And He Clears The Broken Glass from Under My Feet

listening : Norma Jean
mood : recovering

It had been a hell of a festive week. Had a bout with the flu as well as an annoying case of the cough which had me go into a melodramatic weeze each time there is an irritation in my throat.
I could go on with a certain people getting on my nerves. I would be lying to you if I said that I had the spirit of long suffering to withstand every crap and bullshit thrown my way. I'm still guided by daddy Jesus as we speak. But the feel of wanting to bite of someone's head is almost real; the beastly urge to assert myself in the worst possible way ever. I thank daddy Jesus that He's actually holding my tongue.

Face it. If it wasn't for Him, I'd probably would go ballistic now. All the self help books can say I could master my emotions though some esoteric means of control. The futility of human effort alone. it is no wonder we see all around us fall like a collapsing deck of cards.


The poem I did last night was actually two sets of trilogies which I actually joined up to make a complete epic. I added a few verses, expounded on the epilogue section and retitled it as 'Voices: The Chronicles of Life Unto Death'. I'd think it's called voices because it represents a varying sections of the human condition: from the anger and betrayal of parts 'The Rejected' & 'The Murdered', the defeat and the hopelessness of 'The Defeated' & 'The Undead' to the restoration
and confidence of the epilogues. It was really mind numbing to write this, profanity and all.
Almost like therapy for all the fury I had, especially writing the epilogue, which itself is a confession to all the words of love wisdom and blessing that Christ has in store for me.