God

Repetition

I did it again

It's a sin

Father forgive me

For I know what I do

I know what I choose

Time and time again

I choose Me over You

 

The first man condemned me

The last Man redeemed me

The inner man damns me

The new man reviles “Me”

 

I give up again

It's all I can do

 

So take “me” away

And fill me with You

For I know once I am more like You

I'll be the best Me I can be

To Write

To write
as I do
Is a seemingly hard
thought process
made easy
by words
written together
is an abstract
sort of way
to fill the readers mind
with mystery
Part sentence
Part phrase
which creates the illusion
of truth
Within these mysteries
is who I am
The words aren't difficult
and the structure
is simple
Look beyond
what you read
and you'll find
me.

               copyright 2018 by RW Erskine
Author's Notes/Comments: 

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I Don't Know How It Goes

What do I write about?

The story of my life!
I don't know how it goes, do you?
It's a matter of question to you and me to ponder on.
This side of eternity once given is true........or false in ones perception of it all.
Do you remember or is it I've forgotten in all this distraction freely given, to what ends I do not know.
Make believe is what it is I think. It's here in one moment and gone in the next.
How could it be anything other than
Games, we all play them, in hopes to gain some more of it.
Of, 'it'!, whats 'it'?
Life I said. Don't you remember?
or have you forgotten what it is, what it's all about.
I'll tell you what, lets make believe that I am you, and you are me.
Okay now, tell me about your life.
I don't know how it goes, I've forgotten you.
        
             Copyright 2018 by RW Erskine
Author's Notes/Comments: 

contact me at: artjwca@yahoo.ca

or

vist us at Ravenscraft Studios

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Broken Puzzles

In a unforgiving
train of thought
I lay my head
to weep
upon my pillow
Which comforts me
on the horizons
of my mind
I put together
puzzles
of broken pieces
and never realize
How many of them
are missing.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

contact me at: artjwca@yahoo.ca

or

vist us at Ravenscraft Studios

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A Spiritual Valley

Sunday morning Gospel

At a southern Baptist church

Praising with the choir

Listening to the Word of God

 

Where grudges are forgiven

And friendships re-united

We sinners find forgiveness,

Family, and a home

 

But here I sit

Alone at home

I couldn't be roused

To my own Father's house

 

I can hear the church bells in the distance

Calling white-washed tombs to repentance

Calling broken souls to be renewed

Calling crushed hopes to stand firm

 

Yet, here I sit

Looking out the window alone

Listening to their tolling

Refusing to be more

Than an armchair theologian

 

If my “deeds” are just words

Then they are not worth talking of

If I didn't speak to my Father today

Then why do I expect answers

 

If we are “the Body”

Why are we so apathetic

So CONSUMED by our own lives

That our faith wastes away

 

And as these thoughts come to me

I make myself more comfortable

Still refusing to be any more

Then an armchair theologian.

In contrasts to your darkness and light is your will to live

Folder: 
Humanity

 

From the coals of sacred texts, brought fouth from ancient whispers of a circle of unbroken time, dipping and acendinding its change state, as the one constant in unending continuity. Therein lies a simple truth, corrupted with gentle persuasion. 

 

The state of being, the being of state and status of beings. 

There are three main laws for us to purview and avail here and now, or in past and future possibility. There is one rule that seperates, yet, reconsiles and is master of all truth; ugly or beautiful it renders life in death, death  into life and life into death. 

 

to live evil live to  - live.d.evil

to Evo L ovE to 

 

The cycle that never alters its identity making Its mood known in all forms and states; the All as in the We collective; and as the I; AGAPI, the known mystery of presiding over both and the first of the third.

 

Go.d  and evil.

 

Live with the hidden truth in plain sight. Felt  with intense realness,  hidden in semantics of languages  long lost and forgotten,  but none is needed to unless seeking to corrupt the incorruptible what is known and fails in explanation.

 

For  this very reason,  the logic of AGAPI (love) in all its moods, colours, ugliness and beauty fail to be described. And still, the poets' pride tries in vain to capture the whole.  Ever so often though, glimpses resonate and we can see a temporal portal with the promise of the indescribable known.

 

Blessingss

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For the few temporal and literal scholars here who might find something of interest here. Blessings and Hugss 

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Thanking God For Each Day That We Live

We should thank God for each day we have to live.

We should thank him or every day that he gives.

He could take us twenty years from now or today.

Nobody knows when the good Lord will take us away.

But we should thank him for each day he gives to us.

We should thank him every day until we die when our bodies will return to dust.

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The River

 

you thought you could get away

with all your grimy sins

perhaps you thought there's no god

perhaps you think there is

either way

it's a lone, cold fall

and the river is just a mouth

she opens wide

she's selling secrets inside

are you willing to pay the price?

 

put you back to the wall my brother

put your back to the wall my friend

put you face to the river

she opens wide to let you in

every damn day is a long damn day

but the river has no fears

whether she eats

today or tomorrow

or fasts for a hundred years

 

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God

Folder: 
Haqueian Verse

God,


Help me,


Show me a way,


Please do,

 

Nod!

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