Just one of several thousand end-time voices.
I’m suffering from writers/bloggers block so in an effort to keep the momentum going, I thought maybe a post sharing a few graphics and images would bridge the gap. Even so, I’ll throw in a couple of poetic messages to boot.
Comments welcomed, uses encouraged.
Luv ya bros. and sis’.
Keith – AKA elijah1757
A mighty sea, on right and left, or starboard-port you see
the waves not high, the wind just swift, seems satisfactory.
But straight ahead, the sky is dark, and from the sky are bolts
The clouds are turning darker still, the horizon terror coats.
The barque is tossed, the wind is sharp, the sea turns to a stew.
The hands take hold, the feet are braced, by passengers and crew.
Why fret this course, we’ve chosen here, we sail complacently,
Why question now, our past provides, we’ll arrive assuredly.
Ah yes! for sure, a sigh is let, from all on manifest,
A glance connects the passengers and blindly they do jest.
But in the whistling stormy wind and cracking of the sails,
A sound is heard that doesn’t seem to fit amidst the gale.
Oh, no, It’s surely not a cry from passenger or crew,
That yelled aloud, we’ve lost a man, oh no, it can’t be true.
Hey, what about, the course we’re on, begins an inquiry.
This hasn’t happened, all the times, we’ve sailed formerly.
I know, I see, it’s plain as day, look starboard and to port,
But this self-destructing course we’re on, the captain won’t abort.
We need a plan, to change this course, not question who it is,
It’s not so difficult to choose, a course that is not his.
Hey, listen up, we’re changing course, I’ve told my kids along,
That one must fight for what is right, this course is surely wrong.
We’ve been asleep, and I for one, have sores and sins and whelps,
But on my knees, He spoke to me; the weak and lame He helps.
So here’s the plan, we’re taking hold, the bridge that holds the wheel,
And going stern to shove aside the rudder, that’s the deal.
Now understand, it’s just a start, a long way from home are we.
But certainly, and obviously, we choose a safer sea.
And then our course, we’ll carefully plot, with our God in mind.
And plead with Him, leave all our sin, buried ‘neath the sea behind.
This is our hope, to add some years, and live in liberty.
Our other choice, is stay this course, all buried here at sea.
By Keith Kampschaefer • Aug 22, 2012 • elijah1757.wordpress.com
(A Single Man’s Dream)
Some who may be a bit shallow may not understand the following poem written by a man longing for a spiritual connection with a woman. But throwing caution to the wind, this is only meant for one lady, anyway.
THE CHILD WITHIN YOU
You have those wanting eyes – not really knowing what it is you want.
But eyes are windows to the soul, and the soul doesn’t want, it needs.
Since you were born, and before that in His mind, you soul has been.
Never changing in value; priceless, precious, to Him no price agreed.
You have that charming smile – as if you’ve saved it from your very first.
Timeless treasure so inviting; as captivating as your childhood laughter.
Can you hear the joyful spirit of children gazing in the circus mirror?
Few would be the ear that does not drink the sound and follow after.
As if those weren’t enough, they adorn a temple of symmetry and splendor.
Moving grace and beauty; only upward eyes see the eagle’s gentle flight.
In the rays of sunlit blue and cotton clouds is made the picture’s frame.
What head has never turned in darkest night upon the full moon bright?
Yet, I resist, somehow, yet maybe for awhile; to taste the golden nectar.
But one more man – am I, that parade behind your glittered, neon banner.
Yes, one more man whose naked eyes have caught the burning sun.
And for the best, for what I seek I cannot see but in its setting manner.
It is this I wish to see – what most have never seen or even looked for;
For such are they so fine as Venus de Milo’s beauty – yet more so few.
Is such a treasure far beyond the mind of man to measure and imagine;
To gaze into her truthful, loving eyes and know the child within you.
By Keith Kampschaefer
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Just one of several thousand end-time voices.
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