Creative Writing

Hurled towards a flaky black horse,
bleached to be pearly white,
limbs try annex the strewn out twines
jubilantly quivering in and ‘round
the froth steaming, blustering,
from the nostrils of the carrier; the focus;
the inward; the Godward.

As hooves drum on the consummate rock of ages,
intimate eyes declare a portrait in lumber;
‘cause the ability to grip and dwell
is entrusted to an individual,
whom has been timelessly lifeless,
only by charity again blooming.

Hence, while this soul keeps saddle;
let these crusty lips proclaim to Him;
praise unrelenting.

I’d rather have my foundations traumatized,
willingly smashed into windblown heaps of rubble,
painfully leveled with unfailing bedrock,
where I’m compelled to let Him discern all the footpaths I scampered,
to let His fire scorch through all the lies and hidden truths,
to reveal the precious gold and blow away the rest,
like fine, crispy ashes.

‘Cause my heart desired and God provided
the spirit of the deepest sleep,
to sooth my nomadic soul with the lies I needed,
for me to dawdle along selfish paths,
none sighted towards Mount’ Him;
the only true source of life and joy,
but rather to my seemingly innocent and corrupt desires.

So now I restart my journey,
with my dampened eyes fixed on His glory.
By His unmatchable grace alone,
I’ll be able to let Him build a house, worthy.
By Your unmatchable grace alone,
I’ll be able to give up it all, just to find You. Wholly holy You.