‘Broad Stroke’

Artists. God’s workers. Those who listen to that which comes from inside.

Note: The art that accompanies this work is a screen shot of art within a photograph sent to me on November 9th. God’s art. If you have an artist’s eye, then you will see the image.

 Broad Stroke
 
the Lord† has taken my life
made me a symbol in strife
a fighter for the light
 
He's† laid His† pen to strike
each time win is in sight
He† covers each pit of bight
with another tireless fight
 
I struggle in this mixture
so contrite
 
'why do You† punish me–
didn't I live most of my life
walking in right'

 
I cry and cry
day to night
with moments in relieve–
to sit down for Him†...write
as He† pours the words inside
forcing me
to bring them to the outside
 
I can't fight His† might
His† brush reaches me
from every height
keeping me down–
 
'write, write it down
pen to paper
how I† make you feel
speak truth–
what's behind this deal'

 
each time I refuse
He† toughens His† strike
keeping every body–
out of sight
as I struggle in lonely's stride
begging me to cry and cry
 
'why do You† hate me
I've done all that You† asked
I've never faltered
–my complain and my fight
isn't that tight
keeping me from the write'

 
but He† comes down
in a furious flight
making my body heavy
my will, my spirit
lost in the night
feeling evil all around
lost then found
lost then found
against every silently screaming fight
weighing me down in kryptonite
covering me with sorrowful blight
 
'all I've done for my knights
I get condemned
they get happy and high'

 
He's† taken all away
every love, every pleasure
drowned it all
in my wrestling plight
 
'write, write it down
pen to paper
how I† make you feel
speak truth–
what's behind this deal'

 
as all the words I write
not being the ones right
 
'yes, yes, yes
–go deep, deep, deep
the truth of Me†
don't leave any to guess'

 
I wobble in my cry
as swollen goes my eyes
I eat 'til I'm high
smoke cigars–
pretend I can fly
wondering over and over
 
'what more do I write'
 
as the emotions
continue its roller-coaster ride
 
'fuck you world
and all your dick-swinging swirl
I'm tired of crying for you
Lord†, I'd rather just die
then a moment more–
for them...write'

 
then deeper goes my ride
'til my head wants to blow
from all the tears I cry
then they all dry
sting...burn rings my eyes
leaving me haunted in why
 
'write, write it down
pen to paper
how I† make you feel
speak truth–
what's behind this deal'

 
writing the truth of Him†
His† broad strokes forcing the hymn
He's† in control of everything
all sadness that stings
all happy that rings
but the artist–
His† most precious thing
brings truth through
that suffering thing
 
there's no running
from His† might
the art comes from His† heart
through the pen
His† messages ring
the truth of the sadder
of the happier things
–that which bleeds life
in the will to fight
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