This One Goes out to the One I Love

This one goes out to the one I left behind. A simple thought to occupy my mind, this one goes out to the one I love. Fire. Overwhelmed by presuppositions the transition of an elemental situation fans the flame of nothing that seems in the slightest bit tangible but leaves the senses on the fritz. Singled out by a wanton lust for the tangible the tears that have soaked into various fabrics have intermingled with a stillness that flirts with the line dividing solace and imagination. Light and darkness being seprate night will soon be no more. He saw and the grand scoope of things falls into retrospect amidst a sea of twenty something peddling poppy rebellion to teeangers. Sure they have been to the lands of violence and seen the inhumanity of the third world and champion for change and the result we get are masses of children screaming at their parents demanding liberty to actual bring "real" change. The messenger has fallen flat on their face amidst the sea of spin doctors and bs-artists. Hope has become nothing more than a dwindling fashion as the pinnacle has sunken into a warm fuzzy nostalgia we all get from my little pony. Years passed and she was only turned into glue and forgotten in the glitter soaked contruction paper that hangs on a proud mother's fridge. The lines are smudged and the heart is clearly portrayed but one is left asking, "But, is it art?" The fumbled attempts of the preschooler I feel are almost as moving as some of the sixteenth century works of art. That and with that I am not left asking "What the obsession was with male genitalia?" and "Shouldn't Jesus be treated with more dignity?" Hoping one day to be Bohemian like you but left wondering what drove the obsession of people to market that which is holy. The stars are out tonight intermingled with drifting clouds that will either disappear or bring life to dry soil. They move eloquently to the sound of the voice who holds all things together. Behind the voice is a groan for justice being held patiently until the fullness of all things comes. In the meantime absence is pursued to escape that which confuses and the home for the humble is the ground we walk. AS empires are brought low He will build from the ground up. David Crowder in the distance sings the contents of his heart joining with the masses and even our beloved Sufjan and one wonders where the divine hand is. It always seems so easy to pick it out on the grand scale than that of the day to day but it is good and it is never sleeping. Angels continue in hallelujah choruses and one day the veil will be torn. Be still and know until then I supposed. Live for the days you can almost taste the fire poruing out of your mouth while ligaments begin to form on dry bones. This is the one thing that I know. Standing forever in a bleak absolution will wither into vanity and despair. Seek the Lord when He can be found, and when your timing is off remember He has never deserted you.