If we can experience it, it is already a material thought-part of God. The permanent of all substance. God doesn't simply construct (what basic man understandably childlike reasons) -- He is builder of everything (all of His own essence-parts) (purified when in balance) (perfect in manifestation when blossomed expression) -- God is infinite existence, the purpose of Love to be lived outright eternally. Everything He is, He wants us to be, even greater for He is also all potential unlimited.
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So few understand the bible, and the true nature of being. God lives, breathes, feels with and through His creation (including us) -- Free Will allows us to separate from Him consciously...but it is an illusion. True separation is impossible. All is made of God Substance (His Body). Nothing exists outside of God. He is form and being. In Him knowledge of all Good and Evil. We pick and choose, Law the Redeemer. Grace and Love the patience. When in balance...there is only love.
Trouble and Truth
So many words begin with ‘tr’.
So many ‘trs’ describe trouble.
‘Transgression’ and ‘Trauma’
‘Treachery’ and ‘Trap’.
The list’s almost endless.
‘Treason’ and ‘Trash’.
Endless maybe. Never hopeless!
Another ‘Tr’ appears!
Standing way above all others,
It’s Truth, precious Truth.
Truth shining in brilliance
In Jesus, my Lord.
He alone is the Truth
He can free us from troubles.
He alone is the Truth
Only He can redeem us from sin.
Neither is time the creator,
Nor is silence the destroyer,
Distance wasn't the cause,
Words hold the weight,
Even the scale refuses to measure,
Yet they tear apart what was meant to stay.
The ones who chased
Each other,
Were broken,
Not by time,
But the words that still echo remain unheard.
The black box is so useless,
Its worth was shown
Only when disaster knocks at the door.
The only way to find the cause
was to recover it.
Voices may hold different words,
But they still hold the truth.
That time refuses to remember,
Once a flight takes off,
No one dares to stop it,
Unless the flight itself has other plans.
Time never chose the ending;
it only watched it unfold.
Some are proud to be illegal
For power, for wealth, for fame
Some are afraid to be illegal
For life, for safety, for shame.
The word 'Illegal' laughs in a corner
No one knows the reality
But they all try to become the owner
Calls it the business of cruelty.
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Are you, are you illegal!
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Tell me, are you illegal!
Afraid because of the terror
Proud because of the swag
And this is the prime error
They set here a wrong tag.
Not the drugs, not the guns
They all are out of the race
Beyond all, something runs
Easy to know, hard to face.
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Are you, are you illegal!
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Tell me, are you illegal!
Read the book of human society
The book of their constitution
Truth, the most illegal, their anxiety
Can't be found in any institution.
Read the life of all the rebels
The fighters, the thinkers, the inventors
They raised the truth in the jails
Unknown, insulted, someone wanders.
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Are you, are you illegal!
Illegal! Illegal! Illegal!
Tell me, are you illegal!
Warning! Horrific content here
Look! Listen! If you have dare
Quit! Quick! If you don't care
Don't forget, the truth is bare.
Nature wants to remove an error
From everywhere, forever
In the reply of every terror
There will be nothing in the favour.
Nature heard the innocent cries
Saw the all cuttings and fries
Now, only maths, Now, no lies
And beware every stupid wise.
What said, 'Moon or Mars'
I say, 'Be behind the bars!'
What said, 'Controll solars'
I say, 'Crush the jets & cars!'
Victims, the most of minds
Like prostitution, total blinds
And the cheap ego binds
And the truth, no one finds.
Words frame her face like fall leaves—
Some are green, still full of life,
Others are dry and brown.
They drift against her jawline, caught
In the quiet currents
Of breath and hesitation.
The green ones cling:
Tender promises, unfinished confessions
That still smell of summer rain.
The brown ones rattle when she speaks,
Edges curled, brittle enough to crumble
Under the slightest weight of memory
Old arguments, worn-out courtesies,
Griefs she has swept into tidy piles for years.
Between the living sap and the brittle husk,
An ember glow holds:
The copper syllables of truth,
Warm enough to survive the frost,
Waiting for a wind brave enough
To strip the branches bare.
She lets the dead phrases fall into the dirt
To feed what comes next:
Life, or slow death.
Is this the asylum whispering in my ear,
voices of my past want to come back to wash me,
childhood traumas and war genocide, doing its job
i was carved long ago, by the belt of my father
many shapes and many depths,
i can still feel ringing in my ears,
from that heavy hand and a wooden spoon,
my mothers voice, than my fathers,
i took this shape and it was unfamiliar,
how did i get here, am i just a piece of clay,
and who is next, to change who i am
i threw bread into my mothers face today,
i was hungry i just wanted to eat,
father is gone by now probably just a skull,
leftover from a man who raised me,
we were never the same after he was gone
my hunger turned into killer, my killer,
all i wanted was to eat today, mother
but she wouldn't stop repeating These words
" I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHEN YOU WERE BORN"!!
