Heaven's in my Heart (A Devotional)

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A wavering peak of substance

A meriting chasm of hollow will

confronts the siren’s secret trance

that sends the sailor out, upon rocks that kill

Heavens in my heart

and I feel unworthy….yet smile, that you still care

A smothering entanglement

A shackling undulation

enshrouds the every sense

whispering virtuous elations

Heaven’s in my heart

and I feel unworthy…yet smile, that you believe In me

One day, one day you will come

across the sky it is said

you’ll come down, and crush the serpent’s head

and light will shine, shine down from your kingdom

Heavens in my heart

and I feel unworthy….yet smile, that you still care

All will feel, as it never has—we are blessed, we are blessed

each day a lifetime in love’s sweet caress, sweet caress

and then, one will know

the beauty in salvation, to bask forever long in its glow

Heaven’s in my heart

and I feel unworthy…yet smile, that you believe In me

Heavens in my heart

and I feel unworthy….yet smile, that you still care

Heaven’s in my heart

and I feel unworthy…yet smile, that you believe In me

To Rise Again (Greater Heights Have Been Scaled)

Slew foot polygon—a gross manipulator

one in the same—as facts—details—skew the page

for all the ins and outs—

for all the feral symmetry—

for all the finite skills suppressed—

for all the jungle operations hunkered

down—

So deep, that vacuous well—

forever locked—up, down, side x side—

jaw draped—from the random parallels—

between awe—and the every word spoken against, 

in spell—

in prisms—

of polarities—dualities—

beacons—cadmium contrition’s—

acting out—

for the veil of false pretense—

for the guise of diction—

for the holographic mark of time—

for the itch turned untimely cue—

Fate breathers,

henchmen to the idle ones—

content to float through belligerencies—

within broken vessels— meant for

toys, not for man

But who should cast such blame?

Is it he who skips the perfect stone?

Is it she, wielding such a silvered tongue?

or perhaps, it’s just those that need not sweat

yet are still the ones who always get?

the everyman sitting there—

on hands, on knees—trying to find

whatever comes naturally—trying to discover

whatever may come to mind?

—anything, something, anything please—

but what can be done?

but what else is there to do—

when we are many and they are few?

until the skies shift and the tides can turn

we cannot protect against the subsets spurn

when voices meet but never blend

and until they do and we can

 it seems the facts remain the same

that Everyman doesn’t stand a chance

As conditions can’t change

until one voice is heard

as progress can’t begin

until Everyman gathers ears

and states its case

   

The history of mankind is overrun with tales of ordinary men and women fighting the odds and climbing out from the deepest and darkest of pits.  The precedents are right there in the record books, it has been done and can be done again.    

The Masthead

Label me an infant

label me a fool

do not trust the anarchist

preaching about rules

label me a scapegoat

label me a tool

do not dam the floodgates

lest inside they form a pool

label me a train-wreck

label me as blind

its good to poke holes in theory

so truth can breathe in time

call me what you like

call me what you don’t

it doesn’t matter to me;

I’ve learned to laugh at all your jokes

labels are scattered; they’re thrown around

labels are but words; always lost, but never found

they have no bearing; they play no role

in who I am, to what I do

they have no influence; they have not a say

as to what fate finds in store for me

your words fall deaf, meaningless and weak

never providing the satisfaction that you seek

your words bring pain to others, highlighting their many scars

but you should be reflecting, as to where the damage starts

your words are but a mere transference

of what you’ve been and where and who you are

sticks and stones…if it appeases you…

just know…that for each judgment cast

I’ll shed a tear in prayer for you—

Forever using those labels as my mast

Be sure to head on over to D'verse for Open Link Night.  The doors open up in just a few short minutes. Starting at 3pm the poetry is always fresh on tap. And while you're there, share a poem of your own. Cheers. 

Throwing sheets in the wind

When faced in times of heavy wind,

Take a scrap of paper,

On it place a pen,

Scribe some words or phrases,

Uplifting, inspirations messages of motivation

Or simply complimentary distends

Hold the paper in your hand

Expand your arm beyond the head

Unclench those fingers that still are tight

Let the paper slip from your might

Watch the loose-leaf flutter by

Up towards clouds until it’s momentum dies

Picture as it falls to earth

It’s reentry watch it’s every worth

As you imagine it drift upon the concrete floor

See the shoes of he who shall read, that message you left for free.

Pretend this soul, now in receipt, is one that is in need, of the message you inscribed, upon the remnants of some ever-giving blessed tree.

Renewal

To the happy thoughts,

All those things that elate

You’ve no idea the incongruity

You bring to me,

At what expense is the pleasure I should take

Do the positive gains negate

Each and every hateful word I ever said

Being happy is difficult for me,

Instead of taking the moment for what it is,

I roll scenarios through my mind

And compare them to how this moment could have been

And even the ones that seem perfect

I find the flaws in each of these,

Yet when I saw her, that very first time,

I realized perfection truly does exist,

To think she has my blood,

That she is a product, a creation,

From the girl I still see when we were little, when we were kids

Thoughts like this, provide the urge,

The motivation to persist