Here It Is

Ever, the candle seems smaller,
Ever, its weary wick grows thin,
Ever, the shadows seems taller,
And men declare that Darkness wins.

Ever, here, is of giants; rising and falling,
Ever, here, does age fall on ancient age,
Ever, here, is that to come, a-beckoning and calling.
Ever the seas still storm and rage.

Ever, their arms keep stretching
Ever they stretch the strings of their bows,
Ever, ground trembles at Vulcan's wrenching,
Ever, much doubt seems to grow.

Oh, where art Thee, Great One,
Master of Wind and ice and hail?
Alas, I search for the light of the sun,
When all else seems to fail.

Alas, the wayward path I've taken,
And for long it held me, before all gave way,
Alas, I return, frustrated and shaken,
I search for a refuge in Thy hidden bay.

Alas, of this I feel not worthy to request,
When the sorrows of others are sadder,
Alas, again I fail the test,
Alas, I dare to touch Thy up-going ladder.

Oh, Lord of All, I yet tire,
And I hope You still think well of me.
God who Sees my hidden heart,
It is good to know who Thou art.

Oh Lord, I ask of Thee Thy aid,
To teach me once again,
In spite of all the secret sins I've made,
I have come to make amends.

Oh might God only Wise,
How I long to please Thee,
If in all things Thee I cannot truly satisfy,
In this give Thee all of, myself, all of me.

Oh God, take this, this gift so small.
I have nothing else to give to you, my God,
Help me, oh Great Father of All.

Here am I, all given, pledged in full,
Here I place my heart's deed, the royal right to rule,
Here is my devotion, given, complete,
Here is my little kingdom's throne, Your place, your seat.

The Gift

Danny was at soccer,
Mom was with the other moms.
Where does that leave me?

So I kept to me, in a little gazebo, at a quiet corner of Dan's soccer park.
Nobody was there.
Just me, and a few potted plants.
Well, there was someone else.

It was a tree, not too high,
Maybe a few feet taller than I,
And it was laughing,
Singing something in the manner of all other trees.

One trunk, many branched,
One branch, many-leaved,
One leaf, and there were many holes.

The little holes, like cold, clinking, circular, coins,
Gaping in and out of the leaves
Leaving only
Gossamer

Layers of dead plant-veins, still clinging like cobwebs

To the hole.

Smiling tree turned to me.
"Hello there, human lad."

And so we talked,
She in the sunlight, I in the shade.
We spoke of weather,
Which was about as important to trees as politics are to humans.

No, I tried not to stare at her
Large, clipped, cookie-cut leaves.
But she saw my furtive glimpses.

She smiled even bigger now.
She chuckled,
"Come here, human friend, and let me tell you all about them," said she.

So I came to the sunlight,
With the singing tree,
And she told me her tales,
In a voice like melody,
Speaking of older days and times.

She told me of the way
She had been planted
In the park
By an old, lonely lady
Who had no space to keep me.

And so she lived and loved her life,
Singing of the grass about me
And the wind on my leaves,
And the soil that was good,
"Something like a cozy blanket, as humans say," said she.

"Now I shall speak of my holes.
Alas, the pestilence came on me.
Little infidels crawling on my back and leafy arms, creeping ever nearer to my
Emeralds
And they ate them up.
Again and again.
And what can I do?"

I said nothing,
for a while,
And she was silent.

Then I asked her, "And yet, why do you yet sing and smile and laugh as you do?"
"Because my roots are in the soil, and my mind dwelling on He that Is," says she, "you know Him, don't you?"

I nodded.

She went on.

"And so I live. Not for long, not as a healthy tree, but a joyful one."

I looked at her, smiling politlely, not exactly sure still what to say.
She chuckled again.

"My mind can only dwell on Him.
He loves me, and yet,
He loves your kind, well, more.
That is your gift, Human-friend."

Her faded, grotesque braches danced in the wind.

"So use it."

She smiled and reclined.

And I wondered if I had been

dreaming.

The Value of Things

How much would you pay
For a Dream?

A good Dream.

What would you give for
The most beautiful music on Earth?

Would trade a boat to hear
The Wonder
Of
Whale-song?

Or tangible cash,
For insights on what
Intangible
Wind is?

Or a man-made
Gadget,
To understand the most deep of emotions?

Or a day from your Life,
For a chance to turn back the Clock?

Or anything at all,
To make up for some wrong
You did?

