God

Imperfect Playwright?

Folder: 
Mate Love

*

 

  • Sometimes it seems God was an imperfect playwright
    who in the divine design does not play right.
    For instance, a bison bull who unsuccessfully challenges another
    for head of the harem is shunned and goes off alone
    The ratio of 100 females to 1 male
    reminds one of the stolen wealth of hedge fund billionaires
saiom shriver
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Mosaic

Folder: 
Psalms

Only You can pick up the pieces

Of my shattered past

And make something beautiful from it

Gathering the shards and placing them

Into an amazing and wondrous design

Like a stained glass window

Each piece meticulously positioned

Into a picture only the designer could see

 

When I give to You my best

I try so hard to make You proud

My feeble attempts

Like a bruised and broken flower

You hold it gently, press and mount it

Hanging it high for all to see

 

One day I pray that I can look back

And see my whole life laid before me

All the hurt and pain I experienced

Interwoven with the joy and happiness

A blanket that I can wrap my heart up with

And the knowledge that my life wasn't in vain

That I could see every stitch You made

How You carried me all the way

And brought me home to stay

Unique Missions

Folder: 
Different Drummers

UNIQUE MISSIONS

*

Most in an army
receive the same orders
but among His believers
God's whispers charge
each with different missions

*

saiom shriver

*

Footnote: apologies for the
male pronoun for God who is
beyond gender

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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: 

contact me at: artjwca@yahoo.ca

or

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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

https://ravenscraftstudios.weebly.com

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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

https://ravenscraftstudios.weebly.com

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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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