Zoom in, lay claim to what is rightfully yours.
Draw in the possibilities of optimism; understand
that it’s yours and no one can take it. No one, can
claim it. If they try too they won’t succeed, you’ve
been given the lead.

Play the part; it was yours from the start. You have the
deed and the keys. Open your arms wide and reach,
for what your God is dropping from the sky. He’s sending
your blessings to you at a high rate of speed, trust that
he knows your need.

Get involved in what the master is doing. Don’t push back,
spring forward and pursue it. Stop missing your plate.
Every time the wheel is spent, it lands on you; don’t take
of f running, it’s yours and the money too.

No changing directions; not this time, God won’t
allow it. He’s going to force feed you, so enjoy it.
Persevere; keep the faith and no guessing, God
says, “You’re going to receive this blessing.”

Beautiful with a delicate tarnish, smooth and Shiny
Pleasant and fun to look at
Candy coated with sweet varnish

Bold patterns and cool dots, sharp zigzags with fine lines
Deep rectangular points with handles
Strong stone shapes and solid knots

Colorful yet off center, unique, but chipped
Exquisite, yet blemished
Charming, but a Venter

Adorable, but stern, awesome, yet boring
Angelic, but hellish
A blessing, yet cursed

Stern with many pieces of subtleness
Boring with many pieces of humbleness
Hellish with many pieces of gentleness
Cursed with many pieces of holiness
People have beautiful pieces

We can’t see it because it’s been torn apart; life, kindness and equality.
There’s no excuse, we should be ashamed. Oh, but yes,
there are many excuses; plenty of finger pointing, and placing blame.

But it’s all of our faults, we don’t take action, until there’s been
years of torment. We complain about the injustices of this 
Bland world, that’s riddled with hatred and mockery.

We gawk at what we should help to correct.
There’s no peace, but we sleep, and we
yawn in the morning. An uprising of righteousness
should make us beat our chest.

But we are vague in our stance. We don’t care
unless we’ve been there. No clue; no pain, no shame,
no comparison, no site; it’s foggy and misty.
We all need spiritual prescriptions.

Help me Lord there’s a war going on inside me. 
It’s bubbling to the surface; it’s coming out in verses.

Pray, they say. I say, “No, please Lord, help me.”
Pray, they say. I say, “No, please Lord help me.”

The war inside has now reached the outside. It’s oozing,
And spilling over, and it has put my spirit in a coma.

Pray, they say. I say, “No, please Lord help me.”
Pray, they say. I say, “No, please Lord help me.”

The war began – The war brooded 
The war reached its peak – the demons fled 
Because God still speaks!

In the midst of the midnight sky a child is born. The tiny body is filled with air; as the child takes his first breath, blood pumps and circulates throughout his veins. Good housekeeping will ensure that he lives.

Housekeeping is the sweeping of dust and particles of life; those that would keep one from living a beautiful life. Ensuring the child is led in the right direction; creating a foundation that can be called; “path worthy.” You know; like it’s okay to follow it, it’s the right one, and it will lead the child to his predestined position.

A plan for the child’s life was already in place. He was to rule, because he was part of the human race. He was to conquer in the midst of suffering, grief and pain. He was created to be strong, and weed out wrongs, a hero; even at the bottom.
​
Guts and glory were in his future. Words of envy would pursue him. Ridicule and hate would chase him. Liars and evildoers would face him. Love and mercy were on his sleeve. Righteousness and grace he would breathe. A Beautiful Tragedy he is; he’s killed from birth because of what “they” put on him, throughout the earth.

Then he said,
“If you will harken unto my voice, I will release the pressure.”

I screamed as he held me tighter.

He said, “Are you ready to listen?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Do what I have commanded.” 

I cried in a small still voice “Please, help me, I can’t do it alone.”

He said, “I am here, I am with you, let go.”

I cried louder and gasped for air.

Within seconds, He released the pressure, blew breath and strength into my being.
He wiped my tears and stood me up. I took deep breaths and then sighed.
He lifted my arms, and put his hand into my side.
He sent his spirit into my thigh.
He opened my skull and touched my eyes.
He opened my mouth and touched my mind. 
He opened my chest and massaged my glands.
​He said, “It is finished, now you are my part, I have been longing for you to give me your heart.”

The day after tomorrow it will all
 be okay; stating claim to a brighter
 day. Understanding that pain doesn’t
 last forever; believing that faith will
 change the weather. Storms are inevitable
 they come with rapid speed. They form
 at a moment’s notice. They do their deed.
 Formed in the middle of the night, storms
 bully all in site. Pulling the power cord
 of fear; storms have to leave here. The day
 after tomorrow it will all be okay; stating
 claim to a brighter day. Knowing that grief
 can’t last forever; assured that hope will
 create something better. Storms come to
 teach life lessons. They rush in and keep
 one guessing. Specifically designed for
 each and every mind; some storms will
 draw the line. Today’s storm is tomorrow’s
 sunshine, and makes for a
 brighter day every time.

Living off things of the world
Soaking up all that is under heaven…

Squeezing the sponge until your
 pores have soaked in all the plunder 
it surrounds you…

Double dipping in the things of
the world, bit by bit…

Consuming even the residue
Absorbing the best; you think…

You pay no attention that
you’re in love with the atmosphere
of spoiled goods…

Mold, fungus, grime; and dingy corners
Feeding on what’s under heaven; the world.

At your birth, someone had already died for you. Before you were formed in your mother’s womb, it was written,
​                                       “Someone had died for you.”

Their death was gruesome and long; and their torture was unbearable. Their murder was displayed for all to see. They suffered; it was a sacrifice, yet they had caused no strife.

While you are living and making your own prideful decisions; someone continually dies for you. When your family and friends die, ask yourself these questions.

Are they dying, so that I can live? Are they dying so that generational curses can be broken? In Corinthians; it is written, in order for something to live, something has to die.

Does it matter who dies for you? Will it make a difference if you know who has already died for you? Led as a sacrifice to be slaughtered for your sake and mine...
                                            He died, you lived. He rose, you lived. He ascended, and now the spirit                                                            lives inside of you. Now die to your old self and become new.                                                                          Remember someone has already died for you.

It eats to the core; it devours the shell that it lives in. Gossip is a murderer, a killer, an enemy. Swooping in, unannounced, it steals the innocence; its victims.

Draining the life of its users; gossip wins on both ends. It grows when used, and mocks the life of all; a destroyer that answers the call.

Gossiping is similar to washing your face with the same towel you’ve cleaned the toilet with. Germs around the toilet are to be done away with, cleaned and sanitized.

Gossiping is like taking bacteria and spreading it on
everyone that you’ve come into contact with.
Rumors; hearsay, slander; let them die never to
surface again. Kill the strain; be the antibiotic,
​stop spreading germs, it’s psychotic.