The God Mystique

Love is what brings us out of the commonplace into the supernatural. The supernatural isn’t some mystical faraway land ruled by fairies. Love is the Father’s heart to all men. It is a choice stone more dazzling than all the diamonds of the earth. Love is the Mystique of the Father. There are certain concepts in scripture that boggle the mind. For instance the stone the builders rejected…  [Plot twist:] that stone is now the infinity stone… Our chief cornerstone. God our Papa demonstrates his Love towards us by giving us His word. This word becomes flesh and dwells among us before suffering the ignoble horror of a roman crucifixion, stripped naked before his kit and kin and subjected to the most horrific of deaths. This is the wonder and the mystery of the Father. Using the seeming foolishness of death by crucifixion to ransome the world from the clutches of death. It can be explained in one word: Love

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Letting GO

I don’t think I have written a poem this bland and simple… I was actually crying as I penned this. Letting go, Letting GOD. For there is such an emptiness within, and my heart is clogged with filth. All around me is a widening void, a festering gash, that only your love can fill. that only your touch can heal. Yet I find myself chasing trinkets, blinded by my greed. I stand by the street corner, tears washing my cornea.. I had wasted years chasing applause and accolade… Feeding fat on the glint and mint, You tell me to let go… but I love my toys, I cannot do without them. Though they bring me pain, My eyes find delight in the anguish. You show me your heart for me, I listen to your endless love ballad. So in the pain of letting go, there is a joy I find… that of holding on to you. You teach me to

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(Not a poem) Good luck to the paunchy heads of state and barefooted bureaucrats, With pouches stained with black gold and dirty carats; New shoes decked with things expensive and luxuriant. They are the wizened claw-pointing cronies of corruption Breathing lies, baring their fangs. Can you see them? they are the masked marauders, mauling the impoverished populace. Behind a veneer of spirituality and candor Ravenous wolves in the wool of sheep. Scowling and howling from city hall to church pews, their words as tasty as a month old stew. I write of those that tell that ancient lie – Youths are the leaders of tomorrow – While we scoff and sing echoes of self-inflicted hard times, as a little blue bird tweets listlessly about the Cataclysmic Chronicles of our fragmented state! Every word stenciled in falsehood… yet we see them, in their bullion vans… bullying the masses, Canvassing across the borders. Haranguing the weak, pilfering wealth from public coffers In

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