Castaway: The Second Epistle

O dearest of mine,
I know we don’t see eye to eye, but in my defense it’s hard to spy
you when we’re oceans apart.
This faint heart beats hard watching the stars above the sea,
Riding this heart rate to Mars as the pressure of not having you
Around scars it with hope of a day where we’d be reunited.
But body and mind fight daily to climb the hills of this island.
Toiling through the anxiety I’ve found shelter and meal,
The appeal of survival as a means to the end of us;
Not that we’d end but in the end us will still be.
But this survival has been spelling the end.
E, everyday as the curves of the swirls grow more enticing,
The temptation of the island’s fruit reminding me of a sweetness
That I reminisce about;
N, the nagging at my heart strings every time the birds sing our song;
They flock together and I’m left to be without the right pair;
Just a sole survivor in my imaginations that salvation could come to us;
And the idea that Mrs. Right is still out there.
I shoo a pesky crab that tried to snap at my ankle.
D: the Day I decide to give up. I can’t say how far survival has gotten
But its hard to focus on what is hoped for when the realities of life demand my attention.
I can’t begin to mention how much I’ve fought to not call this island home;
I’ve heard that home is where your heart is, and I refuse to plant my flag
Anywhere within this island because it’s not where I want to be;
I’ve had tears, fear and hopelessness for company,
And they haven’t been the best friends but they’ve helped me feel comfy,
Growing accustomed to hard floors and wet feet.
I’d much rather wish to adorn this paper with the gems of your beauty
But it’s grown faint and I only see in the mirror dimly;
I only wish to speak the truth.
The truth is I’m alone; You’re out there as my home
and I’m here as the prodigal; longing to depart
With this parchment on the journey to your dorms.
That’s where home is to me.
The epitome of sanctity, encased within the body
Life breathed into and alas it became living.
Away from the spice of this isle
That extends for miles beyond my reach.
It’s sweetness leaves me bitter
As it quicker serves as anchor than propeller
And so with urgency I deploy this letter.
My prayer is it is delivered,
just as the first within this bottle as my messenger.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
As may this second find you and the first together.
I still love you.

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Castaway: The First Epistle

O dearest of mine,
My eyes incline across shore lines each and every day.

My heart is crushed and swept away by waves of time

Sand in hour glass; hours dipped into days that pass

Without a hint of where you’ve been.

I miss you.

These words stain like residue on my ragged clothes;

They impose insults like tissues on gashes; They fail to heal these wounds I feel.

My mind reels with thoughts of survival, thoughts of you my catch, baited by the hope that I might see you again;

For you see, I’ve fallen for you hook line and sinker.

The hook to the lines of this song being that I sink her;

This boat we both came on; but I refrain from singing those lines again.

This island could’ve been paradise; but I fear it’s more like hell without you.

You only feel stranded when what matters most is gone from you and so I call this island deserted.

Yet I have no choice but to call this place home

Because its shore is my only constant;
I’m not sure to see you again and so my home cooked
meals are regret and resentment.
It was all smooth sailing until we hit the rock;
The storms were raging and in titanic climax,
it all fell apart.

Dashed to pieces like the ribbon at the end of the race:

Our time together finished. First came love,
Then came disaster;
Third the foundation broke apart, and tumbling after came the

Rafters.
I wish I could’ve said to you that I knew what I was doing;
That I was the captain and assured you the safety from
The thunder;

But I blundered. My misguided arrogance was the ignorance that tore us asunder;
I was oblivious to the nautical stimulus
That drove us overboard. By the time I recognized what
had happened, it was gone.
My joy, my peace; my everything.

All that’s left is the glistening of these here bottles
and fumbling of my fingers on the parchment,
Trying my best to not mess this up too.
I still can’t believe I’ve lost you;
I don’t know where you are; A prisoner to the sea,
it’s unknown to me; in the garrison of some foreign
mission; a slave to the Bermuda triangle; all bad angles
if you look at it.

All I know is what you meant to me.
You were my serenity in a trying time;
A partner in crime set up by the divine;
Navigating me towards destinies that meant the best for me: You were genuinely concerned for me.
Your company was the Vitamin C for my scurvy,
The Gravol for my journey, the way for me

To rest easy. The safe place for me to speak freely,

To arrest the daily façade of niceties to just have
a place of honesty and community.
My prayer partner; my life partner. My trophy.
I didn’t win any competition though; I was just so lucky

To have you.

I know this in itself is folly, but in light of the

Current affairs that surround this ocean,
My prayer is that this gets to you.

A response is even more an absurdity but as long
As I believe you are out there,
I must believe.

I’ll trust you. So trust me.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
In this vessel, I pray it be delivered.

I love you.

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Contemplations in the dark.

