The loss of faith

In today’s world, the speed at which one has to live, has gathered pace with each milestone gained. The urgency of the world propels our moments of timeliness, with each day; the grip of peculiarity is greatly diminishing. The fleetness of our tendencies to conform within theoretical edicts determines the quality of our intelligence and societal acceptance. No longer can we cruise to our own familiar comforts. The rate of knowledge gained has exceeded our times of leisure, peace and spirituality. To think is unheard of, to think a loud has become illegal.

Can we maintain this pace of nothingness and eagerness towards this “Status driven” mindset? For some, the distance from here to heaven is too far away to conceive, and to get there is even more far fetched. So, it’s best to stick within the empirical data which suggests; be intelligent, get an education, and live life liberally are the most reasonable ways to enrich ones life. As for your taxes, make sure you get a job that pays well enough for you to take out a mortgage. No sense in working towards paying bills and not having a house. Some will also state “intellectually” that the speed of which all these occurrences will take place is so motionless, maintaining such an idealistic lifestyle is well worth the University fees. Remember, it’s only 2050 they’ll seek to cut emissions by 40%. The data shows at that time, the earth would still remain relatively habitable. As for God, the proof of his existence is conjectural, so it’s best to stick within the geological references and guesswork. Only one life to live, live it well. Anything the world pitches be prepared to conform to it. The proof is in the monkeys, you don’t go against the Scientist and his empirical data. Remember its hard evidence.

Many have little or no time to sleep, for there’s no efficiency in sleeping. Where can we find an outlet from the mph we’re over-clocking in the world at this moment? Seriously, were our bodies meant to work this much? Where can we find that pit stop to replace the burnout we’re currently experiencing in our spiritual life? Only in Christ; who has given us the ultimate opportunity to rest in him, only through him can we regenerate and become replenished. (Matt 11:28, 29) We struggle with this concept of resting in someone that we cannot see. “Oh the joys of being in poverty, I thank God for Jesus Christ”. But working toward our happiness is quite conceivably comfortable, especially if you’re in a Mercedes C series. Status quo, status quo…

With Science: A branch of knowledge or study dealing with a body of facts or truths systematically arranged and showing the operation of general laws. There is no room for the creator. Trusting, relying on God, and living through faith and not empirical data and research papers are becoming harder with each day. For which each day, there is a new reason for the origins of anything with can feel, touch or see. Faith in God gives us a peculiarity that cannot be tainted.

But that’s the beauty of it all, faith is unique to each person, faith cannot be quantified. It can be nothing, whilst it can be everything. The belief in his power is what determines the reality of it all. Hence, evaluating oneself becomes imperative in metering where we ought to be in order to claim the results we require. But that’s the sad thing with our mindset; we do not align our thoughts with God’s demands. We live the evolutionist lifestyle, where everything is tangible and feasible. Our whole existence and day to day lives are structured upon reason. That bit of trust in Jesus ever seems to evade us. So we lose out in claiming the power, the joy. He has promised to give us life abundantly, yet with everything crashing before us; we hold on to the tangible things steer our lives into the heap, dismissing the faith in God that will alleviate the pain.

All earthly things are transient, and do not carry any moment with God. So how do we gauge the two? Envisaging the BMW 7series will only severely cut into living for self and spiritual growth. (John 3:30, 31) Living for Christ is so diluted by things of this world; we’ve become lost in our pride and virtually have abandoned selflessness. The science behind our selfishness should be interesting.

For children today, they’re being engineered towards their sole reasons for existing; which is to become something of earthly worth, no matter the spiritual dwarfism that may lead to in the process. Living for the promotion of self, which eventually negates the power of God is common practise.

Those who believe and those who don’t believe in Jesus can see his prophesy culminating with an evangelic presence. Yet the spreading of the Gospel is still ever so much more incumbent on the few labourers than it has ever been. God can do everything, everything good that is, but he has given us the great responsibility in finish his work. The grit and determination to fulfil his work can only be done through faith and true belief. For if we are to rely on reason, the work will never be finished.

