Quam Gloria, Hallelujah!

Past the spectacles galore, I come to your throne to adore the meer manger and swim under your living currents away from from these lawless waters. I want to simmer under the heat of your quiet glory. I want to embrace you and BURN DEEP DOWN, all these carcinogens I found, I keep bringing them around. Bells ring, and I have learned to rise this week, but I don't know where the time will go and I fear what I have already known, although I cognitively know I am now

More than dust. More than a mourner. More than just a scorner, scorning all the things that happened in that seamless house of unseemly men. We acted as cowards despite eternal weight of relationships. I hid behind the cushions, you know, where we would stash our trash. I hid amongst the trash, for fear of where the time might go. Feared it might be predestined to be blown away, cause the Joy of life seemed to be light and fluffy, but I felt the burden constantly and indefinitely.

I wonder about you Brother-King, as I find you to be more consistent than the pain, how consistent was your pain? How constant was that weight? Did you feel the heaviness of the brokenness of this universe when you were first born? How did you not cry?
How come you were the only child not to cry, I would think your tears would your first reaction to how dismal a place we left for the HIGHEST GRACE. The lack of maneuverability in your fate.

JESUS. WHAT KIND OF EYES DID YOU SEE FROM?

As sin entered through your ribs, as our idolatry of murder spilled into your innocence as you became that which you were destined to abolish.YOU WERE BORN AMONG THE GENOCIDE OF CHILDREN.

You must be able to see something I can't father. Within merely the guilt I am capsized and return to filth  What Joy resides within you to call me out of this? Where resides this registry of hope to keep my heart sustained? How gentle you are, as you wipe down my feet, with your hair. My Jesus.

You watch me as I attempt to worship you, I fumble upon arrogance and pride and narcissism and vanity and lust. And self hate. I feel disingenuous to core. But God you are so good.

Quam Gloria.
Quam Gloria.
Quam Gloria.
Hallelujah.

Everything

There is no glory here. Its like groundhog day, the record is turning, but the song is going nowhere. There is no glamour in a drunken romance. Its there, always there, always reminding you that you are breaking her heart before you even know her. Some romance this is.

But a grand romance is still here.
I lie to myself, about you. I drop my faith by the doorside, and I crawl into bed with my enemy. Where is the glory I can't see? Its in your jealous tears. Its in those groans to deep for words. Its the way you will calm my unsettled skin after I've let the cancer take its place. I traded love for addiction. You traded your life for me. You traded everything

for me.
Cause you're madly in love with me. Not obsessed, not dependent, and never apathetic.

You are of a different kind. I am worse than the lepers, my heart more sick than the pharisees. STILL, after contortion upon contortion, session after session of me hurling stones at your temple, you are steady from the throne, you keep the tide away from my feet, so that I am not swept away by shame. It took you everything to atone for my failures, and even upon death, you never let me go. Still I stone you.

I would blame it on my hands, on my dead flesh, I would turn to masochism, take out my eyes, but you wrote the truth upon my tongue and your wisdom upon my lips. And at nine every night, rises a Steadfast Seabear, speaks order into the air. Out by the shore, he beckons my hands to paint those castles and  cathedrals from within this cavern old. He and White Grizzly speak about one cavern in particular. I look upon it often, and my quiet prayers become violent cries of desperation. Our knuckles are throbbing, as our hearts are turning. Its the inconsistency eating at our bones. Their groans align with mine. The cavern is a wilderness where honesty lay, where we are genuine men. Truth is, thats a part of me. Hypocrisy is finite and closed.

And stones lay at his feet, and broken he stands with a crown in his hand. Among the wild depths within my soul, he remains scarred and oft, still in pain. By and by, I will never wear out his name, and I swear upon time and faith, that the day will come when our hearts beat the same. A day you traded for everything.

Reality of my weakness

If your out at the right time, you might catch me slinging sparks
Out here in the desert. That's just my way of wishing the night away. I really just want to draw in chalk in front of you doorway. To line your bedroom with salt to keep those darker things away from you. Those gates won't prevail, I swear it to be true, though the thought creeps into my mind often; you laying down to die, your breath finite and cool, and my petition remains irresolute.

On still, within the account of my inconsistencies, lies fear for your heart. A great lack of faith about the healing of those family wounds.

Despite the promises made to me. Promises made in red
I saw it again today, passing by in my tradition, in the repetition, he lied counter-current to the day by day routine that I settle for.
STILL HERE are those waters I am engulfed in;
of lies
medicine
and self-discovery? - indulgence in the damage that took a hold of me when he took a hold of you. Thought time would iron out those wrinkles but I haven't spoken to my own Blue-Birthking in months, that blue just seems to have turned gray.
Thought time would conquer that departure,
thought wisdom would be heard and understanding would have her voice heard because
I thought I was a greater being having stood upon my enemy,

Seems that's not the case. 

Seems to be a tease in the reality of my weakness

And thats where I'm at.

I'm asking my heart whether I can depend on it to surrender. Conviction won't roll off my mind, understanding has made her home here, and I know, I've heard her from within the whale. 

Just stand still the voice says, just take my hand and remember the seasons that came before

Before you tell me where my promises will land and how the naive will raise their hands

The peak of truth is my promises to you. Thats the reality of your weakness.

And there lies the mustard seed and there lies the mountain.