Choosing – The Crossroads
Just when did apostasy consume my soul?
In the waning emptiness beside the coals,
When the fires stoked, and my heart was cold,
The vacuum of it rapt in a sick stranglehold
And being unfazed by the currents of woe,
With freedom’s vigor atop an augury’s scroll
With one wing removed away from the fold,
I dabbled in breaking the strings and their holds.
I bettered my thresholds with sweetened libation
Ignoring the strongholds of hell and damnation
Engaged in a fiery, salacious sensation,
so blind and unfettered, with firm observation.
I broke every moral and all my foundations,
In the unholy quest for full liberation
Now kneeled at the pulpit, in need of salvation
Encaged by contrition, and lost in temptation
In the strident resonance of broken down faith,
Alone in the darkness, alone, where I wait.
Who at all, if I cried out, would covet my plate?
What forming of terror would grant me such fate?
A creature of fire with wings dipped in black
the jealousy type that craves what they lack.
To hear my afflictions with rich cognac
Then tip up a cup and throw their hands back.
Or perdition’s new imp deliriously spelled,
staggering upon the red flags of hell.
To heed of the doldrums my wit has dispelled,
the sins I have worn like a pinstriped lapel.
They race for my innards my anima link,
My connection to God has suffered a chink.
The chains that have bound me are starting to clink
With darkness awakened, the light craved a wink.
When distortion had sired to secondhand cynics
those scoffing for power who sponsored such gimmicks,
And only provided the partisan mimics
As their “witness,” himself came with stealthy limits.
In the darkest of hours with the wicks now removed
Where the candles of faith have all been abused
I mused of the notion of angels unmoved,
So willing to beckon in sunlit renewal.
The vessel I cherished, my vault of beliefs,
Has too long been empty in need of relief
Been tricked with conceit misled to deceive,
Naïve to perceive that there was no reprieve.
I begged towards the heavens in hopes to achieve
Proceed and receive the proper release.
Surreal was this meeting with heaven’s elite;
degrees that were taken so we all agree.
The room was a dream or so it would seem,
The angels appeared like bright swirling beams
The demons permitted, with reams full of schemes,
my soul in the balance to decide on regimes.
The angels had opened, “Don’t fear of my sheen.
We are here with the Lord to help you believe.”
The demons then countered with something extreme,
“I’m not here to buy you, no need to demean.
I see you’ve shown interest in something unclean,
Where pleasure is measured, if you know what I mean.
The queen is your servant your lust figurine
But I need your John Handcock for us to proceed.”
An inkblot elixir, a touch of my whole
That’s all they requested in reaching their goal.
Then as a large outline begat aureoles
an angel, spread winged, tapped into my soul.
At the crag of existence cleft in-between fields
With the compendium of heaven laid out unconcealed
The seraph presented my feelings revealed
He showed me the warring in God’s battlefield.
He told me I mattered and He never forgot,
pointing toward heaven with much food for thought.
He said your His fighter, His armed juggernaut
I said I’m a sinner, he said fear not.
You are always with Him in times wrong or right
You never gave up, came back to His fight
You of all people with caretaking might
Must rest in His kingdom and live by the light.
Although quite compelling I must contemplate.
It’s been quite a while since I’ve fiddled in faith.
In the past I had kept it, boxed up in a crate
Buried in the caverns where my souls still awaits
Like the translated chapters of saints and of priests
In the poetry of Milton, where paradise ceased
The perpetual conflict that’s since been released
Is nothing real short of the home of the beast
The beast I believed was a make believe aim
The pride of irrational, non-skeptical fame.
On the wings of a prayer where doubt plays the game
I envisaged of God and the devil the same.
In pros and in cons I brainstormed my doubts.
Asking myself if my believing held clout
It’s said at his lowest, man will soon find his route
back up into heaven with his soul re-endowed.
In the dungeon of solace where I questioned belief,
If to me, non-compliance was a critical thief
To rebuild strong my faith from a pile of debris
To stitch all the holes that were tattered in grief.
I once shunned the angels and purged all the beasts
I set up my baffles and envisioned a caprice
When the flood gates were empty dry and deceased,
I knew God was vital in establishing peace.