Then what about, another choice:
How much must we pay for an eternity
With the greatest of Kings
As a father?

Then what
Would
You
Say,
If that
Gift
Was Paid
For
By
Some
Person
Already?

And all you had to do was say
Yes?

Tell Me, please

Oh Tell me, please, of the wonders of Your palace. Tell me all about the gates of pearl you made, and the streets of yellow metal. And the places that await all those for now and forever that will be saved, Oh Lord, please tell me of your glory, and how the Son will shine over your kingdom brighter than our sun, and all the wonders of your kingdom that await me.

Oh Lord, though I probably never understand, would You tell me, about why You came down to bring me up here, when I don't deserve any of the riches of your courts? Why is it you love me so? Surely we, corrupted by our own choice, were not so important as for the God of Eternity to lavish such blessing on mortal beings. Surely it was not worth it. Of such questions, I know not the answer, but I am willing to trust You, Ancient of Days, and forever be thankful and content.

To dream, to believe, to dare.

Had a dream last night. I recall only glimpses in my mind's eye. It was the seven years, in my dream. The last seven years prophecied of in Revalations. It was terrible. A great cloud of darkness fell over me. The anti-christ looked like a sea-cucumber. Vague concepts and prophecies rang in and out of that dream. It was odd. And serious, all at the same time.

But one part, just one part, plagued my mind, repeating itself over and over again in that dream, and even to now. I recall that in that dream, there were two nameless faces. I did not really know them, but somehow I knew they weren't very pleasant folk. I wanted them to be saved. I prayed (in the dream) that someone would lead them to God. But no one did. When I tried, I was told that it was too late. It was, evidently, the end times, and they had chosen which path to take. Eternal life, or eternal unlife. It scared me. I don't know why, but I cried for those mean, unlikeable two people (don't worry, it isn't really anyone I know). Because they went to the place that was never supposed to hold them.

I was scared for all my relatives who weren't saved, and had chosen the wrong path. A shocking jolt of fear and pain and fury and sadness filled me. For one moment, I realized how terrible the thought of that could be. One eternity without God. For so many people! So many people, relatives, friends, acquaintances, and celebrities. Some by choice, some by ignorance, some because some snobbish, self-righteous so-called Christians didn't do anything to reach out to them. All careening to that terrifying place that was never meant for them. I felt so helpless, so powerless, to aid those two nameless people in my dream.

Then I woke up.

It was terrifying, it was a most nightmarish dream. Yet, it gave me, for one moment, the urgency of the Great Commission. It also gave me a new thankfulness, a new thankfulness for all God has saved us from. He made it so easy, simply to admit, ask, believe, and then say it all out. He made it so easy to be free of that terrible place. Indeed how brilliant is our God.

But still, people need to know about it before they can believe.

And hopefully, when God calls me to do something, I'll be willing. I pray I will be.

Carpe Eternitas!

Heaviness

I remember things once heard before,
That once had been, but is no more.
They grasp the slipping past that glides upon the tide,
Time has carried the path that all men ride.
Fallen are the great towers, the castles of Old Kings,
Desolate the waste where the Songbirds pine and sing.

This is the destruction of Olciun, place of many days,
Land beyond the moon, once bathed in the merry sun rays.
All is woe, if only you had heeded,
And repented, that the blood-bathed earth so greatly needed,
Had you not turned from your ways of sin,
And turn to Elohim, Creator of the ground and the wind.

Repent, oh people of Olciun!
Hear the words of your prophets' scrolls and runes!
Don't make me pour the judgement that Justice demands!
Turn from your ways, wash the blood off your hands!
Flee from those desires that you know are neither justified nor right,
Do not hide in the darkness, come with Me to light!

I cannot call forever, one day, this weighing scale will fall one end,
This land can hold your sin no longer, and the iron rod will bend.
I do not want to pour out death, upon your once-good Olciun,
Turn and look to me, oh Land Beyond the Moon!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Let Me change your ways, you, both the simple and the wise,
Come to me, oh people, let Me open your eyes!
I hold much gifts I've longed to give that you will not except,
I knocked upon your gates, while your cities' fathers slept!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Infinity; thoughts of.

Yes, I do sound a bit like Mr. Yoda with a title like that, but bear with me. Haha!

I've been studying on decimals and estimation lately in my math. Somehow, the subject of recurring decimals came into my textbook, and that got me thinking.

