The Vine

Standing firm...

the countenance of light!

The damsel in the mirror smiles...

contours of doubt extinct from her face:

new expression, new strength!

The journey of old to new...

paved with flames to refine.

The rebirth of a damsel... in truth:

severed from past's paths...

renewed, restored!

A mind fed... with fruits

slice by the sword... double edged, 

alive... piercing through depths 

of faux doctrines and darkness...

A soul... affixed to the vine!

Mama's Chair

life is turbulent, sweet mama is still...
her gentle spirit... forever patient;
warmth of her bosom: my sanctuary!
I sit on her chair as she combs my hair
voice... soft like petals, reciting scripture
...calming fears, drying tears, birthing new faith
like a melody of authentic love!

the azure darkness of night time arrives,
mama's embrace executes my nightmares.
She signs a hymn, ushering me to sleep
she says there is HE who loves me much more.
I cling to her; she teaches me to pray;
stress becomes extinct but mama's voice fades...
into my heart's core... echoing every night!

Echoes Of A Gunshot

windstorm of youth... molesting the peace;
their eyes on the gain: the invasion of greed!
Coalitions of defiance across the city...
the flames rise higher; smouldering all sense!

the cause unknown... estimated non-existent
same verdict for remorse in their minds.
Chaos ascending; at the hands of children...
multitudes in fear; livelihoods tarnished!

Ramifications of broken faith?
a society broken... detached from the vine
when leaders renounce discipline;
who will build the platform for moral ground?

Acceptance

Alas! I'm standing... before the mirror
of the desired yesterday:
absolute stillness and solitude...
throughout youthful days
a past void of reckless adventure
...and the aberrations of a curious damsel...

Albeit; dissatisfaction lingers...
my entirety... unable to identify perfection
in this surrogate existence.
The irony of reality overwhelms me....
that fundamental notion of destiny:
everything is... as it should be!

The Restoration

Spirit awaken... in a foreign realm
where flesh is redundant
and vision is the mirror of the soul.

I gaze... at a plethora of decay
imprisoned by ignorance...
Beams of reality pierce through my being

I bleed... shame!

Unto my knees, I fall
before the throne of grace...
I plead... mercy!

His voice pacifies
the turbulence of fears...
spoken words: "I am the vine, you are the branch..."

Unforgettable

perhaps pigs do fly...
transcending the constraints of knowledge.
I'd like to believe that the unimaginable
can be possible... if truly desired!

perhaps... I could go back in time
...seven days to be exact;
and return to the arena of eclectic worship
and hear His voice flowing like water...

words... streaming like rain...
wetting the dessicated crevices of doubt
...restoring life with profound truth...
unforgettable moments in His presence!

Lifted High

1.
The urge! The need...
to burn some weed.
This is how the brothers feed!
Traits... inherited by their seeds...

Hunting for the herb to smoke;
inhaling aromas till they choke.
Constantly hunting... for bulks to grind
virulent pastures... killing brilliant minds.

Dependence on the green leaf
to grant them relief!
What happened to yesterday's beliefs
in He that is arriving again like a thief?

I pray... this:
Abandon the cannabis...
seek spiritual bliss!

2.
Now... they bleed!
Under the curse of the weed.
They plead...
to be rescued from karma's deeds...

Yearning for salvation to conquer this yoke...
to alleviate the darkness demons provoke!
Desperate to rewind...
the time... to cease being blind...

suffocating in grief...
only if...
they escalate their belief...
to He who grants eternal relief!

For all of the earth is... His
...the source of spiritual bliss!

Sweet Child O' Mine

Precious one,
"work" is mama's life

"struggle" is my only garment.

Dusk till dawn....
I sweat!

saturated in labour, enthused in love.

Yet, amid strain...
I offer my bosom

as your sanctuary of peace.

My lips will ever
speak forth scripture and praise

to calm the turbulence of present adversities.

Sweet child o' mine,
flesh of my flesh

I offer also the fruits of my being

that you may eat...
and be agile

for the season of your "work" draws near.

Wordless

I yearn to write eloquently of you;
yet I'm limited! Trapped!
within the constraints of language...
Saturated! in an abundance of memories...

Seeds of wordless thoughts...
cultivate into abstracts that my mind cannot convey,
sentiments that my lips cannot orate
...about a union purposed by fate!

Hence... "us" has no definition...
even eternity knows not the depth of our foundation!

Soul Cry

Inhabitation of spiritual insufficiency,
the souls thirst!
yearning for resuscitation
Eccentric sounds of profanity and negativity
echo.... from digital transmissions...
viewers and listeners chuckle and dance;
indicative of their delight.

Images of immoral gratification
possess, capture and blind mulitudes of minds,
dejecting them to faux conformitites;
appetities subjected to the fruits of
denial and delusion!
Spiritual emancipation tarries
as conformity surges...