when one cannot weep silently

there's a girl who cannot say a word

for the strength to speak again

is nowhere to be found,

amidst this raw and horrific 

emotion that keeps convincing her 

that if she allows herself

to feel anything at all,

she'll drown.

there's a girl that cannot keep

the wound that's throbbing 

from bleeding all over that

living room floor, in front of

friends and family

and people who barely 

know her.

as the tears fall from her eyes

and she holds her knees to her chest,

two words echo in her mind, 

over and over again,

"weep silently", she begs herself

as the pain falls onto her cheeks

ripping right through her.

the sound of a heart breaking 

is not one you'll soon forget.

disbelief and agony all

caught up in her shaking shoulders 

and desperate efforts to 

catch her breath.

the sound of someone breaking 

for the weight of all their burdens 

is not a pretty one.

they'll sound as if the honesty is 

being choked out of them,

as if they're fighting to keep it 

inside of them.

grasp onto this, there is one 

who sees all things; 

no matter how many people do not 

believe, there was indeed a witness

that bitter day.

those crimson eyes so full of 

truth and love will not simply forget,

nor will they allow any injustice 

when He comes back to judge with 

mercy and righteousness.

for He requires blood, for iniquities

there is only one who can heal us,

only one true atonement.

there is one who interceded,

and yet my heart breaks as i say this,

"why does he not want Him?".

for can't he see that there is

is so much joy in being free?

there's a girl who carries the burden 

of a love far stronger than any 

despair or bitterness that may claw

at her, trying desperately to consume her,

a love that calls saying,

"my dear, forgiveness is the only way".

there's a girl so exhausted for the cruelty

this broken world is, she begs Him to 

let her be done loving. 

to be free of this burden for 

the broken and the wounded,

a burden she carries everywhere,

while they stand in their sin and 

refuse to return to the Fathers mercies.

He says, "I've never given up on you".

there's a girl who knows this is far from 

over, though He's allowed her this burden,

the strength of her heart is the promises 

He's made and the way He's 

shown us so perfectly, what true love is.

for his freedom

swift feet

stumbling across the rocky terrain

as his heart beats

faster than ever before

eyes that never quite meet anyone's 

filled with the guilt of the knowledge

of who he has become.

this is how i imagine him

i cannot bear to believe that he is 

self righteous enough to not know

somewhere, 

deep in his soul,

hidden underneath the

 layers and layers

of fake personas 

and masks of versions 

of himself he 

chooses to pull out when 

his old one wears down, 

i pray that he knows, 

that he's running from his sin 

and the truth of who he is.

so when i imagine him,

i see him running, 

trying desperately to hide from 

the light that he cannot allow 

himself to be seen in, 

for the transparency of his lies.

but i do not just see a broken,

shameful boy, 

i see the presence of the Redeemer

calling out every three steps,

"where are you?".

no matter how far he runs

to the east or to the west,

the deep love of our Messiah 

will find him there.

He's calling out to him, 

that old fire in His crimson eyes,

"I know you. I've seen your pain

and I have indeed seen all that you've 

done; it's only pardon will be blood.

love, can't you see that i've ransomed 

you, my perfect one? you are standing

in your own sin and iniquity,

refusing to accept that i've

already died so you could be free".

my heart aches.

how long until the broken see that 

the Redeemer longs for their freedom?

how long until the ones i love no 

longer sleep unaware they are running

out of precious time?

ransome

if my heart is breaking

for the ones i've loved deeply

that have left you,

if i do not have mere words

to express the 

dead weight of this burden,

but only tears enough 

to drown in and 

weeping to last the night,

then how much Yashua,

are you hurting for the 

wounded

and the broken?

the lost sheep that have 

wandered from you,

i know you love them

so much more then i ever

will or do.

if my heart cries out,

for the ones not even living

selling themselves to the enemy

for empty promises of 

satisfaction and happiness,

then Jesus please,

give me the strength to not 

give up for the heaviness

this pain is.

my heart will not be silent,

while the wounded refuse to see,

the healer stands before them,

on the other side of humility;

healing and restoration lye on 

the shores of the sea of burgundy.

His grace has been poured out for us;

Yahushua pleads for the sinners,

as He bleeds out Israels

ransome.

beauty of innocence

take me back to the 

places i knew so well

when i was young

but now my mind and heart 

have filled with such a grief

i almost forget to remember

the joy and beauty

i have known 

and the innocence

that childhood was.

sunburned faces,

freckles on fair cheeks

a little girl playing make believe

under her tree.

waking to 

the sound of heavy raindrops

on metal roofs.

storms in the middle of august

nights without electricity,

a room filled with 

loved ones,

familiar faces

and sillhouettes 

shown in the candle light.

walks on dusty desert roads

in the last traces of the 

dying crimson and gold

southern sunsets.

evening cricket sounds in the twilight 

sleeping under a blanket of village stars

as the silver moon rises.

the sound of laughter

her young voice

singing love songs to the savior

dead on that tree;

bleeding out His love

for our eternity.

blue eyes 

and rosy red, freckled skin

the contrast of 

dark hands and chocolate eyes

best friends

with two little girls

living amongst so much poverty.

learning young that genuine hearts

are worth so much more than

any wealth or money;

the heavy weight of 

compassion

is the true mark of 

a heart yearning

to be like Jesus.

hot dirt on her bare feet

white blood, native tongue

fearless one.