(FYI for those who may have forgotten, recurring decimals are decimal numbers that go on and on and on without ever ending. E.g., 3.3333333. . . )

Not to say I haven't thought of it before, but perhaps I've never pondered on the concept as deeply. Infinity. To go on and on without end, to stretch over the plains of foever, to know a beginning but not an end. The thought of htat dizzies my mortal head.

Somehow, that thought struck me deeply. while my textbook drew out its examples and un-memorizable facts, the feel of forever hit me like a thuunderbolt. More real than before.

Heaven.

And hell.

And as recurring numbers never end, so would these be. Always, with beginning but no end. Heaven must truly be wonderful, for all who dwell within it are always happy, throughout the halls of time. At the same time, hell is also goes forever. The tartarus-like pit meant for satan, that will not stop belching its flames of fire and agony. I think of all of those, before me and after me, who were tricked and blinded by satan to go with him, down to the bootomless place.

Forever, forever, forever. . .

I cannot bear to think of that. All the ancestors before me, who never knew God's grace. I can imagine Him reaching out His arm to humanity, but they do not see. They who were misled by the Enemy. It is frightening a thought.

I look at these, at where one goes after death, the recurring numbers, the plains of time, God and His mercy. They are to real for we Christians to dismiss with a wave and a "yeah, I agree." I feel urgently the need to reach out to others, and I don't dare stop.

I look forward to heaven, and hope that the One God of Eternity may use me to do His will.

The wonderful and terrible thought:

Forever, forever, forever. . .

The Tomb

In some old,
dark,
black,
dead,
tomb.

Something
is happening.

A body of Someone,
wrapped in linen cloths.

There is suddenly
a thickness in the air.

Then.
a once-still
heart
began to beat
again.

A quickening of pulse,
a wave of neurons sending
minute messages
once more
down
and up
the spine.

His skin is warm again.

His eyes flick open.

The faint,
scratchy sound of tearing linen,

a burst
of spiced scents
meant for burial.

Then, a breath escapes His
warming lips.

His lungs work again,

but inhale
more deeply,
wholly,
fully
of oxygen
and life.

He steps
out
of His
ex-tomb,
that cannot hold His new body,

It cannot
hold
the Power of
His Spirit.

Then,
a deep boom,

as great stone
is rolled off
the entrance.

Or exit.

Depends on
how you
see
it.

Wary
guards,
employed by
suspicious
Romans,
are blinded
for a
time.

They cannot contain
nor hold
Him.

Just like the tomb.

He walks out of it,
and so
He goes out into
the world,
that,
for a time,
could not hold Him.

Though the blood
He paid
now
allows it to be so.

Today,
Tommorow,
Forever.

The
ultimate
Happy Ending.

Thalagran; allegory

Upon his mighty fortress,
In turret high and great,
stood Thalagran, King of Formadis,
Lord of Cotni, Emperor of Olmarait.

The greatest of all mortal humanity.
mighty beyond spears and swords.
With strength that few may comprehend,
With armies and heralds and hordes.

"Hear me!" called out Thalagran,
"See the lands, once theirs, now mine;
I crack the bows of beasts and men,
Hearken! Am I not divine?

"The Phoenixes subdued, beneath my might,
The horses of the Korasarh-men are mine,
I seize the inheritance of kings, and barons' rich birthrights!
Who wears the golden silk of the Makri, of quality so fine?

'Who drove the Firk-Notts from their lands?
Who broke the Jungle Tribes,
Who's army is as a beach's grains of sand?
Who made war that words cannot describe?

'I have built myself and empire,
With my hands, from nothing to all,
I, Lord of water and fire,
See all my foes now fall

'Am I not mighty?
Am I not terrible?
Am I not the unsightly,
Am I not horrible!

'I challenge thee, oh I challenge thee!
I shall reach for the skies,
The stars shall soon bow to me,
I reach for heavens high!"

Then Thalagran looke upwards,
And raised a iron fist,
Upon that time he heard,
A voice like lion in the mist.

"Hearken, oh King Thalagran of Formalis,
Lord you once were and once had been,
See, that this night your archers shoot and miss!
See the faces of your generals, to turn to pure chagrin.

'You cannot make the ground to shake,
Thou cannot make the moon to quake,
you cannot crack the mountians or the hills,
Thalagran cannot make winds blow at will!

'You cannot strike the starry hosts,
You cannot make the wheat to plant,
You haven't the realm you want the most,
you cannot make flowers grow at want!

