In an era preoccupied with multi-tasking, the multiplying madness of business over efficacy runs rampant.  We have forsaken the waterfall for the spider-webbing streams running like veins down the mountainside and into the forest.  We have given up the whole of today for the fleet footed presence of “right now.”  We have failed to see that the goals of life and the universal purpose intertwining them aren’t supposed to culminate as one, but rather originate as one.

There is only one mission.

Love.

Love feeds the homeless and heals the sick.  Love is compelled to speak and search out what is true.  Love is a safe haven for one’s true identity to flourish.  Love repairs relationships, and safeguards the sanctity of life. Love pulls all the facets of this heartbeat wrapped existence into one, cohesive force.  History silently affirms- while Time passionately cries out- that Love… is invincible.

There is only one mission.

There is only one enemy.

And that enemy… is self… We get in our own way… Pervert purity… Hide behind false identity… Give demonic powers a suitable arena to play in…

Love. Conquers. Self.

There is only one enemy.

There is only one mission.

There is only one choice… so choose wisely.

The Paint Can

Can the canvas be candy painted when the can of paint is candy?

I stick my finger in and swirl it around… A bucket of pigmented liquid.  Mixing.  Sticking the other piggies in, and next thing I know I’ve got my fist in.  Opening and closing.  Halting and flowing.  The fractured rainbow stains my hand with its essence and simplicity of delight is my only response.  I pull a fistfull of color out, out of the color my flesh stands it ground, batting well against the pitchers mound, mounting up on the ladder to darken the sky and add some grey to the clouds.  I fling my hands towards the sky and a rainbow appears- another fling and history rewrites itself.  There is no passion in the blowing wind, just a passionate blowing by of the ever blowing sin, it steals my breath, breath heavy til it drops… and the earthquake rattles my ladder and knocks my socks off.  Balance misplaces itself, and my body begins to drop… last desperate clutch at the ladder’s top, but it just scars my hand and I Mufasa fall.  The paint can falls.  It’s internal organs spreading across the grass- I splatter it wildly around as I land, and as I lay sprawled on my back I have a revelation.

Changing the world makes sense in one lane, but success is only guaranteed if you have another on track.

**

~The Wordsmith

The Battle

This sickness that we sippin, is killin all of our children

Diseases, famine, and outrageous prices of livin

If we only live to rule the world, what kind of world are we buildin

We abstain from community, what shall the children live in

Overseas people dying at the lack of our abundance

They have faith through their despondence and will quickly do a sun dance

On our end – we’re ejecting God out of our culture

Raising a generation full of self warmth with cold shoulders

In our own land, we hate each other, and condone slavery

Better watch what you say to me, because of my insecurity

Meanwhile not far away from me, some girl’s getting pumped with STDs

Some woman is getting raped despite her mournful screams

How can we help the needy if we can’t stop being greedy?

How can we find depravity, and shut it down, if in it we are sinking?

This world is a ship that’s going down – its salt water we’re drinking…

 

The more we sip, the thirstier we get

Misnamed ambition, but what it is, is sin

Toxic work conditions, deadly toxins when you breath in

But you have to support your family, so you forfeit all your oxygen

America sports the clothes, spun by battered and wounded 5 year olds

We just turn up our nose, and say “that’s just how it goes.”

Kids dying of thirst, in mid-step to the water

Say that to ten people, and not one of them will falter

Humanity’s in a war, and we’re taking heavy losses

Wading through dead bodies – the casualties are all around us

We’re fighting our own nature, but have shifted to fighting ourselves

If we but shelf our rights, we might, curb this tendency to fail

Like it or not, you are an armed and capable warrior

The question is – are you for you or for the army?

Imagine humans in phalanx formation – what would you worry for?

The worst thing to be is a soldier in limbo – good for nothing, and to nobody.

 

 

 

 

~The Wordsmith