the simple life of a child

yet unaware of this 

world's sin and cruelty.

what would i say to you now?

stay innocent a little while longer,

for soon you'll learn

this world is not a painless place.

though there's beauty,

there is enough sorrow to drown in.

you'll learn, love that words

are often used as weapons, 

and your fighters heart will not

make it through without some

serious battle scars.

you'll have wounds that

make you weak for the pain,

but you'll learn to 

hear the healers voice 

through your surrender,

in giving Him the 

dead weight 

burden of all your grief and sin.

do not forget the beauty

 that innocence was,

the redeemer will restore 

all that was broken.

to have a voice

if they had a voice

what words would

they choose to say

to their mothers

whose bodies mourned the loss

of the life they'd carried,

though they refused to acknowledge

the evidence 

of their children 

lost because 

the lie society fed them:

that selfishness will somehow return

the favor 

that it will bring happiness

and 

a better life 

if they choose to do what's 

best for them

when truly what's best 

for a mother is to realize

what a gift 

she's been given

no matter her walk of life

or circumstance.

if their hearts 

begin to beat 

in perfect sync to the 

woman carrying them

at merely five weeks,

how can you say that it's not a baby

if her body feels it's absence 

long after 

it's life has been taken away?

I wonder, what kind of orphanage

there is in heaven,

for certainly,

Jesus holds all those

lost for this world's 

worst demonstration

 of where

the moral line is never drawn

by those no longer living 

with a fear of Him.

oh, my heart weeps

at the sight of our nation

awash in this horrific,

deep burgundy color of

 the blood

of the

 innocent lives

we've taken 

with no remorse.

do they feel any guilt? 

i think that they do.

their bodies know so perfectly

what their minds 

won't allow them 

to embrace.

the pain and the sorrow

is so much greater

a burden 

for the women

than even for these

innocent children,

for the young never fully knew

the deep sin of this world

in any way except for the 

very life that was stripped

from them;

they are indeed in a 

much better place.

my heart weeps 

a second time for the women,

the ones who do not even know

they are mothers.

their souls carry the weight 

of their children 

long after they've left them

though they'll never accept

that this is the sorrow 

in them.

do they know?

that the greatest healer

already knew the gravity 

of their sin when 

he begin to create the 

very precious life 

within them?

maybe this massecre is the blood

poured over our nation

that will begin the return of our savior,

Israels redeemer.

for certainly it's a public 

display of godlessness, 

a manifiestation 

of the evil they see as good,

all the while 

not realizing that to live for oneself,

is the quickest road to death.

a poem about poetry

if i used my words

less cryptically 

maybe i'd reveal 

too much.

this throbbing,

raw wound

wouldn't be glorified

at all as 

beauty

and everyone might 

see the horror

and the agony

in loving

deeply 

the ones who've 

caused your pain.

maybe if i made 

myself

less a mystery

then people might 

understand more;

like the ones 

closest to me.

but i've realized 

in trying to understand

myself

that i don't want to be 

known by the wounds

others have made

or in the way

i deal with 

this pain.

because these things,

i've learned,

are not what define me.

and that,

is how the healing 

begins

in realizing that our

wounds are not 

in the slightest our

identity.

so maybe using cryptic

words to 

reveal this pain

is my desperate need

for honesty.

i am covered 

in the blood of 

these wounds 

that were left on me.

this burden is 

still 

so heavy 

that i cannot bear

to carry it alone,

for the agony.

he has shown me,

that though 

there is sorrow

for the 

pain

this is not 

at all where 

i am to stay.

i have the hope 

that one day

i can touch these

wounds 

and they will be

merely marks;

translucent

 scars.

then i will

be able to tell 

my story

in freedom

and i can let 

him be glorified

for the grace 

and mercy 

the redeemer 

has shown me.

for mamma

I see the strength in your eyes

blue like the sea

after a storm

when the rugged winds

threatened to destroy us;

calm like the rain

that brings hope to this dry,

broken land.

though you always tell me

you feel weak

what you don't know

is that you taught me

everything i know of

true strength and bravery.

i won't deny, 

i've seen your hands shake,

i was there

on the days your eyes

refused to stay dry

and your voice was a silent,

aching plea for the 

burden to be lifted off

your shoulders,

when you couldn't speak the 

words of exhaustion

for all the sorrows

your heart carried.

and those days,

they did change me.

maybe some innocence 

was lost for the grief

but it taught me that showing pain

is not the same as being weak.

and that is something,

that has sculpted me.

you think i don't know

how much this pain hurts you,

but i've seen you hurt for others enough

to know you feel this, too;

for you carry me with you.

your aching burden is not weakness,

though many see it that way,

they merely do not have the strength 

to love as deeply as you do.

when i was young, you'd hold me

when the night terrors 

came to frighten me,

you'd tell me stories of 

a savior 

who calmed the seas,

you spoke to me of his wings

and how his feathers covered me;

those were the first marks 

his love left on my heart.

i wish you knew that

those are the verses 

that i still carry, always.

in a world full of pain and sorrow

where it's impossible to venture out

beyond the safety of youth

without 

being wounded by this worlds

brokenness,

i'm so thankful you gave me

the truth to guide me.

though you couldn't protect me,

from everything,

you taught me of the love of 

our messiah,

who is the greatest healer.

and that, is the most valuable

thing.

i mean it when i say, 

you're the strongest woman 

i've ever known.