This life… is but a vapor… without a second thought you’d capture the moment by taking a pen to your wrist…
And letting your heart bleed out on the paper….
Inspiration, devastation, any other proclamation…
Yet trying to write now just feels like forced dedication…
What happened to that fire? That desire? It’s like our pen has dried up, and the situations dire
What happened to the endless words rattling around that drove us to the brink of insanity?
What happened to the ability to tug at the heartstrings of humanity?
People used to say that what we wrote felt so real…
But it’s because your words expressed our heart unsealed…
All our pain, all our anguish,
Every unfulfilled wish
Even as we traversed from glory to glory,
Your words expressed our story
Yet stressed here I am
Trying to string together words that don’t mean a damn thing
There’s no voice, there’s no heart…
How can I read what I write now, and try to say that it’s art?
Posting poems from the past, but how long can that last?
I am not you, and I fear that our time together is through…
Like how were you able to write an entire poem from being hit by a droplet of dew?
You could put one hundred and ten poems inside of a book
All to tell one story, simply from its tones alone;
All our highs and our lows
Our joys, and our woes…
But I’m sitting here now like, “is this as far as it goes?”
Have I nothing more than this?
Here I stand at my precipice
Grasping at the wind beyond my reach
With eyes like an ocean, til they burn red
Rivers of dread flow, as I shake and I quiver
Each drop crashes like a tsunami atop this wilted rose I hold in my hand
The petals have been washed away… no beauty remains
Only the thorns buried beneath my flesh, tearing at my very soul
I never would’ve thought writing so much could take such a toll
To break through, I know not what I need
My heart… has run out of blood to bleed…
There’s no path ahead…
Nothing to say that I haven’t already said…
Here I stand at the ledge… ready to lunge…
Ready to take that fateful plunge…
Embracing the free fall…
As I give up on writing anything at all…

But yet in this moment the wind gives its gust
With a gentle whisper it tells me, “trust”
“Walk by faith and not by sight.
There’s no reason for you to be filled with fright.
Take the step and be full of delight.
Harken unto Me, and what I declare.
For together we will dance across the air.
The words that have been shrouded in the clouds will again shine their light.
The voice you seek will soon echo aloud.
Sending ripples, causing waves,
Causing dead bones to rattle in their graves.
Testifying of the One by whom mankind shall be saved.
This isn’t the end of your story.
For I have chosen you to write of Our coming glory.”

Lo! That mercy would look upon my tired eyes
That the winds of heaven would hear my frustrated cries
With no blood left to bleed…
No might, nor power left within myself to carry me through this hour
But by Thy Spirit, I will continue to fight
By Thy Spirit I will continue to write for any who shall hear it
For Thy testimony is my delight
Lo! This shall not be my end
I’m trusting that higher yet I shall ascend
So let ye joyful trumpets sound in celebration
For the shackles and chains of this writer’s block I refuse to succumb
Yay! I say I shall be unbound
I’ll let this Spirit fueled heart beat like a drum of liberation
Pounding with a “bum-bum-de-bum”
This burning sensation shut-up deep in my bones;
Words yet without form… groaning’s waiting to be born
As the tumultuous storm clouds clear… their image draws near…
I can see them…
At last…
I am free…
This weightlessness…
Unburdened by stress…
Yes… I can feel it deep in my core…
If I take this step… I know I shall soar
I shall waltz on the wind, as a sparrow in the daytime
As a spider with its web, I’ll weave these words into rhymes
I’ll mold them into the most lustrous silk
And their taste shall be sweeter than honey and more nutritious than milk
No longer shall I live in fear that I’ll never be the writer you were again
The rose petals of this pen will bloom once more
And now I sit in anticipation to see what creations are in store…
Indeed… this blocks been broken through
For my passions been born anew

I am the Shabbat lamb that was stuck in a pit
Who watched as many shepherds passed by as I cried out for help
But no one cared as they carried on their way
For I was but a hindrance unto them and their pleasure
For I was a spotted lamb,
I was nobody’s treasure
As I stared at the sky, I couldn’t help but to think that this was the end
Starving for life, as I withered to dust
Seeing the day turn to dusk
And dusk into night
Until the darkness blinded my sight
I had given up hope, and accepted my death
But just when all seemed to be lost
There came One, who’s face shone like that of the sun
He reached down and pulled me up from the pit
And threw me over His shoulder as He said, “come with me little lamb”
In awe, I asked Him his name and all He said was “I AM”
He took me away to a place so near, yet so far
And began to mend every wound, every scar
He fed me until I was healthy and fat
And turned me loose, to roam through His pasture
And whenever I start to wander astray
He comes running to lead the way back home
Who am I to deserve so lovely a shepherd?
Who am I that He would smile upon me with such pleasure?
A spotted lamb, but yet I am His treasure

I’m excited to announce a new project I’ve been working on called the Realistic Newspaper. It is a publication filled with stories from my anonymous peers, as I have kept their identities private for confidentiality. 

The Realistic Newspaper features relatable stories, giving everyone a voice to share their experiences. It serves as a safe space for those who want to express their ideas and thoughts. With their permission, I’m dedicated to helping these stories be heard.

I’ve created a QR code that leads to the Realistic Newspaper. You can either scan it or copy and paste the link, and the newspaper will appear. To view it in full screen, simply click the link, and you will have access to the Realistic Newspaper. If you need the QR please don’t hesitate to reach out.

I aim to create a second edition to further expand on people’s stories and provide a platform for even more voices in need of expression.

Narrator: Let me tell you a fable of three brothers, sitting and having a feast around a table:

Brother 1: Who is this God compared us three? Are we, His image, not better than He? Is not our greatness exposed for all of the world to see?

