Mother’s Day

What have you done to get a son like me?
Perhaps you’ve sinned a multitude of times
Until your debt is paid you won’t be free
My sonship is the wages of your crimes

But if you flip that question on its head:
“What have I done to get a mom like you,
Without whom I would probably be dead?”
Though you would argue that such words aren’t true

I clearly benefit the most from this
We’re yoked unequally; it’s plain to all
My mother is the steward of my bliss
A source of love from which I may withdraw

I cannot pay you back for what you’ve done
But I shall boast that like you there is none

Thursday Brunch

As I sit across my father in this Denny’s, I stare at his bald head.

This man used to be young, like me.

We’re at this diner on a Wednesday but my family’s favorite waitress works on a Thursday; he simply forgot.

He sips his coffee and talks about his preference of coffee depending on the Denny’s or IHOP.

He simply wants to spend time with me.

He sups his coffee again.

I stare again at his head.

This man made it through life, fuck ups and all; how?

“I realize you’re bald,” I say.

“Yeah. I shaved a little bit this morning. Otherwise I would have little hair,” he says.

“Before when I used to drive to the north, I used to pass by all the Denny’s,” he adds.

He likes the food.

He asks if I slept well.

I ask him if he ever doubted that he would ever make it through life because I do.

I am.

How can I get a job? How can I get married? How can I father a kid? How can I not die?

“Remember: God is in control,” he says.

This is what I have heard all my life.

Why am I barely listening now?

Therapeutic Moralistic Deism

Upon examination, one can see
Though lips cry, “Lord,” my hands betray the thought
The phrase then ends: “The Lord is far from me”
Embrace I silence, losslessness, and rot

And when I cannot bear it anymore,
I medicate myself with Gospel’s truth
When that grows old, I play again the whore
My Drug, my god, is solely there to soothe

Deistic Theism’s a lovely fate
Such therapy demands of me not much:
“Just never enter through Tomorrow’s gate;
Engage not with His sanctifying touch”

So daily to my sin my flesh succumbs
But flaw is this: Tomorrow actually comes

Our Breadth

If we were made aware of all men’s plights
And knew exactly what to do for each,
While seemingly an act is in our rights,
A hand in all of them transcends our reach

Then, do we idly stand while they lament?
It’s allocation I am pushing for:
To know when deeds of comfort must be spent
And when to prostrate ‘fore God to implore

For ’tis a great temptation, playing god
To centralize oneself in oth’rs’ affairs,
Instilling purpose, but it’s only gaud
Can’t hold a candle to how much He cares

He sees their pain more clearly than we do
Regardlessly, our hearts will stage a coup

A Heart

I want to waste your time; make no mistake

I’ll captivate and softly hold your heart
I’ll listen carefully, recite your words
I’ll make it seem to you as if I care
But you are just an object, nothing more
I care as long as pleasure’s guaranteed

You might as well delight alongside me
Enjoy what little benefit there is in this
For the alternative’s a sadder fate:
Accepting that this person is a fake

I’m everything you hate but also more
Because your heart knows that I satisfy
For I embody what you want in flesh
A soul ‘pon which you lay your burdens all

A gentleman I’m not; goodwill forsook
What’s worse: I’m also lying to myself

Christmas Spirit

With expectation I will look toward
The second advent of my King and Friend
For I’ve been promised union with my Lord
A wedding feast awaits me at the end

Preceding prophets knew not what would come
How God Himself would choose to dwell within
How bodies into temples would become
And how the death of One would vanquish sin

So here I stand with privilege as His child
Upon the revelations in His tome:
It’s through His first appear’ng, He reconciled
And through the next appear’ng, He’ll take us home

The second advent’s drawing ever near
The trumpet sounding forth I long to hear

Arise (Some Thoughts as I Woke)

How can I reduce sin to something that merely stains? Does it not threaten satisfying union with my God?

How can I downplay salvation to uttering more doctrinally sound words alongside better morals? Is it not a daily active embodiment of God’s grace transforming me into something new?

The soul has felt its worth and yet you sit
Great grace has been poured out; is this not it?

Is this not what you have been looking for?
You’ve asked for purpose and He’s given more

Come on, my soul; tear down these walls.

When Songs Turn Joyless

Will you forgive all that I’ve done to you?
I ask not with time limited nor haste
I just would like to know when this is through
It’s reconciliation I must taste

I know that restoration’s but a dream
Its promises as lies I acquiesce
For why restore the way things used to be
When such a past resulted in this mess

Transcendence, then, is what I want for us
It’s there that you and I can start afresh
Though time and time again I break your trust
Know that, deep down, I want to beat my flesh

Don’t think that this is easy to forget
A day does not go by without regret

Temporally-Tempered Hedonism

I’ve had my heart revealed to me more times than I would like
For every time it’s been revealed, it’s always been despised
By me and everyone involved — It’s plain to all of us
The very thing consuming me is deeply seated lust

A lust for every moment in my life
To take all sensual pleasures from the day
Not caring how it’s cultivating strife
Forgetting all past promises I’ve made

And now I’m in this place again
Where legalism is my friend

“Don’t touch; don’t talk; save face.
“You don’t deserve His grace
“Know works will rectify
“Know all else is a lie

I’ve been through this before
I don’t need sermons more
I just want to adore
These idols You abhor

Can
I
Be
Saved
?

Despite the noise, I hear Your voice implore:

“No work will rectify
“Know all else is a lie.”

The Fall

Remember us, O God benevolent
As Ottomans ransack Your dwelling place
With lust for blood and tears that won’t relent
In blood and tears, we long to see Your face

We’re raped and murdered. How can You condone?
You say we’ll pile on coals of fire with love
For vengeance is reserved for you alone
But these don’t feel like they are hot enough

It’s for Your sake we’re put to death all day
The psalmist’s words have never rung more true
How long will You endure your saints’ decay?
How many bodies must the Turks accrue?

Constantinople has been laid to waste
Redeem Your people from this fate posthaste