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What is this? What is this that persists
To tease tears out my eyelids like A group
Of kids impoverished round about a dried up faucet;
Why is it that every facet of my life leaks?
Why are there rivers of crying water that cannot be shut up
Cause it was pressed down, shaken together and now running over
to the hundred folds in my abdomen;
In critique of my acumen to press toward high marks
But when He calls I fall short and graze my knees…
I’m crying please give me a break!
Put a stop to the gushing drops of the ball,
Hands slippery trying to stop the discharge of melancholy
Fully aware of the folly yet confused as to the mystery
As to how did I get so far.
Stuck depths below par in a hole scarred by failed attempts
To time and time again reach the bar
Sunken in misery; awakened to the epiphany
That I have reached the epitome of depression.
I’m typically hard on my self;
And so I’m hard pressed for answers;
you could say I’m wine pressed;
Cause all I’ve ever wanted was what was best for those around me;
Hands full in service with no strength left for the diamond of my psyche;
Crushed in the futility and sinking in an ocean of uncertainty.
I don’t know what is wrong with me.
Asking if I’m ok doesn’t help me because I know that I’m not,
But I don’t know why.
Can’t miss the water cause I’m welling up with legitimate smears:
I’m brushing my tears back.
Hands full, Mind tired and no rest in sight.
Rolling in my bed till 4:35 with insomnia as company
Hoping like the sun I will rise.
One Day I will, for I know joy comes in the morning.
but for now I’ll remain in mourning.

Go.

 

You ever feel like you’re not good enough?
I have. It’s been rough trying to tough it out there where no one cares
And all your luck brings you are bad circumstances.|
No matter how much times you chance it
Failure keeps coming back like some bad romance.
It’s not that fun now is it?
I don’t know about you, but I tend to feel like Jonah.
His persona is tied to one who tried to
Do it on his own, but God had different plans.
It took a great fish to help him understand his death wish of trying to appose his maker
And in the end he was angry because God was a savior instead of a bringer of fire and brimstone.
I perspire when I think about purpose.
It always has this eerie ring to it like if the Holy Spirit gonna come in like a wrecking ball and go all hadoken!
On your plans and all you can do is tremble as he says hey.  Ninevah. Now.
Yet somehow I always come around and i don’t know how but it just leaves you in awe of who God is.
As you reminisce of his goodness and the way leaves you breathless as you’re drowning with feet off the ground
Heart pounding eyes on his hand reaching out to o ye of little faith.
And you put a little faith and start to make baby steps on oceans deep
And creep to your daddy with tears in your eyes cause the storms came in and left you shaken and all you can do is crawl to Him.
I don’t know about you but I’m all to familiar with that weakness.  But that’s when He is strong.
There’s something about  being as weak as chaff that causes that fire to burn.
Despite your reluctance the Holy Spirit comes up with just the right heat to set you ablaze.
He instills a crazed desire in your heart to be a part of his great mission, and big fish or no, there’s a fire shut up in your bones
And to  that Ninevah you go, knowing Who is in control.
You know that as you march your nemesis brings the genesis of his plots to lead you into captivity
But no weapon formed against thee will prosper.
Little did he know that your exodus draws nigh, and while he might be vex with us,
Who vex loss because the boss has already spoken when he said it’s done…
It’s finished.
And your spirit jumps for joy as you employ yourself to be used by him once again.
Despite your anxiety Christ brought the remedy of love power and a sound mind
As he was so inclined to see us at his side that he died at the cross for us.
So go.
You might be a failure like me,
But God brings the victory and his comforter is right there to assure your safety.
So go.
You might be afraid of how you’d be seen but he sees you
and smiles as you choose to not give in.
So go,
Let him guide you
And don’t try to act like you’re in control. Just go.
Be still and know that He is God,
And he’s greater than any force of nature that would raise their hand against you.
Go.

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Not Well Enough

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You’re just about there.
Hands outstretched toward that line
That speaks lines of success and worth,
Yet abrasive against your fingertips
Cause as you grasp at it, it slips
And leaves you face down on the pavement uttering this statement with your lips….
I failed.
Failure has a strange ability to conjure
Fears and inadequacies where you falter
And whispers doubts into conjecture that grips your heart and squeezes the joy out.
Blood gushes and then circulates.
Your body in efforts to compensate
Drains its energy into it as it courses through… leaving you depressed and desolate.
You did do well though… just not well enough.
And it wells in your eyes as it gets tough
To cry rivers and streams to the Father
But
For some reason it just gathers.
It musters within the heave in your chest
And weighs you down as you try your best
To breathe.
To find some reprieve in the ones to whom you cleave
But warm hearts and cold shoulders don’t always cause lungs to expand.
It’s just a second hand smokescreen that became your nicotine and gave you lung cancer.
The answer is  simple. His yoke is easy. His burden is light.
He takes delight in easing your pain.
He delights in making you whole again.

