Someday you will find that what I surrendered was more than I own. Dog days left to remember mythical illness, a stranger to home. In delusion I watered your lifeline, discussing corruption a battered believer, looking to sleep. You sought me when stars were turned backwards, when devils turned angels when souls tried to eat. You test me like charcoal in water, purification, a mark I don’t see. A defect of gracious relation, a crumb on the water is all I beseech.
Beginning a fog of creation, that renders deferment in balance of need. A whirlwind of dedication, with fake visions of passion, in curses of weeds. In mornings full of your glory you cover me, but still I can’t breathe. This future starts in your darkness, setting high treasures that I’ll never reach. A candle held by a madman, a gift of compassion that lights up when I weep. I see now no preparation, a prodigal contention, a psalm of relief.
A grave now seeks strange attention, craves my deliverance, and knows of my bones. Wild voices echo in caverns, bloodline of holiness where black ghost do roam. I wish now the rest of a warrior, my fighting is over, and my armor is torn. I have interest of solving indifference that killed my own darkness who danced in your reign. I’ve raced now cursed by forever in blessed assurance marked by Cain. You now know all my footsteps formed in behavior conceived in blame.
A rain now, falls on forever, a kiss of your wisdom, in static estate. A place of delicate satin, reality fashions a robe of fine tone. My baseline is given your rapture a place of redemption a shadow in hiding no longer known. You hold me in silence a photograph etched in your goodness, placed in your home. Belief in gone is forever, a lie of false prophets, fortification of security unknown. I rest now this prodigal contention, a mark of my own.
Even as Cain was marked he held the mark of YHWH, and within that protection he was given the right of return. It is within our birthright – Daniel Swearingen 01/25/2014