softened sunbeams penetrate the heavy fog of night, as we, re-emerge. these cosmic solar panels are like portals. reminders. that help us, to remember. as light waves and new days unfold, the march of wilted whispers reconvene toward perfection. today, I resort to sniff.

I wanted to write you a love poem. But my brain spilled onto the page, and my fame burnt out on the stage. So, here I am. Instead attempting to re member feelings I’ve never experienced. So that you might witness the breadth of my soul. The heart of the matter is… I love you. I think. But — Seems to me these words are like feeble projections of a stark truth resting in us all. That being, that we are

Christmas Miracle Between the spaces that expand with each daybreak and distill by solar retreat was a gap in Satan’s game-plan. For to us was born, a Child of Destiny. Carefully curated to restore our humanity back to the frequency of Love. A reunion of sorts. To condense infinity to finite flesh. And unfold eternity from a manger in Bethlehem.

Potential Energy In the space between ‘do’ and ‘done’ lay a realm of daft potential. Where endless possibilities compete with what’s inevitable. Where infinity meets it’s end. Beyond the boundaries of perception. Where we condense space and time. Into the here and now. Exchanging fear, for love. (Not a feeling. But a place.) Where we step into newness with revived anticipation. Knowing that our lives are fixed firmly in the faith filled hands of God.

So far, I fear, The tender state of our present predicament Will render misplaced directives As undue objectives. Directly responsible for lost time, I Remove the plastic wrapping from my vantage point. Revealing the messiness of faux morality. Steeped in an incomplete philosophy of what life is to be. To be, Regal in appearance is no justification. For when we meet our Maker, our makeup won’t do.

The Beginning In the beginning There was the Word. The Logos. The penultimate building block of Eternal existence. Fomenting from the lips of God. A truth inspired. A faith required. A death retired. The never tired, Unexpired, Matchless breath of Elohim.

Lost Rem-ories The distance between synapses and Enactments rack up lost sleeps, deep in land of the ethereal. Where the random empty moments Of restoration engender mass delusions. Rendering reckless entertainment as momentary bliss Dismissing lethargy of its capacity to negotiate. The slumber once enjoyed devolves into Rapid eyes moving under fastened eyelids. And yet – To awake. Is to recognise.

Psalm 23 The Good Shepherd doth lead His sheep, toward silent streams juxtaposed boundless prairie. Though, in the valley of despair – There resides the littlest lie. Remember not the lessons of death & dis ease. Rather, render your remembrance To the path before you. (evil is not to be feared) To take comfort in Reality, Is to remain fixated on The Architect. Whose home has many rooms, and plenty space for you.

Imposter Syndrome I often feel as if It’s only a matter of Time Before I’m found out As fraudulent. Like these lines Leak lies that vaguely resemble Love. But who am I? To lay claim on what’s Divine? As if half hearted words Assorted as putrid poetry could Ever Truly capture the essence Of what it means to be Alive.