Spoken

This is my daily bread

Your very word

Spoken to me.

You are my daily bread

Jesus, my daily bread,

Your very body,

Broken for me.

You are the living word

There are no boundaries 

or distinctions

Between thoughts

And actions

What you say is what you do

And what you do,

Is what you say

And who you are,

There is no boundary

No Border

You said

Let there be light

And there was light

You call those that are not as though they were

And they are.

Your living word to me

Is my daily bread

You sustain me

As the earth is held on it's axis

By your very word,

Your broken body

My bread,

Is your word to me,

Sustaining all life,

Suspending it in death,

Till the Kingdom wine flows again,

Your word to me,

Your word which proceedeth from your mouth,

The bread by which I live,

Is love

Your very body,

Given,

For me.


You have spoken

And there is no boundary or distinction

Between thought and action,

between conception

And completion.

It is finished.

The promise is it's own fulfilment.

Honesty Inc

 When honest becomes your brand, you'd better shut up shop

The truth of you for sale, the under hand slides up top,

Your candour on demand, demands you just don't stop,

Soon you're acting for the fans, but the truth is just your prop,

And now you just can't stop,

The Systems of Mercy

 

Oh the usual systems of mercy,

They are departed and gone,*

The machine has broken down,

The mechanism is all wrong

And it's grace and it's sin and it is free will

It's the inevitable fall of this man,

And this cycle is vicious and small

And spins on a ha'penny's span

It is a never decreasing, deceasing circle,

And It or I will brake,

(Or I am stuck as i am)

And the systems of mercy

Sin Cycle Confess,

Must give way

To a man,

Christ, can I be what I am?

* Alusion to 'The Sisters of Mercy' by Leonard Cohen.

Grace is a Spare Pair

When doing the weekly wash,

Much like the confessing of your sin,

It pays to never forget,

The pants you're sitting in

You woke up early Saturday morning,

To get the load from the washing bin,

To have a clean pair for Sunday Church,

But,

You forgot the pants you're in.

Now they're all in the wash

And the day can now begin

But you'll have to go for ages, 

In the grime you're stewing in,

He came that we may have life

And have it in abundance,

But grace is, in this metaphor,

A spare pair of underpants,

Loose-fit Lucifer

The ice bergs rattle

And the glasses chink,

And the party's swinging

And I'm on the brink,

All along, in the old cold throng,

Banging head, pumping songs,

Something dead, something wrong

Joyful noise, smoking hard,

Sunken, gone,

Is this it?

We're having fun

But I'm apart

I'm on the run

I'm fish-guts rotten,

I'm Jonah, son,

And this doomed boat was damned 

And Far from home:

 I'm damned with you

And I'm damned alone.

This boat was damned,

And I'm sinking

In the scummy sink,

drowned in sorrow,

Downed in drink.

And the ice bergs rattle,

And the glasses chink,

And the party's swinging

And I'm on the brink,

The edge of nowhere

And I can't but think,

This thing you crave

Is this it?

I mean, is this it?

I took the shot,

I shot the hit,

But, still, is this it?

Is this it?

Is this it?

Is this it?

And I drank

and I sank,

And I was thrown overboard,

I'd cast the dice

The chink of ice,

Sucking on 

The shorter straw

There ought to be more

A surface loose-fit lucifer

Falling from the shimmering grace,

Sinking away from her.

And a month or two later

I was spewed up on the beach

And all that dog-vomit

Was out of reach,

The waters have passed

In between,

And birthed on the beach

I'm caked in vernix

And shiny and clean,

And I'm looking back at my life

This side of the divide,

This side of the shine,

And I'm asking

This IS it?

Right.

This is it.

It is this.

Annex Us

Annex Us 

And move in next to us

Make yourself a nexus

That connects us 

A central focal.point

To permanently bless us

make you the next us

And protect us

Move in, peaceful King

conquer, annex us.

I Taught You To Punch

I taught you once to punch

Perhaps not hard enough,

I taught you to defend yourself,

I taught you to be tough,

I taught you to lash out

But I taught you other stuff,

And in the end, my little friend,

You punched me in the guts,

A rod for my own back,

A baby-dividing sword,

An offering to the Lord of lack

(Was all I could afford)

Just enough hanging slack,

To adorn my neck with chord,

All these things I made myself to crack

The vessel's treasure horde 

And from the crack it poured.

I guess I should be grateful,

I guess I need to wait

I guess I'll give up hateful

Stand and watch for you, from the gardener's gate,

But though I live, for now,

This is a living death,

And the punch I caught,

Taught you to throw,

Separates us till my last breath

I made my bed on this canvas.