Intermission

Godzniel's avatar2nd Daniel

It would seem
I have this all planned out
From the second I dream
To the first word I spell out
It does feel
Like I’ve got to wait out
This new Ill
Yes, wait the storm out

My trophies are made memories
Invisibly blinding, motivating
Saying
‘If he did it before,
Then this isn’t a chore.’
But I look into this storm’s eye
And my calm flicks and blurs
I know I won’t die
If I do I was yours
But will history pry
Into this my distraught
Or will sneers arise
Just because I got caught

Cut
Don’t let me fall
From my heavenly places
Let me now stand tall
In the face of these faces
And when it is time
There’ll be applauding voices
And the Angels will chime
As I join them in praises
Praises and paces
The only spaces between our graces

It would seem

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A Death and A Letter

Godzniel's avatar2nd Daniel

This is a letter.

Written in replacement,
Yet original and single.
I had lost a light, 
A crown born from trouble.

One day I ask myself if it really is true when it is said, ‘opportunity knocks but once’? Is it truly so that throughout our few years on earth,  God is planning, for a few moments?

I thought of how I got saved by one man’s obedience, how I ignored that same sacrifice and yet as I jerked and backslid forward into the Democratic Republic of Damnation, screaming ‘it’s my life’ to the one who gave me life… His mercies still renewed every morning.

I am not the me I used to be and I am no me without him. So it would make sense that I live an eternal servant of the King who saved me from stabbing myself to death from the broken pieces of my heart…

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The Creasing

They don’t see the act,
So my countenance is
a surprise.

Invisible blood
stains my past
from a future
that will never happen.

They don’t know
the whole story,
So my transfiguration is
a shock;
Electrifying tracks
Reverberate true
my train of thought,
heavy with arc-using,
defusing my joy.

Slowly,
I shake it off,
Its just guilt,
Decreasing.

Peace’s Pieces

Godzniel's avatar2nd Daniel

Peace. I sometimes wonder what it is, as if to say dictionaries make me wary of dictions. But think about it, what would you call peace and secondly how easy would it be for someone to waltz by and piss on that little piece of peace you’ve pieced together? How hard is it for you to weep?

I’ve seen little girls dance well to no music, and heard art painted with stories of pure pain. Its contrast so diverse we sigh loudly, as if to say peace is beyond our assimilating.

Yet we preach it loud in our little congregations; Peace, Peace, Peace, thus promise politicians. But they lost it back at Adam and wept till they were breast-fed. They say the truth is bitter, so they gave Him vinegar.

Say Peace is the lack of conflict, or war or infringement of freedom. We look for it in trophies that…

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