'You cannot make to mute to talk,
You cannot make life of nought,
You annot make the lame to walk,
You cannot find the immortal life you sought!

'For who, Oh Thalagran, can do as such I said!
I have let you build this empire of might,
Your spears are of my iron, steel, and lead!
For this land I have given you a right!

And as it was given to thee,
Thalagran the proud, for now, do as you may,
But you will fall tonight, and all may see.
Hearken! I am Yahweh!"

Thalagran tossed his forehead high,
and waved his iron fist at the Voice,
He roared in voice heard far and nigh,
Then slipped to the safety of his castle.

That very night, in mauve, slow, evening,
His foes stormed his castle-grounds,
And heard that day from his foes, the sound of them singing,
"Thalagran is dead! See his lifeless body bound!"

And so the dominions of Thalagran,
crumbled into dust,
His legacy, rendered desolate by sand,
As all proud kingdoms must.

Now he and his kingdom is no more,
His lands where haughty buzzards now hide,
None can tell where his castle was before,
The results of his foolishness and pride.

Here I end my story,
of Thalagran, KIng of Formalis,
Lord of Cotni, Emperor of Olmarait.

Longing

I stand there,
on the seashore.


No soul
here.

Except for
the faint, distant,
flicker
of candlelight,
in faraway cottage.

I stand on the beach,
that straddles
limestone cliff
and blue sea.

Stars sing
overhead.
In slow, hushed
whispers.

I stand here,
and shout out,
wordlessly.

It was enough.

I was there,
collapsing on
the sand

Heart and eyes crying
None but gulls abd crabs
to hear me.

Then He came.
And touched my shoulder.
I looked up.

He offered His hand,
and helped me
pick myself

up.

I sat with Him
for awhile.
by lapping,
splashing, waves.


I didn't know
what
to say.

But I held tight,
to
His
hand.

I felt and empty
sp t
where His
upper wrist
should be.

I looked at Him,
He smiled at me.
Somberly.


The want
to scream
left me.


All else relevant,
Now irrelevant.


Then we held each other,
Yahweh, and me.

I
never
knew
why
He
did
it.

but He did.
He embraced me.

We sat
under,
over,
Moonlight.

Beach sand on our toes.
None but gulls and crabs
to hear us,


As we,
He and I,
laughed,
cried,
talked,
chatted,

and spoke in hushed tones.

In the night.

Tagged by mark again

Mark tagged me. I like his tags.


1. Of all the hymns and worship songs, name one of your favorites, and your most favorite line from that song.

My favorite would be "Be Thou My Vision". My favorite line? Hmm. . . I guess I like the part that goes:

Be Thou my vision, oh Lord of my heart

Nought be all else to me, save that Thou art.

2. One favorite verse/passage/chapter/book from the Bible. (Give the reference and if you're kind the verse as well.)

I like Psalms 19: 1-2

"The heavens declare the glory of God,

the skies proclaim the works of His hands.

Day after day, they pour forth speech;

Night after night, the display knowledge."

3. Are there any answered prayers that you've had?

Yes! I've been praying for more friends this year, and God has answered that request dramatically. Thank You, God!


4. Do you have a default prayer? (If yes then please type it out.)

:?

5. Has God saved your life before? (Any small thing would do)

Probably many many times, without me knowing it. In any case, I'm alive and well, and I thank God for that. I wonder are my guardian angels getitng tired (no offense, Mr./Ms. Angel who is watching me as I type this).

6.Tag at least three people.

I tag Benjamin, Whitle09, and David

Thoughts

Lately I've been thinking a lot. Not that I don't think much on other times, but I guess certain events in my life has made me think more. One of these events has been my turning twelve recently. It sort of triggered me to ask the question: where will God call me to? Does he want me to be a writer? A businessman? A janitor, even. A pastor? Maybe a missionary.

Suddenly I also just have felt a great passion to pray for the unsaved. It's gotten so strong that I have this desire to pray even for people I meet on the street. I'm not quite sure if this is a calling of God for something greater, or simply a desire God put in me.

Whatever my calling may be, wherever I go, whatever the job I take, I want to make God my vision, my passion, my call.

Elohim the Creator: A Young Poet's Psalm of Praise

You, who made the birds sing,
You, Maker of Everything,
You, creator of earth,
Master of the universe!

You, who knows of all my ways,
You, the Ancient of Days,
You, the designer of all I see,
You, the potter of me!

You, are the Creator,
You, are Elohim!