Our response to keep at pace with the intellectual powerhouses of this world and their rate of action can be seen only be seen as selfish. The man, who is willing to preach where he stands, is the man who is selfless who has Jesus before, behind and to his sides. Engulfed so much in the Holy Spirit, he is blinded to the glare and comments of the intelligent. So he has no manners where ever he goes, he’ll always be disturbing and obnoxiously irritating the mind with Godly things. His willingness to decrease in the eyes of men can only increase his rewards in heaven.

Jesus loves us, but how faithful are we? (John 15:7-10)

Preface

Where can I find my heart's desire?
Oh and
Where can it rest in love and bliss, with no retire?
Where our souls, long and seek?
Where will we find our strengh, when times get bleak?
Where is love infectious?
Where does purity reflect us?
Where is your friend, the closest friend, "The one who held"?
Where can we find our shelter and our truest home?
The answer is: Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, our shalom...

Who is glory in vein, and was never vain?
Who relieves all pain?
Who is gone for a while, but with us, yet away?
Who's that Potter who needs and neads us clay?
And in whose name shall we pray?
Who sitteth at the throne,
And tells us his mansion can be our home?
But only through his name...
Jesus Christ alone!

There, in Christ, great has no defining stance nor seat.
Jesus Christ the King so humble, he washes feet!
He is our great defender, our might lance.
And without him, we'd have not a fighting chance.
But with him, the battle is won.
Through his death and resurrection,
Salvation is anon.

What a glory, when the inhabitants see his face!
Coming down from heaven, their ultimate trump card;
Their Ace!
The faithful looking up, deeply into the fiery eyes of the
author and finisher of their faith...
Their Creator!
Whilst the wicked feeling a lot less moulded
Rather heating up to idea of their incinerator.

Never is there ever a better time
To love the Trinity boldly, in both heart and mind.
For what awaits us is glory!
A never ending story...
To meet by the Tree of Life is
Something to look forward to surely!

And surely,
We are all unworthy, so we can only grasp this gift of glory
Through the ultimate gift; Jesus Christ.
Our central heating system, no longer are we iced.
Thank God for him.
Because he could have said no, and we would've
Been lost in sin.
So we need to take him now, or start to reflect on what could have been...

The Friend, the Saviour, and the King...
The one who intercedes for us all,
The one who's in everything!
Impossible becomes possible
Improbable becomes fathomable
And in Jesus, there is love like no other
Love from a father, but also a brother,
Love from the perfect.

Now get to know him!

Chocolate Woman

I can escape her if I want to!
But seriously, who would want to?
I dare not even to close my eyes.
For with a glance, I see the heavens;
Her beauty uncompromised.
Immaculate and free, she reigns angelic,
Her face I continually see, my thoughts aesthetic.
Mock me openly if you will, yet veil not your lies!
Restrain from being stormy,
For its all clear as our skies;
"She's really a woman of chocolate!
A real chocolate woman."
Hard on the outside, but at the right temperatures;
Will melt like butter,
And will make you stutter!
Well as for butter, it will always need complements.
Yet chocolate deserves compliments.
And if I were you, I would find all the condiments,
To influence the consequence.
I love my chocolate; black.
No milk, not even condensed.

A devout I stand for ever,
However,
As with glance; that is well within my sights.
I stand behind my seemingly ineffable, bias plights.
Let the weak dither,
"I stand by my black woman's dinner!"
They've become inundated from the flash of another.
But not me!
For my heart will hurt me, my vessels will desert me.
My body will become cold and unearthly,
Don't get me wrong,
For some of these milky characters are worthy.
But not me!
Never would I ever, want to miss out on her...
For that would be my chance at the world.
After all she's the epitome of a woman,
"The Black Woman", especially with child.

Even in my sleep, I dare not dream;
Thats far too much sunshine for me to take.
So I'll suffer, in her colourful world; my heart wont ache.
Looking at my chocolate woman's face,
shining from the sweat.
To be in love with such state, I will never regret.
I've become much more potent for it...
Much more surrounded by her orbit.
I for one will never make her cry,
Unless they are tears of joy.

