There are times of great expectation But none so much as in Revelation Eschatology teaches us, and we learn All the things that we need to discern
Knowing what is spoken is real Has the possibility of making our spine steel Fruitful and productive in hostile space God has revealed our needed traces
We keep the faith despite Satan's lies Hidden manna is given as God's surprise Our minds run ragged at shifts in tone Our questions are shared, and we're not undone
The Word of God hits at us close to home Sometimes it cleaves us to the our bones The more we learn, the more we that we need The more we need, and yet the more we will read
Faithfulness is our faith's golden prize All this revealed before our tireless eyes We live where Satan grows and openly lives Yet, we find only God is omnipresent and forgives
Our culture drifts past the point of no return Can we still hope to thrive as we finally discern We still live, though we are hanging by a thread But we can remain faithful to all that God has said
Recognize that Jesus is either God or a madman In a league of His own, it is His hope that can Bring us the righteousness rising from apathy That comes from our vanity fleeced with sympathy
Christ is the only hope for mankind's eternity Our belief is needed in society with some urgency Every knee will bow and every tongue confess As the good and bad in life comes to this final test
Trials to come will burn us to our quick These will come to us with a real kick Whatever happens, we won't feel the curse Unless, we stumble on our own at the worse
It's a struggle to keep from our favorite sins As we return to it once more, again and again There are some things that we cannot compromise If we are to keep to God's sacred promises
What it comes to and what it's truly is about Is if we are Christian, we are Christian out and out Half-hearted hanging on the enemy's broken fence Comes hard without any decent sense of defense
Our relationship with God is direct and one on one As we go before the Father and the Son The faithful will find our true victory It's been that way throughout all of man's history
A white stone comes to us at life's last mile As we prevail against and in our life's trial The white stone token is given to atone Adjudicating our final standing is God's alone
We live until our white stone trophy is received Triumphing over Satan's evil as we've believed In the end, there is so much goodness to receive It comes to us only as we believe
(c) October 27, 2024 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.” – Revelation 2:7 (NIV)
Demons, When They're Not Concealed by Michael Doyle
Creatures of the night, they dare To truly live; knowing life is rare Having taken enough of it to know They are here to enjoy death's show
It's important to know saints have a past And every sinner has potential to outlast The wrongs they once lived their lives for Until they become saints to even the score
Demons, when they're not concealed Are, only, to their kind revealed At best, most of us merely exist But their kind have managed to persist
Demons argue against the social enormity Of being unimaginative enough for conformity As they approach life without hesitation And the rest of us are guessing the questions
The drunkard slips out of one more of the bars As he lies in the gutter staring at the stars Our experience is the name we call our mistakes As we clutch at straws through our heartbreaks
Demons, when they're not concealed Are, only, to their kind revealed At best, most of us merely exist But their kind have managed to persist
Stunned by the art of the daily conversation I find the words heard are my intoxication Watching the talking heads and mind say nothing And being pretentious enough about that something
We, and our demons, live for a life that is wonderful Not in fear, but in spite of, death that is beautiful Then we will forget time - no yesterday or tomorrow And having said goodbye to romance, escape our sorrow
(c) October 26, 2024 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
In all my time in the dreadful war I felt certain of something more A lot of horrible things occurred Looking back they've all blurred
These horrors handled with grace Are the worst, most of us face To know that man's inhumanity to man Is worse than most ever can
Endure or manage to live through Without the cost being overdue These troubles that we inflict Are the truth of every conflict
It came to be needed, some kind of shell Necessary to me or to live in infernal Hell To treat others as if it never amounted Or truth be told, it hardly counted
It was enough horror to last a lifetime The sort of thing that kills every rhyme Leaving a hurt full of empty hero Most of whom ended feeling less than zero
There in the mirror and inside my eyes Were the memories too easy to recognize Of how despite our efforts our friends die And in the end we didn't really know why
(c) October 25, 2024 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“The first transactions of a nation, like those of an individual upon his first entrance into life make the deepest impression, and are to form the leading traits in its character.” – George Washington (1788)
“Things which do not grow and change are dead things.” – Louise Erdrich, Pulitzer Prize-winning author and member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Indians of North Dakota
Noisome crypts jangle the bones of innocence Where evil lingers knowing no pretense Organ music begins to play in its tonal range Something wicked and something strange
Paranoia, whispered fears, and shades of doubt Echo like unfriendly notes raised into a shout The night swirls, cycling into insensibility Falling under the cause of its own impenetrability
Momento mori reminds me of our fragility There is the sacred and the sensuality How vain are the glories of the earthly Black death marks us in its imagery
The terror creeps in between the strings A carnival of souls knows Satan's stings The Reaper rouses himself into a dance of death As Halloween quietly takes our last breath
The end of life arrives without any glory But there are whispers of an inevitable ghost story Only to find that the ghost of you knows no rest And you have failed to pass life's final test
Momento mori reminds me of our fragility There is the sacred and the sensuality How vain are the glories of the earthly Black death marks us in its imagery
The cultural impact of mass death is contemporary No longer just a thing of the past and literary It is not in any sense fleeting or temporary There is nowhere to turn for sanctuary
This death etches deep into culture and society Causing youth to lose confidence for anxiety Sudden painful death is an omnipresent possibility It demands penance in its dance-with-death allegory
Momento mori reminds me of our fragility There is the sacred and the sensuality How vain are the glories of the earthly Black death marks us in its imagery
(c) October 24, 2024 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
