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| Will You Ever Wake Up? |
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The sleeping rock
Is thrown against the screaming wall.
It cracks but remains silent.
It won't awake.
Upon the pebble path it lays.
Written in 2003Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 9:19 AM
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| Flowers |
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A Petal tears from its mother.
Swimming through the air
It crashes, stopping, laying next to its brother.
Faded it stiffens, then crumbles to dust-
An orphan death.Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 2:54 PM
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| You're Haunting Me...Stop It! |
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Drifting in the open breeze,
Floating through the closing trees,
I see you there
Staring, at me...
I don't move a muscle.
I just breathe.
Slowly...I breathe.
Then...
I run!
Run!
To the lake I run!
I want to see the sun again!
Keep me from the dark,
Not alone with just your apparition!
Don't leave me staring at you.
Don't keep me in these woods,
Frozen like a fear in a dream.
I'm still again...
My mind is racing.
All I want is to...
Run!
Run!
I will not remain corpsed
In these airless woods,
So I flee!Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 2:40 PM
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| Drones |
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Peel your skin right off your bones;
No longer live as the old earth drones.
Awaken now to their drugging voices
Who, unaware to you, choose all your choices.
They slice your brain in twos and threes,
Then feed them to the stinging bees
Who carry them off to the hive
To cultivate the continued birth of drones.Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 11:34 PM
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| The Broken Seal |
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The window sill is chilly.
The leaky wind seeps through the broken seal, passed the window pane.
The fingering draft caresses her face as she sleeps.
The cold deepens through the skin, to the skull, to the brain.
Gathering in the bones, filling the muscles, it creeps.
Gaining passage the cold eats from her heart its warmth; the blood slows.
Who would have known of the subtle breeze?
The Chill, look how far it goes.
The beating stops; the body's stiff.
The soul faded; the spirit-who knows?
The leaky wind seeps.
What of the broken seal?Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 11:28 PM
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| The End Fit |
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World, wake up!
Stop! Listen! Do you not feel it?
Do you not sense a stirring?
It is the coming of the End Fit.
I hear a great host of spirit beings mounting for the Final Anthem, and a great moving of wind, from the Caller, being inhaled for the Last Trumpet Blast. The Great Centenary shall cavort with the enemy of Death without harm and slay their last. But the slaying is the Finale of the Last Trumpet, which has been prophesied by the Ancient Light Voicers. They have known the story of uttered happenings to come and of now, the Still before the storm of the Word Bearer.
The Great Flood of his mouth shall pour forth in torrents the Words of Truth. Every house shall be shaken as the Word Flood bursts through every door, its justice brought to the Dark Realm, Destroying the no-seeing Words. The Word Life shall gush forth into the Earth King's corridor, braking down its pillars of Death-Love, which have rooted deep into the hearts of the race of men. It has pillaged the Promise of the Full Hope to come, through the Blood Gift of Servant God. He made Humility a king over any who would exalt their pride to oppress the earth dwellers, which are the lead creatures of Creation.
The Great God shall bring the crack of doom to the Dark Eye of the Ash, to uncover the many blackened faces of the Hater's War of Rage set against the Elect of the First Born. The Iron Claw of the Lion will slash open the body of the Bloated Serpent, to burst forth its bowels of evil intent built up for the War of Rage.
The Victory of the Invader's Blood shall wash pure the wounds of Creation and will fill men's spirits with its life, but it shall be for only those who have permitted the Great Spirit to indwell their bodies. Pure will be everything so as to gleam with irresistible brightness to force the Darkness to vacate his throne and flee, only to be trapped in a Water of Fire that shall drown his glory to a silent breath.
No longer will the Voice of Tarnished Thought speak forth an execution of hate. Now life shall spring forth in a Renewal of Hope to proclaim the beginning of the Eternal Morning. All those who have chosen the Son will be filled with an eye-splitting light which shall diffuse their bodies of pain, freeing their spirits. They will be given a body devoid of shame, shaped perfect without flaw, every sinew and ligament formed as a precise work of art, carved to the glory of the Son.
Peace, rest, worship, and beauty shall be the essence of the New Life. The radiance of the Creator will be the prime feature of Light and Worship for this eternal existence. For what purpose of life is there, but to bow our lives before the One who gave the Love of Ultimate Sacrifice?
World, wake up!
Stop! Listen! Do you not feel it?
Do you not sense a stirring?
It is the coming of the End Fit.Labels: poetry |
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posted by Brett @ 10:25 PM
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