Innocuous

I've endured better times in the slump.
Those were the glory days,
The real days of triumph.
But what we have now is sickening,
Far too heart rendering!
Imprisoned and disposed, to our impulsive nature;
To live composed of this, pungent caricature.
Oh how this irritates me, and I only have myself to blame.
Yet, I hate you for it; for this burning desire,
This thing I simply cannot tame!

I am mad, my senses have eluded me once again.
My conscience unsparingly writing on my thoughts,
Like an irremovable pen.
Am I not a man, can't I simply understand?
With beauts like these, I should run to the plagues.
Yet this unamed feeling; is far more determined,
Than perpetual plagues.
It yields not, it disturbs and plots;
It clothes the impurities and conceals rots.
A victim I am of this trance...
Well, that's not too bad
It has marauded many others in France.
They make wine for this stuff!

They applaude and serenade in it,
Way too incitingly; so many become exhausted in the bliss
And commit.
After all its "harmless"...

Love is the great mathematical equation, it gives you everything.
Yet you'll never be able to compute it.
It confuses all!
It drives us crazy,
Then sends us way over the wall!
L'amour n'a pas seulement des actes à ne pas faire...

“Athletes are predominantly stronger, and oft, more successful than the in vogue aesthete.”


“Gone are the days of where we marinate, these are the days of broth.” As paradoxical as that statement may seem; it may very well be true. Not a certainty, yet certainly worth a given try or at least something to cogitate on. Common sense these days is not as common, or as granted these days. Yet I continue, for with distance; the closer we become, the clearer we realise. For some, here on in, I would suggest you stop looking. Unto the meat of the matter; no matter how artistic you are, it does not count for muscle.

Athletes are predominantly stronger, and oft, more successful than the in vogue aesthete. Now need to sound the alarm bells as this is directed solely at males, I raise the emphasis on now. Not surprising, as women are predominantly petite and seek to use their wisdom far more than men –in most instances at least. Women, in the general case; prefer to be, protected than being romanced. I am sure there are far too many novels to defend that statement. Yet, there is no need for self sacrifices that may prove only to be a masochistic act, and eventually being looked upon as being fatally unwise. Furthermore, there is enough on our plate. We cannot afford to allow our egos to get that much ahead ourselves. We might be seen as heroically not all there, or even worse, small headed. Certainly, I am narcissistic enough to believe that.

What’s the use of a man if he will not defend her in the direst and most undesirably fearful of moments? Zilch! To be frank, we can’t wrong them. This is just the way it was meant to be, we must be defenders! If not, we lean towards our ancestral disseminations; they (ancestors) were taught to be great seekers of the land, no matter how nomadic! Sorry, I meant we were taught to be great cultivators, to not only plant the seed but to dig deep. What did women do? They became wiser, ensnared in jealousy and signs of and from the times. Protection became much more than taking a hit to the head. ‘Protection’ means the ability to be protected from the gross dangers of financial collapse, the means of adapting to trends adeptly – not leaving her out in the cold. We males are still cultivating in the most post-modern of ways, if only our pockets could stretch. If only we had pockets. The time is now. We need to realise the Titanic things we can do. Why else do they love that movie so much?

If you want me to be a man, don’t complain when I give you my dictums. True. But that my friends is certainly a chasm. Well as life would have it, things are not as straight forward as we would all like to believe. That being said women are very much the lions of the den; they seek their prey far more ostentatiously than we are led to believe. Predators of a feministic kind, the ones that will deceive you in the ways you can actually believe…



Realistically, before even approach; a woman, has mentally unearthed every good and bad deed the man is capable of producing. The assumptions over, she then begins to physically analyse the features, and then he can only pray that she sees pass his timid frame, or limited brain. But of course, all that is in the general sense. For I am not Doctor Phil, I don’t have surveys. I simply go through personal observations. The perception of him being the predator is no more, she now has complete control. Denial is still quite possible, for she believes in her instincts. Yet, if you are bold - a major evidence of a manly structure, then you may just find that you have the time to convince. Being bold is not being big; being big is definitely being bold. She requires someone to protect her, not someone who insomuch an aesthete, but a man capable of wowing her as that of the athlete. With words she may grow softer and a little bit more fairy taled, but that’s of no use, for a real princess desires protection and warmth. Even a meagre figure, who will be her defender to the end, from the very beginning. I repeat, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. In becoming the bold and protective we must try at best to not become foolish.

