Seduction of the Sacrifice

To conjure evil, to hurt another, to kick God in the face, is to be human.  Yet, sin is expensive.  It costs something.  The bull brought for sacrifice can no longer breed quality livestock.  Remember, that God demands the best of the best, to forgive the sin, that is the worst of the worst.  So why do we ask for the Bull back.  Sin, does damage.  Wounded hands, thorned brow, whipped back, loss of so much blood, and death.  We trade a sacrifice with God for forgiveness.  The magnitude of sin is measured by the magnitude of the loss of the sacrifice.  We beg God for forgiveness, yet sometimes we ask to get back the sacrifice.  The vile vomit that God pulled us up from by answering another prayer, we ask to go back into that viscous chunky rot to regain something we think we have lost.  To acknowledge the sacrifice is to move away from the sin.  Perhaps a job, a really good job is left by choice because of an intolerance for stealing, anger evoked, or a time commitment that causes a disconnect from family or church, or affair with a co-worker.  Whatever the case, if God delivers and calls for a sacrifice, it is over.  Done.  I don’t believe that God would ever call for a marriage, a church, or a child.  But Christians must realize that he may demand a building, money, pride, jobs, cars, perhaps even health.  Sin is expensive, and the bill was so high that only the son of the judge could offer a sacrifice to exceed the magnitude of evil.  Accept it and honor it.  To beg for the bull in prayer is to insult the ultimate sacrifice.  Jesus doesn’t belong to us.  We didn’t earn his sacrifice, or even deserve it.  He offered up himself, all we can do is accept, and allow sin to be murdered on an alter and burned, never to be tasted of again.

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Origin

The existence of demons is indeed, a visceral notion.  No zoo or museum houses the supernatural for the scientific mind to sample and define.  Consider for a moment, that perhaps demons are real.   A massive load of worry and anger from the injustice of favoritism, started as a hot neck, and an invisible lead straight jacket tugging on aching shoulders.  Then, as the lights danced in a tormented brain shadowing scars began to accumulate of the wall of the mind.  A creature was born of hurt, resentment, and hatred.  It seemed harmless at first, reaching out into the world with shadowy and sticky tentacles.  Warm black ink would run into the ear canals of any who would listen and incubate more demon spawn.

Humans may possibly be the parents to the unseen darkness of evil, as electrical brains hum and swirl events of hurt and anger.  Churning a massive centrifuge of thoughts and dark fantasies.  Unleashing darkness upon all that step near.  The blackened mist is not bound to it creator.  A human, deprived of life, leaves behind a footprint of warm glowing sunlight, and choking smoke.  Like living creatures they penetrate and saturate those left to life.  The creatures of emotion, live beyond the nest.

God saw it necessary to quell the veil of black, that evil creatures cast as they swim in the air between people.  A bright light, silent and hung on a cursed wooden monolith for a moment.   Light was lost for three hours, so that it could burn away darkness for an eternity.  Without light, demons will nest in the wounded brains of humanity.  Love and forgiveness is poison to evil.  It will writhe and scream under its dose, but eventually, it will die in the light.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Perhaps only a woman may know…

20170221_203159

(The Bereavement of Sweetness. Oil on canvas  17x12in)

by Shannon Soldner

Perhaps only a woman may know…

Her vast emotions, live safe,

in a fortified city, their cherished relationship.

For years, nestled warm under his heart.

Betrayal!

In a painful moment,

her life is besieged by green fire.

Her man, her love, that saboteur,

reveals his villainous tale.

Stories bite bitterly into burning ears,

while her throat swells shut,

Rhythmic heavy words ripple the air,

shaking the foundation, of her heart,

causing a mighty pressure in her chest.

Her breath becomes rapid, hot tears stream,

trust is leveled in seconds, like a wounded building.

Choking gray dust and crushing heavy concrete,

pummel her soul, and entomb her heart,

in rhythmic cruelty.

Her emotions pop like a blister,

under the jagged cut of his news.

