I believe this is supposed to be poetry. It's kind of dark though. I found it on some handmade paper a few years ago and just couldn't see to
getting ride of it.
You; the condition of this helpless frame. I find no strength in fatal hopes of salvation.
The longer I wait for redemption, the more that I see there is none. At least, not for me.
But the confidence with which I dive into the flames grows ever stronger.
I am an unrepentant sinner stoking the flames of hell fire and
I'm picking up the pace as I head for my destiny.
I am reassured by angels that God is still waiting, even as I head away.
I am deceived by devils into thinking Satan is my last hopeless choice.
Futile is a struggle; just let fate do it's deed on my soul.
Freedom to choose is the constant plague of my heart.
It is the consistent condemnation of soul and body.
I want to forget the love so the guilt of rejecting it will not suffocate me.
But ever present is my failure and ever haunting is my destruction.
Live through it.
Pray for me.
She is, if ever there was, the embodiment of heavenly light.
The manifestation and compilation of purity in wolf's clothing
And a child's soul defiled by the lusts of men.
I am honoured once again with the privilege of watching my soul and all
I know burn itself to the ground; decay in front of me.
As I turn my back on all built for decadence of flesh, you open surgically the seams
I have so carefully sewn shut.
My eyes are next and the offer of animosity and the permanent state
Of dumb existence becomes ever the more appealing.
And God and Heaven ever against my rise.
And rightfully so, as I begin to see this darkness is better left unshared.
Running with an increasingly frantic pace.
Flapping my arms with every intent of becoming air born as my souls is consumed
By the greed to stay away from the flame that eats me alive.
May I tell my maker, “ I never lived the life. I never took a life. But surely saved one”?
Just like the lake of fire I desire nothing but the bottomless depth of spirit.
The further I take you down the more your desired method of interpretation has turned
To denial and disbelief.
That one can hold on to sanity in one hand in hell and the other does not seem possible
To those who have never lost their halos or seen the magnitude of human suffering,
Where man devours his own flesh in desire to reach, but for a moment,
The resurrection of blood and bone.
To choke on my iniquities.
To gurgle my life blood for eternity.
To gag on my soul for not asking for the forgiveness that was freely offered me
In exchange for my flesh.
Burn my skin.
Everlasting torment of body.
Defiled by Satan’s full onslaught of corruption. Gnash my teeth to nothing.
Watching souls slip into death eternal right before me and say nothing to warn.
To unbelievers I exaggerate. To the repentant it is such a simple choice.
Because it is so clear there in the light of the Son's face.
But to me, the reject of grace, I am lost in the flood
And my pathway out continues to elude me.
I am in continuous repeat of destruction.
Envious of your path to salvation, I rot in my own filth, by choice, why it is, that
I choose to suffocate in the squalor of self-hate I do not know.
But always present is my anticipation that tomorrow brings my end.
My rapture will take to an always present past; an always fore-fronted now;
An always unsparing death.
Those who see the daily demons and the average angels fallen from grace, are the cursed,
Yet blessed ones.
Ignorance of soul is so appealing. Why?
Why must I know what only God knows...and those covered by the blood?
An ever taunting joke in the irony of sadness, in the pathetic struggle of eternal cremation
I find no hope of salvation. High-handed my sin and rejection. No.
Continue to falsely identify that which is wrong with my eternal state.
Daily carving away my heart.
I can hardly believe myself all the angels I put through hell.
I brake a couple thousand hearts before I find a place to start mending my own.
The fog never lifted off my eyes and the frantic calling of the people
On shore tells me I'm in for an unwelcome surprise.
This chronicle is taking too long.
Personal abandon of the place that brought me peace.
I feel angels who have lost their patience, walk off shoulders slumped over in disbelief.
I resisted the prodding of the Ghost. So silent has he become.
Stifled the love of the Father and colder has it grown.
Rejected the gift of the Son.
Placed my fate in the hands of no sure thing.
But the surety of days forgotten.
There was a warmth once.
There was the hope that one day I would awaken.
That on day I would give in.
But, “no” say I.
I say, “never”, to the gift.
And so, forget.
Where is it I belong?
So simple must it seem to those having made the crossing.
But to us here on the low side, impenetrable the mountain fortress looks
From our maggot-crusted, self-afflicted, hopeless, selfish, finite view.
All of us have not been perfect.
We are all too aware of our condition.
You have seen to this.
But lives have we saved.
We are merely confused.
We want out but missed our halo lined coffin in which we were to lay.
Die to the old; rise with the new.
Not so easy have we found the navigation in this storm.
Torrent of pain.
Wall of falling ambitions.
More over aspirations of confession.
Forgiveness would we claim if we could find the key. It is understood.
We are one with the knowledge, yet form without function. Not attained.
What makes us different from the others is the awareness of our state.
Acceptance of our fate.
And the inability to do anything about any of it.
Can you help? We pray to the concrete sky.
Watching as our shattered prayer fall back to earth like blood drenched daggers.
They find their way straight to our shackled hearts and cut us to the quick.
Are we not your children, just among the lost? Have you no plans for us?
Can nothing be done?
You take my secretes and exploit my weakness.
There is no need to reinforce any further your glory.
I see your perfection and my lack there of.
So, why rub into open wounds the salt of the earth?
Take my eyes, my hands, my sword, my covering.
Turn me around, away. Leave me.
I am wandering. Is your plan ever changing? Yes.
As evolving as the path and hearts of men as they steer around your blessing;
Turning their backs to the bosom.
I ask only for some relief.
Some respite from the battering of guilt.
If the fallen One offered such to me the temptation to accept would be nigh impossible to resist.
So, I and we, wait and rot in our graves.
Cover us with your barrage of the repercussions for what few
Condemning sins we have committed –
Stay the reward for the souls we gave foot-hold to so they could scale the wall.
I try again, attempting not to burn myself on your sunlight.
The more that I inherit, the more will be asked of me.
I welcome new, unknown blessings into my life.
I know not what awaits me in the next movement.
I bring life into the darkness. Should I have done such a thoughtless thing?
I was brought here to suffer.
I was made to bring this one here.
edit on 26-1-2012 by Philodemus because: (no reason given)
edit on 26-1-2012 by Philodemus because: (no reason