Category: Nature, Polity, Service, Suffering
The dreaded crossing
of that damnable Delaware.
Rowing and shivering all night.
A war of “treason”
on Christmas Day
to get to Trenton
by early majestic morn—
a surprise attack at daylight.
But to a child—
an expert on color—
war is a red stain on white.
Bayonets in hand.
Marching through the mud
with the saving grace of memories
of a clean shave,
Sally Brown with her yellow bonnet,
worshipping in her wooden pew,
and the wind,
wafting the dreamy scent of apple pies
(on window sills) down the country road
where farmers’ only foe
is rocky, arid soil.
The smoke of canons
obscures the delicious thrill of victory.
I am drunk. I am dirty. I am dizzy.
Stray bullets slip passed me
faster than I can write.
This flag. That flag.
Which is which?
And which is right?
Hundreds of years later,
I can still sense the smoke in my lungs.
X-rays show I have multiple tumors,
the size of musket balls
I can taste when I breathe and cough.
Blood in my saliva is my tribute
to the expired letters never sent
of soldiers in the ground—
Loyalists’ battles almost won
and Patriots’ battles almost lost.
Category: JESUS, Morality, Polity, Psychology, Short Stories, Suffering, Theology
Vampires as a whole mock the celebration of Christmas on December 25th, knowing that it’s merely a placeholder on the Julian calendar. But don’t mistake these vampires for blood-sucking atheists. They believe wholeheartedly in the power of Jesus’s blood. They observe Maundy Thursday as the most important day of the year. Conversely, on that day, true believers partake of the sacrament of communion as Christ showed them what it truly means to be devoted to God and to each other. But for these hideous creatures, the body and blood of Christ are a means to an end of survival. They believe Jesus to be the last prophet in “the order of Cain” these last 1,500 years, to save them from one called “the Impaler.”
Category: Philosophy, Poetry, Spiritual Formation, Suffering, Theology
“When I was ambitiously young,
looking to grow my Nebu brand
and my Chaldean kingdom,
“an invisible hand hewed a rock
from the Mountain
that struck the base of the fountain
that raised to life a statue
with metal alloys and clay parts.
Category: Poetry, Psychology, Spiritual Formation, Suffering, Theology
A strap hangs off her missing shoulder—
a pragmatic prostitute at a makeshift bordello
where there are no curfews,
rules or chores
only dark alleys and cardboard boxes
to claim and explore…
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