The Invitation
God is love
And if you wish to live with love
Then you could know the source
And be encouraged
Helped
In this life
To the next
And if you wish to live with hate
Then you could get to know the source
Of that
The nothingness
To have
In this life
And the next
That’s pretty much
The way of it
Love or
Its absence
Choosing one
Or the other
The rest is ignorance or luck
And it’s likely as you read
You will have neither
For your own
Lesson and
Salvation
C L Couch
Photo by Richard Gatley on Unsplash
Don’t Mind Me
Oh, Christopher
Christophoros
So you’re nothing
Nothing’s good
The mystics would be envious
I don’t mean annihilation
That would be bad
But death to self is something else,
I think
Because you do not go away
As if there were nothing left of you
You are woke into a different place
With people you might know
Some kind of belonging
We might call it a heavenly host
But you are retained as you
You are even loved
Now and you know before
As it may have happened, then
The death to self is prayer
So cleansed and clean
As to have nothing left but righteous intercession
Something to be gained
Such a death to self so that
There is only prayer for others
Disinterest in agenda
But the willingness to bleed some more
If like a transfusion
It might bring some living to another
This is sacrifice
Not immolation but
A gift of love
From which nothing will be returned
A love I do not understand, for now
Or the peace that passes it
C L Couch
Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash
A shot I captured during dinner with my Grandpa and my niece.
Victimhood
(a reverie, a study)
Evil is too easy
Is it really?
Maybe on the inside
A quick turn, then stay
In that direction
Me, first
You don’t exist
Everything is fodder
For possession
And control
The very stuff of the universe
Should be mine
And then it’s gone
I have nothing
There’s a lesson in legacy
The tyrant is forgotten
Except for notes that tell the truth
And finally
The evil ones are burned
Like autumn leaves in the backyard
(how it used to be)
Effigy and memory
And was this easy?
Yes, and lazy, too
Everything subverted to
A contract with the luck of the devil
A genie who grants wishes and
Scratch-like
Always laughs the last
Because the house of hell always wins
Once entered by
The gullible who think
That profit is a plot
Hard work is another matter for
Good people
The suckers, so I always thought
The despot
And now I am ash
Blown off the foot in the tread
Of someone righteous
Whose agencies are angels
A surrogacy of judgment
My victims
Lazarus
Living in a better house, the house of God forever
While I diminish
To a speck
And then am nothing
No matter left
Nothing
C L Couch
Ramesseum in Egypt
To All Nebuchadnezzars
(in the present age in exigency
anywhere, this is the prophecy
of speaking truth to power)
Said Daniel to the king:
You are brittle with power
While I have talent, speak
With zeal, and touch power
That’s true because I know
It’s not my own
You will cast me out and
Throw me down
I will survive the lions, while
You, above, will soon suffer
Suppurating disease
The carrion of falsehood
On which you feed will have
Its way with you, eating
Infected meat of poisoned
Blood that comes from
Your own veins
Why not send me, if you
Cannot bear my presence,
To a new place where I
Might love the people you
Have cursed whom I can
Help, and you remain
Within your rich and sullen
Chamber, adorned in
Shadowed fate
Nothing changes, king; for
I will arise from the pit in
Certainty, while you will
Never recognize how you
Dwell in your own deep
Place without protection
From the beasts
clcouch123 
Recent Comments