Anger-fueled words flare out of his mouth
like blue flames
I can feel the energy darken and turn cold
I sit silently
keeping my eyes locked downward,
absorbing every atom of hatred
that forms the sharp sounds being emitted.
I try not to show how uncomfortable I am
instead, I stare at the hypnotic,
damaging radiation waves
bellowing invisibly from the light of my phone screen,
pretending not to be affected by the unnecessary
vulgarities spouting from his ego.
in less than an instant,
the vibes go from comfortably chill
to anxiously wishing I was anywhere
but in this passenger seat.
every sentence carves a new scar
into my already damaged soul
as my brain categorizes each word
where it rightfully belongs.
I’m grateful for my oversized sunglasses
that hide my wincing eyes—
until I catch him looking sideways at me.
I solemnly mutter something about it being rush hour,
trying to become as small as my body will let me be.
I hope it seems like I’m too engulfed
in whatever stupid game I'm playing
to notice the short-fused flip-outs
that now happen every single time
we're in the car.
I always find myself
getting upset with little things,
whether it’s the way my best friend
acknowledges me like I am a burden,
or the way my boyfriend
can’t just be happy with one girl.
I’m always upset,
and I don’t know why I’m like this.
I’m a happy person,
at least to people’s knowledge,
but on the inside
I am angry.
Very, very angry.
I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I can be happy,
but that’s only when I have a distraction,
like when my best friend does listen to me,
or when my boyfriend makes me feel
like the prettiest girl in the world.
Those are meant to be happy moments,
but somehow I find the negative in all of it.
Is she secretly judging me?
Why is he suddenly nice?
Is he cheating?
Why can’t I just enjoy something good
without wondering what’s wrong with it?
Why do I always have to find something
to be angry about?
I’m happy to people’s knowledge,
but on the inside,
I’m angry,
and sometimes I don’t even know
what I’m angry at.
Scars tell a story
Of a life that has been lived
That's dreamt of a tomorrow
After all the **** is sieved
Scars provide some clues
Of what you had to face
Damage to the body
Forever leaves its trace
Scars of the mind
More difficult to tell
Hide behind the smiles
Of living after hell
If only we would recognise
That scars signify health
They would be held in high regard
More valuable than wealth
For they map our survival
Humankind's desire
To overcome all obstacles
And something to admire
In dark times Eve is my bright delight.
she hovers over my in darkness I devour her enemies.
Walk up toward the sky head for Eve's dream.
Knights fall warden ready for the wall.
Silver rings and golden lights.
Quantum sight searching for visions of Jesus by my side.
Eve the vampire goth queen of mystery hovers over me.
In sight of the pressure we burn with our sights on the Master.
Jesus will return with the shout of an Arch angel and a trumpet of God.
Lord you are my creator who above all created Eve my mystery Babylon my sweet honey baby.
In my times of joy I dream of Eve. Her identity, a secret. her love, very real.
Rock my Rock is Jesus cause he created her My Mystery Babylon my Hidden secret my Mirror.
Hidden in the clef of the rock I am safely in your Hand my creator My Yeshua.
I like the color yellow
why
i like old cars
you cant
I love the sun
I hate it
I love cold weather
I hate cold weather
why do you hate
why do you sit there and negative
when you can positive
why are you dark
when you can light
when the world says turn
why do you stand still
What monster has MAGA adored?
The Halloween “head” orange gourd!
As a carved pumpkin
Mad Trump with his kin
Score loot from their trick-or-treat horde
Swirling winds stir the past-
a confusing situation.
Years long past, fond memories reign,
an intriguing fascination,
but who are the occupiers?
A reach to touch,
intentions vague.
The results are complications.
These hallowed grounds,
not respecting those,
ruination by deception.
Thank you Jesus you are my family.
Trusting in You makes me feel whole.
Honoring you is my whole reason to exist until you come back.
Roses and Violins crashing into shadows.
Honey coated coffee.
Lemon roasted minds full of toffee and we soon dine.
Dining on oceans we dance toward the fun king.
Lions bowing low, Heavy singing and we know.
Jesus is our mighty one Lord of Lords.
making love to the wind, chasing dreams of meeting her my best friend..
Walking toward the end of each road I still dance with the star of the show.
Candles and my coffee tastes good.
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