With women the world can be quite catastrophic, for they are demanding as the tax we pay. Seriously, women and their needs are a lot. As protective as a male should be, she should never neglect his potential and his efforts. Also seeking to make sure that he does not extend himself beyond belief. In fact, she should be very keen in keeping him upbeat in the troubled times. Females are... ok, moving on. (In keeping with fact that I am more or less married, more or less saving my skin.) But women are muses of the musers, the caterers; of the protectors, the cultivators, and the nomadic fishers; well not so much the fishers. I go back to our ascendants’ dissensions to prove that point. Obviously, realism has caught up with us. Father Abraham had many sons, all of which were under monogamy. Certainly.

Where can we strike the balance? Both sexes need to realise the fact that there is a need to appreciate people for who they are. Appreciate the opposite sex for what they are. For by nature we do complement each other, by nature. We also need to become more than people who are appreciators, and seekers of those who suffice. Human beings need to recognise love. Peeling away the cloak of impurities, for by default we are fallible. Yet there is something within everyone that makes compatibility easy. The word is soul. With soul there comes a key factor; we are happy in spite of , not because of. For deep down we are all plagued with something that need not be there. Love eludes trepidation. Gone are the days of where we marinate, these are the days of broth. For if we take people for what they are: fat, skinny, rich, poor, intelligent, and foolish. We’ll never begin to understand who they are.


TO BE CONTINUED….


“Behind Every Great Amorist, There Is An Even Greater Muse!
Be It Prolix Or Pithy, You Are Muse Of My Every Metre.
From The Recesses Of My Very Heart, I Love You With Every Litre”
To Cerise

The writer's struggle...

Never again will you find a dull poet.
They reserve the title as writers.
Whilst the writer may scribble a long the way.
The poet embalms brilliance, at the writer's dismay.
The precision of a poet's vibe,
Is far too rhythmnical for the writer's hide.
This will always irk the writer's wit;
to deboggle the content. 'Why is it a hit?'
The poet's vendatta is sublime enough to unearth
Yet he doesn't vaunt or grinch to the writer's dearth.
Certain things are criminal to do...
To write as a poet incensed by writers too!
For writers do write, yet a poet's magic is never wrong.
And just for the writers' sake, I shall not make this long.

A Whim of Inspiration

A whim of inspiration would do me fine, for I am a joker at heart, and an amorist at mind. I will sit as a recluse, and poker with time; for it is never of the essence. Unless spent in God’s presence, adorning him with lofty presents, forgetting the fad of the world; the twisted and the twirled, the crust of the earth, only bringing to the almighty; the incense and the mirth. For, giving God praises therein lies pleasure, and for a poor man; God is, the great treasure.

But to scribble the next line, I will certainly be greedy; searching for that impulsive thrust of wit. To wrought the interested, to suffice the needy. Seldom are those thoughts when inspiration is lacking, so I sit here searching for that profound line; for my own gratification, something worthwhile, something smashing. To make this all seem of sense, just that one line. Or write until I find that whim of inspiration; for my poetic pores are burning, for this titillating feeling of revelling in my poetic trance as that of love.

But that is my very woe, I choose not to be cheap and scribble of love. Far too easy it is; I have from her and family and that from above. No, I will not be the amorist, but I shall claim the poet’s stance, unbiased to the real and exaggerate the feeling. Indulging in my creation, I write to raise the forgone ceiling. Too much is never easy, so I soldier on yet to find the profound, the not cheesy. Where is that, whim of inspiration? Save me now, for it’s long in the poem and I’ve yet to feel that moment of ecstasy. To ease my temple, and soak in a good read, finding myself and finding myself; smiling thinking about the last line. The one that really did the damage, the one that unknowingly committed the crime.

I am now frustrated, as my journey has seen itself through. I am exacerbated by thought of little or no inspiration trickling as dew. I’ve lost; this will be just another plague of a poem, dying to become something it has always wanted to be. But for now, it suffers at my demise, for there was no inspiring thought. I served best, as amorist.