I wanna write a poem on this feeling i get from knowing there is a reality inside of me that parallels my physical existence. But a poem won't suffice so...
As these words fall to page, i wonder will it be understood this perennial place I speak of? Will courage be trumped by the noise or will a miracle moment pervade? In this brief absence of trust and faith, I may fade to the nebulous mind of indifference, or fear. There, of course, is the idea that honesty will reign triumphant, truth rise in valor and trust be victorious.
The lapse in memory, of days when innocence was enough for grace to always pull through along the way and somehow everything in the end be just fine, has rendered hope a dismal existence.
These principles have become dear to me, waking me, putting me to sleep; that is why I am writing this as in introduction to what has been described, in the past, as the "greatest war ever told."
Preachers are heard in the backdrop of minds escaping what seems ordinary-violence, sexual exploitations- their voices fading as generations grow more numb to ideas of intimacy and love being real. These voices are mere noise among those in the foreground, touters calling anyone toward illusions that make them feel better instantly.
The magnificent struggle of depravity, dereliction, distrust and other malevolent characteristics have seemingly won the battle for broken hearts, now weary girls and boys walk placing themselves on display for eager buyers to rescue them from poverty at any price.
Nevertheless, there is something that yearns believing in spite of what appears to be another tragic story from living and surviving this urban jungle. That something calls loudly many from the slumber surrounding them, while whispering to others it's there amidst the noise these miracle moments are found, re-emerging the dead - awakened.