 

Letter to the Persecuted Church

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To my people who cry out for justice with busted lips
Who fall on the deaf ears of torturers who treat them with silence;
And no, not the master who drives the whip and stones
Or the family member who drives them out their homes…
Us: the Body. The saved by grace through faith body
Go to church on Sunday acting like we’re somebody
Cry Abba for a raise in salary Body.
I know you’ve all been waiting to hear from us.
Perhaps just for a word of encouragement.
That perhaps our prayers aren’t as minuscule as the budget
We allocate to actually profit the Kingdom.
Worse yet for you.
We’re not accustomed to reaching out further than our comfort zone to
Do anything other than enlarge our territory
Move mountains to get a better view of the Promised Land
Given by the promised hands of tongues twisted by the love of funds
Rather than the love of people.
Building treasures to the heavens instead of heavenly treasures,
It’s no wonder we lost sight of you.
A mirage of prosperity and success in ministry
Dwarfs the sincerity of our charity.
It has narrowed our eyes so we can’t see overseas
Or even stretch a hand beyond the borders of our community…
Some kind of body we are.
My persecuted people, today I bend  my knees
In humility and earnest apology
For the neglect that we display daily.
It kills me to know that my brother suffers
And I bring nothing to offer.
But no more.
Today I stand in solidarity with my persecuted family
One with them in unity in prayer that others may see
And submit to the necessity that our prayers are necessary
That our faith would inspire works to bring words
That work together for their good,
That we’d seek to help in whatever way we can; we should.
That even perhaps someone would make the reasonable service
To sacrifice themselves daily to lend assistance
Because they too need Jesus and to be surrounded by the Body.
Yes. The Body.
The love others like ourselves Body.
The go out of their selves taking stocks of shelves to ship it
to those who need it Body.
The give till it hurts Body.
The Body that Christ inspires us to be.

 

 

Foreign Places

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Sitting blankly in a foreign place
Amazed at the newness of life
Fingertips distant from the touch that once was,
I sit in the din of morning to write.
I write of things long lost yet hoped for
In light of things I hoped to find
In light of a treasure I have obtained,
A precious thing I may soon call mine.
Truly a gift to me,
Wrapped neatly a bow from the Almighty,
For I know that in all honesty,
I can never truly be worthy.
I write because in the dark of night she whispers to me what other would not;
Her company is welcome, inviting and warm.
I had grown accustomed to a cold acquaintance that wasn’t quite love at all,
But just an uneasy calm through life storms.
Her voice is tinged with waves of emotions
I have yet to experience before.
They speak, and rejoice in,  the truth of what I mean to her,
And make me excited for what God has in store.
Her touch surprises me with jolts of electricity
That leave me shocked and sincerely thankful
It comes a bit stronger than expected
As she leaves me in awe and humbled.
So I sit in a foreign place,
Grinning internally and at peace.
I found myself writing finally:
I write because I’m happy.

Lonely Star part 2

Dear Lonely Star,
The night has grown dark once more,
And despite my many travels,
You yet remain so distant.
I stay; reminiscent of my window sill
When you stood radiant,
Blushing well amidst the display that surrounded you.
As if you were the moon,
You reflected the light of the Son so beautifully,
Polished by the black cloth of the sky.

Tonight, somehow… it’s different.
I could have seen clearly the stark contrast before;
A gloomy field of darkness in which you grazed,
Or rather, in which you were grazed,
But now, vision is obscured by a haze that has crept in.
Threatening to put my hopes in a coffin of seeing you once more.
But yet you gleam on the horizon,
Beaming your innocent rays for many a dull heart around you;
I pray that that light never be extinguished.

It almost feels as if your star has just about made its nest in the mountains beyond,
No longer to be seen  by this side of the world for the night;
Perhaps ever, but Who knows.
I thought it fitting to say at least one last thing,
A few words before you go:

Perhaps you are not a lonely star anymore.
I see many a light that has kindled around you,
And I know that it was due to encouragement of your brilliance.
Still, they cannot shine like you do, for no one can.
Only you can shine, so as to fulfil the purpose for which you burst into being.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed you.
Perhaps one who doesn’t have to reach for the stars to get to you.
Never let anyone, or anything, stop your shine.
A star is who you are; you can’t help it.
You were set apart, high above the clouds,
And I may have a slight idea of how you got there,
But truly only you and God Himself could understand.
I’ve had the privilege of seeing you within my night sky for quite some time,
And your light has been a blessing to me.
Maybe I miss that a little.
But I know that if beyond the mountains is truly where you go,
That it is where you are meant to be.
Stop being so afraid, Lonely Star.
Go forth and make Him proud.
With every move you make, and every time that night falls
And you show up over this lovely planet,
That you so shine, that they will see you,
And glorify Him.
Just looking at you,
I know you will be great if you let Him use you.
So let go of your own darkness,
And step into His marvellous light.

Whether this be goodbye, to a dawn of new beginnings,
Or a curious twilight, eclipsing the sun for you shine a bit longer,
I truly do not know.
Reaching for the stars truly does make your arms tired,
But until i do know,
My hands will continue to be uplifted;
Not simply in want,
But in praise for what lies before my very window sill.

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