On Trial.

With one breath, I gave up the

darkest, honest truth in me.

It drew forth crystal from

your eyes.

Condemnation weighed me down

as loss became reality.

What had I done? With all my heart,

I longed to mine

the crystal from your face.

Yet sigh-stained fingers would not linger

for lack of purity convicted.

The gavel sounded –

it was your silence.

I knew I’d been deemed

guilty of your tears,

and

innocent of your love.

I Lived for the Applause.

I have the primitive inklings of a story in its formative moments within my consciousness, but an inexplicable, unidentifiable barrier retires my will to meandering aimlessly in the universe of pre-creation.

Who am I writing for?

After having manipulated thoughts of mine into presentable, palatable packages for the general audience, it seems my hand has become too practiced to speaking into the desires of others and not urging my own desires into existence.  What once was art became pandering to the will of the people instead of molding it.  The excitement of new thoughts gradually became replaced by the self-serving gratification of agreement, the honeyed poison that is assent.  And so the descent into languor and loss of voice begins.  I no longer know what to expect when my thoughts are laid bare; it seems as if my work waxes and wanes – I love to hear myself talk but hate to explain.

I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience, but perhaps this time I may gain the experience of reality.

Nightshade.

Murderous thoughts pass into dead of the night,

violent shadows mixed with two parts malice, one part fright.

Betrayal, jealousy, despair, and confusion

culminate together in a darkening delusion.

My own thoughts within are the public nemesis

as my eyes shoot blood at this anger’s genesis.

All those around me I thought were companions

turn on me now, those maleficent phantoms.

Smoldering love extinguished in smoke,

repaired heartstrings despite a heart that broke.

This darkness serves as a demon’s mirror

for night’s last hour is oppressed by fear.

Sleep stolen by non-existent betrayal

breaths drawn fast due to fury’s portrayal.

Spurn those close to me, banish all the care

not like they would remember if I was even there.

What shadows swarm my heart’s frail mind

that makes my hatred rise up in kind?

Embrace the noose with my neck

and enter hell with a step.

Demons leave me now, for I

go to seek my rest.

Speak to Me.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, mainly because of summer school and attempting to keep up with readings, but that’s hardly an excuse I suppose.  This Sunday during Sunday school, I experienced, for the first time in my life, the comprehension of the fact that God’s voice had grown unfamiliar to me.  I have recently been slacking in my daily Bible readings, and when it came time to break down the passage that we were discussing during Sunday school, I found that there was a message for me that I couldn’t quite comprehend.  It was as if what God wanted me to draw from the passage was there, but behind a veil of some sort.

That veil was a very real manifestation of how out of touch with the Word I had become.  Whereas in the past, I would never even have understood the difference not reading the Word daily made, now, I understood what it was like to have been hearing God’s voice and suddenly have Him be muted.  The growth that had occurred over the years that had been born from consistently reading the Word and dwelling on it had been stunted by this drought in my spiritual life.  I was no longer seeking to be watered by the Word, and so I came before Him as a parched soul with a dearth of familiarity with Him.  I was greatly convicted by that Sunday’s Sunday school, yet I still rejoice.  I rejoice because it confirms that God is indeed speaking through His Word, and that the fault lays not with Him, but with me for my lack of love.  He is merciful to show me this early, so that I may be newly aspiring to seek Him more and know His voice; at the time of His return, I will recognize and respond to His call.  All I can really say is that God’s mercy works in ways that we may have trouble understanding, but once revealed, there remains nothing left but to kneel before Him and worship.