Deepening Wombs Wounded By News

Intense as I see him sit in that long forgotten but never begotten place that he so loved to occupy. I'm now tingling with ever deepening and always widening thoughts of a restrictive love collapsed in my arms. It seems there are very few of the most natural balms. Healing hands waved and brushed across his face like they just knew that any other form of life was utterly and insatiably a disgrace. Oh to be captured and enraptured in the satisfaction of your soul stirring, heart myrhhing solace. All for this life to mean more than they write in the columns used to rancidly bring thought to those misused and abhorrently abused for the cost of a meager pair of unsoled Nike shoes. It hurts beyond words to recite the news. The news that gone is the day when our hearts shall replay the calming and unaugmenting potrait of the most sullen in grace. For you to take my place, for you to take my place.

It would leave me bearing the bruises of an understanding womb. Never understanding fully how you rose from that certainly deadening tomb. Brought how many Lazarus's to light when your journey took on cosmic dimensions, but shhh and shush child for these are things that we needn't much mention. Don't know who would take offense at our rights. Don't know who would find a reason to enable their dark weary souls to cry out when they see finally the everlasting, well, the alabastering, the never wanting yet always asking me, the sullen tragedy, and now our hope doesn't look like light anymore. I saw yesterday the disguises that were pinned of them but my heart knew to still call out to His name. To reach that place of no ill fated gains. Where there are no sore sports in the playing and completing of heavenly games. How is it up there I wonder as I stand with wide mouth and heart putridly ablaze. To someone I stink and they can't stand the ways that I have given and will give my Master, he called Him the Good Master, can't stand the way I give the Good Master His praise.

I'll incite riots in fleshly houses because the freedom land of non compliant silence is up ahead. I feel the embers burning lightly at the foot of my never before seen fireplace adjacent to my never before seen master bed. In my master bedroom seen only in faith. Like log cabin views that are taken in outer space. I grabbed at it and lucked up and caught the devil and Mr. Bob Jones skinning that salvational rabbit speaking ill tones of how they wish they could go home and be fed, but they choose to battle the forces of hunger and heat and torment instead. I think someone should tell them that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Body's Head.
Deepening wombs wounded by news that the rapture has come and gone and the joke is on us that believed what he taught. But death is just the beginning and I ain't planning no vacations in no Nirvana land when my passport says I am to be accomodated in heavenly Inklings. Oh to view that resort that is perched not far from the Glassy Sea. Looking out in faith I know that there is a spot reserved there that is specified just to suit me. I thank my God upon every remeberance of His name and His sacrifical deed. For who else can bear the pain and suffering of the ever growing world and still declare that for the spitters and hitters and sinners he chose to still bleed. Oh my wombs are deepening because our sands are shifting in time lines and I see them again tracing boundary lines. Like there is no more room to move in here because I can't own my land but just my house in the country ever shallowing down into the pools of non verbal resound. Just the nodding of heads at that mahoghany table that is faux and not even round. One of us is truly left behind for the right to declare that I'm the one hearing the sound. Like trumpets blowing me home I resound. Like trumpets blowing me home. I resound. Writing within me always be fruitful and ever abound. Thank you Author of Unheard Sound.