Unfaithful

To confess to Christ and speak 
That I find my sin be most enjoyed.
I know the havoc it wreaks, 
and the pain against Him employed.

I do the things I hate, 
Justifying them to myself as needs
The comforts of the flesh so late
are loud against the spirit that pleads. 

The witches are craven with hunger
The married women tend to seek my company
They bid to me fantasies that snare the younger
as the temptations pull draws upon me 

Deep within my solitude and weakness 
I stammer a no in an uncomfortable squirm 
I can feel the light and fight turning to bleakness 
As the desire for passion and to be wanted burns

The women in the church play like nobility
And the whores in the bars crawl like spiders
I'm losing my mind, resolve and my civility 
As this demon is begging me inside her. 

Christ tells me to flee from sexual immorality
Its wounds are not of flesh but of soul 
It's a gamble with God and immortality
A cost higher than I'll ever know 

Shame dawns like a sunrise 
casting it's shadow of cold on my face
 And I'm sick of the war against desire
and tired of myself in this place. 

Bold as ink

 On my shelf encased in plastic is a newspaper faded and old with a headline that reads "Man walks on the moon."  The ink is black against the aging frail tan paper. It was something I received from my grandmother at her passing. A moment of history that was essential to preserve. Something from life that must be kept. Now I am a grown man years beyond her and I look to my Mother. An aged woman of history, grown old and a little frail in years past. Her hair faded of the colors it once knew. The creases of her smile and the way her eyes squint when she laughs. Her mind holds a history bold as ink, smudged from time to time. This gift my grandmother gave me gave me life, and reminds me each day to try and live it. I wish these pages of history could be preserved forever, and this love and kindness set to display. 
For when the grave comes to take her in time, may her history live on in me. May the impact she's made change the world

Cain Adam's Kin.

Cain, Kin of Adam that old and violently angry hand.
Consumed by vitriol and pride at God's favor for another man.
He seethed in rage as depicted from the page throwing whatever he found
To kill a brother more righteous than He, in a place no one was around.
Now Able was a favored one by the Father that's for sure
But Cain Kin of Adam thought that death be the cure.
Cain didn't want the obedience to God, or to offer what's in His will.
Cain desired to make himself out as righteous by his own way still.
Cain Adams-kin that violently proud and ego driven man
Thinks himself vindicated of his brothers murder by his own hands.
But the blood of the brother is before the eyes of the God who sees.
God who judges the hearts of another, the one who punishes and frees.
Mark the madness of the violent man who seeks to dress himself up as King,
see through the charm and charisma that the self exultant can bring.

Signs and Wonder

People say they never saw the signs
but they weren't listening to the cries
the pleas. 
The begging for reasons and the heartfelt petitions that people stop eating each other. 
Stop devouring the spirits of another
Stop wasting lives and breaking souls in the pursuit of orgasm.
The selfishness of mankind has embedded within me an eternal sorrow. 
The craven dominance of the flesh, the mockery in the pursuit of being worshipped as gods. 
It grinds me into dust. 
People say that they never saw the signs,
as they hurry from one triviality to the next 
drunken on the pursuit of avoidance of reality 
How could we have missed this they utter at the shock of one taking their own life 
"Why didn't they speak up" they ask among ears drowned with noise and bickering. 
Maybe it isn't from isolation, but the bombardment of being surrounded with broken sicknesses. 
Wave upon wave of the tides of usury drowning hope and light. 
How could they have missed this... 
A man of laughter and love, losing his war with life. 

Christian Discourse

There's a war raging from the pulpit to the pew
Swords drawn in hands of a righteous few 
Battles rage against ideals, truth, and deceptions 
Servants of God clash against wolves directions. 

The wounds bled are heavy and deep 
Among those who labor among God's sheep. 
To teach men well to feed their souls
Rather than amass wealth to fill vacant holes. 

Predators fleece the flock and distort sacred texts
Delusions rampant, pride loud, the discerning vexed. 
They sit with bow ties, tweed vests, and apostacy 
Casting reels with non-truth as if to bait me. 

I clash and wage war with unlearned men 
that those with eyes may not follow them 
I study to show where I myself be wrong 
Accepting correction is an isolating song 

Truth in ways blinds you with all who cant see
It will grieve you at the lost, the cost, to be free. 
Churches are many, but stocked with so few men 
That grieve and confess and despise their own sin 

I'm no righteous man, for sin daily pains me in my heart 
As God be true and men liars I labor for light in the dark. 

Breaking Good Men

They want to preserve good men,

But not love them. 

They'll fan their hands over their eyes,

That they might shield them from looking upon their naked promiscuity. 

They'll shroud them in protective wear,

Until they're suffocating. 

They want to preserve good men,

The way a wealthy man might surround himself with expensive things. 

They must convince themselves these men be dull or blind, for why else pray tell would they be. 

These seat themselves among those innocent loves, holding them in a light they refuse to see. 

They want to preserve the good men,

The way they value antiquated artifacts.

They'll smile when they're in the room,

Then whisper behind their backs. 

Confusion clouds them, where chaos flows...

They're breaking good men, for reasons no one knows