Hour Twenty-One (Digitally Found Poetry)

One look and you’re mine
a cluster of one
building chemistry
with dark intentions-
lucid dreaming
a spiritual spy
watching to see if
words alleviate the affliction.
One must never give up
and trust God’s timing-
know one’s value
and continue to fight
the tooth and nail
and learn to fly-
to spread one’s feathered tapestries
around the wind
and soar to the heavens.
Let loose the spirit from the cage
restricting the aptitude to move forward
with razor sharp intuition and sagacity.

Time is at a loss for words
with the prolapse of constipated
emotion spilling out from the
engorged marrow of self-preservation.
Snapshots of love encased within
a shadowbox of commemoration
collecting dust in the quiet spaces
in the snowstorms of winter’s chill.
Deceit returns from it’s journey to
the endless river of empty ambition
void of substance, depth, and
the thrill of life that love gifts.

How can it be
that the phoenix arises
within the cinder from the crossfire
of a war waged against
growth-a shameful mire
extricating the remnants
of self from the miles of green
lining the countryside
as it is burned into carbon.
The delicate sound of thunder
erupts behind the eyes
saturating the particles
that remain of the struggle
to which the result is resiliency.

The real meaning of the cross
is that we bear the labor
and exert oneself to overcome
with an elegant poetic dignity-
for it is within the struggles of
temptation and hardship that
we become grateful for the puissance-
and gladly emulate the one
whose aptitude in depth
and graceful service
sacrificed His mortality
for the sake of those of us
who choose to dwell with the living.