Alican in freefall, please by Blacksand459, literature
Literature
Alican in freefall, please
Darn that dream! When will the blues leave? The peacocks are in the garden, Sandino... And every time we say goodbye the angels wonder why we cry if only words were circular whims and syllables were auld peregrines then cords of wood in January ice could shelter the intermittent lights of dreadnought cranes heading south to Piper Key a little edge of paradise along the ever-rolling sea is what the Limehouse Tribune says to me
have You considered... by Blacksand459, literature
Literature
have You considered...
O LORD, have You considered your beautiful one? As it is written we are made of dust and to dust we shall return our red-eye flight soon ended but I ask You... O LORD, have You considered your beautiful one? whose heart has been wounded and mended so many times yet she has a smile like the dawn whose soul has wept bitter tears in too many dark nights yet grace and gentleness pour out like the fragrance of lilacs in full bloom whose eyes have seen death, and whose ears have heard despair yet she continues to love her God, and others as herself so again I humbly inquire O LORD, have You considered your beautiful one? surely the mold was broken when You knit her together in the womb surely, You loved her from before the foundation of the world before her first breath before her first step all her days were in Your hand and none could pluck her away O LORD, my Savior and my God, have You considered your beautiful one? who stole my heart before I could give it who sets my soul
some nights it's hard to submit to God when the bitterness rises up but there's nowhere else to go because all your bridges are burned some say drink it away others have sex some wander aimlessly still others like to fight but another Way exists an arm's length away eager to save His love has no bounds
a red warning beacon recedes in the gloom leaving silent woodlands behind it warns don't follow unless you'n keep up cuz' I'm goin' to a city of long slow songs rust red ore four thousand feet down rides a hotshot freight to Burns Harbor, Indiana black steel cars in a cold, cold rain 'neath perigee stacks billowing as an old C10 slowly drives away to a place where memories fade the company man relights an old flame like a guttering candle in his mind in its warmth he tries to hide from the pain of yesterday soon enough that lonesome freight will head into the northlands to Eveleth, Minnesota and shanty town dreams
3 am in mid-November is damp and cold; the neighbor's arc-sodium casts a blue cry of silence everything is waiting for warmth and consolation as hibernation commences Joy surely comes in the morning but tonight is worse than mid-winter; the blizzards of January and February are bright with power and stillness, the breath of the LORD incarnate but at 3 am in mid-November we're waiting for the ancient sharpness of winter's glory once more
dooryard snow drifts chest deep no birds a-flight in the dark woods nothing moves save branches in the wind in the barn a scarecrow lies nestled deep within the hay a faded engineer's cap covers his eyes- and he sleeps dreaming of Old July and those endless, glorious, scorching summer days
the TV doesn't work anymore one day, during the evening news a short low buzzing sound began along with an electric smell... and then farewell evening news as if that was a bad thing, an unfortunate occurrence for the record, it doesn't bother me a bit I'd rather listen to the game on the radio anyway
it's the middle of the night; machinery making its usual cacophony workers milling about no onlookers here, no only workers looking here and everything is under the sun and it's blessed nighttime and we're all poor and you're the crescendo of a thousand symphonies even though you'd never guess, never self-appraise that way and looking at you is stillness and energy and life and I feel strong enough to crush rocks with just a glance I'm like the fly in your ointment I'm Humpty Dumpty's insurance agent I'm the 500 Year Sleeper, only to wake in a barren world of Polaroid memories, everything you knew and loved has been gone for centuries that conversation five minutes ago? took place half a millennium ago- and your smiling face is gone and those days are gone also and every moment is golden, Ponyboy, every moment is golden...
dust on the mantlepiece, forgotten days... lives that roamed the nights with ours and never made us feel less than... how small is a feature in your company? how ruined is the glamour in your show? how betrayed is the reversal of your fortunes? both in light and costume? only the Lord knows. absolutely fearless in flight, a democracy of the local word in blue barrooms and root cellars and Mason jars for Aunt Sarah
so prone to wander O my God, from Thee! in derelict quarters seeking false treasure instead of the true riches given to me in Christ not earned but given by Him Who gave Himself for me that I should no longer live for myself but die to self to live for Christ, in Christ because He first loved me and died for me while I was yet a sinner (Rom. 5:8)