Brother 2: Yes my brother, I am inclined to agree. For I am an axe who is capable of felling any tree. Be it cedar, maple, or oak. No matter how tall or how small. All I need is a mighty hand to swing me, and I shall lower them all

Brother 3: Ah my foolish brother, you are nothing more than a brute, where as I myself am a beautiful flute. I’m the one people desire as they feast and they dine. The one they enjoy as they sip on their wine. All I need is someone to breathe through me, and I shall make a sound most divine.

Brother 1: Silly brother, who are you to try and pretend? For you know that to the heights of my glory you shall never ascend. For great as you are, of us three you are least. You shall not rise, as bread lacking yeast. Where as I am a well of knowledge, for I am a book. People have travelled far and wide just so upon me they may look. The information I contain has built kingdoms from dust, and left empires shook. I record all of that which I see, just so long I have an author to write within me.

Brother 2: Brothers now is not the time to argue about who is greatest and who is least, but let us sit together and enjoy our feast.

Brother 3: My brother you are right. This is not the time to argue, let us not fight, but rather let us lift up our glasses as I propose a toast. For we three brothers are the pinnacle for most.

Narrator: Fools! Who are you to arrogantly boast?
For You are but mere tools, who are useless unless you are used by your Master
And the works of your hands are doomed to collapse, as a wall built without mortar or plaster.
For you trust in knowledge, strength, and fame, looking to them for your power
But their power is fleeting, and they shall depart from you in your final hour
The works of your hands shall crumble to dust at times passing
But as for God, His work shall be everlasting
How can man hope to compare to the almighty God?
For He is the One who spoke forth the heavens and created the earth
He was the One who formed man from the dust, and was there when woman first gave birth.
He is the judge who shall pass forth our sentence
And the only One with the power to bring forth works of repentance.
You think that your glory shines so valiant, so bright
But in the wake of His glory, it shall appear as day, even in the darkest of night.
So raise up your glasses, and make ye your toast,
But as for me, it is in the Lord God I shall boast

Lately it’s like everything in government is abortion, extortion, and distracting the masses, while the leaders take a portion of the proceeds they send overseas. Doing whatever they please, while ignoring those on our own shores who have needs. There’s nothing I abhor more than to watch our nation bleed, as our leaders continue to bite the hand that feeds… No taxation without representation. A term which should be so ingrained in us, it shouldn’t need explanation. Our forefathers found the only solution, was to rise up in revolution. They made their declaration known, and fought to create this once great nation. Yet here we are today dealing with inflation, moral deprivation, an over run border, and everything we were founded upon in disorder…
The heart is wicked and full of deceit. For a moment of comfort during distress, we’ll lay our rights at another man’s feet. Selfish, self-centered, self-righteous beings who are lovers of themselves… it’s funny how quickly others we’ll forsake. To take all that they have to take. Until the will of that person finally breaks… Even an honest and pure man given power, can have these thoughts start to bloom until they flower. One will seek to further his control over his brother’s soul. Even if they’re from the same mother, and their corpses both lie in the same hole. For pride is their father. And to truly care for another, to them, is really quite a bother. They only seek to further their own gain. Meanwhile doing whatever they need to do to keep hold of the reigns. No matter the sorrows nor the pains. They care not as long as they still carry their title tomorrow…
The whole situation leaves me grieved. To see that our streets aren’t the only places flooded with thieves. As a kid I never would’ve believed that we’d be in the state that we’re at. It’s as if we’re divided more than ever, over everything, especially between republican or democrat. Has this thought ever occurred to anyone else? That maybe, just maybe, the left wing and right wing belong to the same bird? That maybe we’re just pawns in their game? I’m not the type to be given to conspiracy, but it’s like slowly we’re slipping back into a state of tyranny. Where are the ones who care about the common man’s well-being and security? Instead our leaders create bills with their agendas written in obscurity. Where are the ones who walk upright, and in purity?
I’ve witnessed first hand with my own eyes
just how our government and media lies.
Feeding us bits and pieces of truth and misinformation, leaving us to have to follow the clues…
I still remember a Russian man telling me “if you want to know what’s going on in your own country, watch foreign news.”
Or going to a far less wealthy country, and found it quite bizarre to see their currency was worth more than ours…
I’m not saying that I’ve seen the writing on the wall…
But I fear if things don’t change soon, our once great nation will fall

Many will say they are your friend,
But will they be there until the end?
Will they bestow a helping hand?
Lifting you up, so you can once again stand?
Even when you’ve butted heads
And can’t take back words you’ve said,
Will they venture across the divide,
Just to stand there by your side?
Will they tell you what you need to hear?
Or do they sugarcoat you out of fear?
Do they have an honest heart?
Or do they speak ill of you when you’re apart?
Are they the type to help you grow?
Or do they drag you to the depths below?
Are they there in your times of need?
Or will they take advantage of you for their own greed?
Will they carry you through your pain?
Or forsake you for their own gain?
Many will say they are your friend,
But when push comes to shove, you will find their love is just pretend
With that said, a true friend you must also be
So be not the one who’s absentee

Signs that a man has truly grown
Is when he’s able to see life through eyes not his own
When he stops chasing after the foolish things he seeks
And knows when to bridle his tongue and when to speak
When he is able to quiet his soul
Walking in temperance and self control
When he’s willing to forsake his pride and make himself low
Making himself not a spectacle or show
When he sees others as greater value than he
When his hands are shackled, yet his heart remains free
When he’s able to overcome fear
And willing to let go of his own life and well being, which many hold dear
When the desire of his heart is to give
So that those around him may live
When regardless of his position
He never forgets the art of submission
When in the face of adversity he stands
But to his enemies he’s still willing to bestow a caring hand
When nothing is able to quench his love
That he may mirror the God in heaven above
When he seeks after the truth of Christ divine
For the fruit of a man’s growth, these are the signs