Yet, a reddish glow, a rhythmic pulse,

warms the deep rubble.

Her heart is lost,

in love, though wounded, its lives,

in the ice cold silence.

She hates him, and loves him,

within the same heartbeat.

She condemns him, and forgives him,

in the same breath.

In this moment,

she will endure,

and she will be lost.

His fate, their fate,

rests within the moment.

The relationship;

Will it be sewn up with black stitches?

A love enduring under thick scars?

Or buried in the cold brown dirt, cried for,

then forever.

a burden to be forgotten?

Perhaps only a woman may know.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Dear Wife…

wife

Dear Wife,

Ahh yes, marriage.  We have been trying to figure it out for almost 13 years now.  You have held my heart, fixed my nose, fixed my brain, given me three kids, and best of all, warm snugs on cold nights.  You have been my confidant, ally, and best friend.  I would have given up on me countless times, you have remained steadfast.  Every time I try to insult myself, your fortified boldness rings out, “Don’t say that, about my husband!”

I joke with my co-workers that though we are a single income family, I have to ask for an allowance.  It is true, I surrender everything I earn, everything I have, and everything I will ever have, to you.  I have done nothing to earn your love, yet I get to bask in it every day.  How can anyone doubt, that there is a God?  Look at the wife I have been blessed with?

I had an expectation of marriage, a pre-written, poorly written script.  I did do something right, however, I cast perfect the perfect leading lady.  My manifesto, my ledger of expectation, has been shredded, to make way for clean exciting pages that embrace the letters of the years as they fall like summer rain.  I look back and read our story, it is wonderful. There have been ups and downs, gains and losses, but I have never felt so alive, and happy.  Anything I ask you about, or ask for your help, you deliver beyond my wildest expectations.

I can not live without you.  When I am away from you just for a 12 hours day of work my heart aches.

I love you.

I love our kids.

I love my life.

I guess I can love the dog.

I love,

that your my wife.

Happy Valentine’s Day 2017

Copyright © Zachary W Gilbert

Clean Heart

Murky, mud stained windows, block realities view.

Painful memories like thorns ache, lodged the mind.

Black talons,  a dark grasp, tears the woven curtain of thought.

What solvents can clean, a muddy cake, from a fouled heart?

 

The vacuum is loud, brushes are spinning in a blur.

A tornado of dust, vacant from the plastic cylinder.

Turn it off, unplug it.

An emergency surgery performed.

 

A clog is discovered,

of faded green pine needles,

black cat hair,

and gray dust.

 

Plug it in, turn it on.

A dust tornado,

dances in the cleaners heart,

alive in purpose, again.

 

Before God, a heart is removed,

Green slime, like dragon snot, falls.

Thick smoke, like burning bread, floats.

A daily surgery is performed.

 

Stand up, start the day.

Pain and worry, daily, cleaned away.

Existing happy, no longer hurt, and mean.

Because, the heart is light, the heart is clean.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary Gilbert

 

Color Wheel of Life

Tar on the pavement, hot and gooey, under the yellow sun.

Sunflowers sway in a warm breeze, yellow leaves, so fragile.

A traffic sign, hanging on a bent square poll, a yellow warning.

Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.

 

She was born, so small, scratch mittens,  boots, tiny and pink.

Her first room, a lady bug, a castle, the walls covered in pink.

That first father, daughter, dance.  Mom braided her hair, with pink ribbons.

I didn’t let her see me cry when she looked so lovely, in that pink prom dress.

 

My cell phone, wrapped in a black rubber case, rang on a snowy night.

My daughter, was back in town, her black purse, had been empty for months.

Her boyfriend, left her, with much, mush more than a blackened tattoo.

I told her I loved her, as I wrote, “She’s back!”  and showing my wife the black letters.

 

The snow was thick on the road, the night air was painful, as blue and red lights danced.

“Two occupants both dead”, the officer in blue told me, and wrote a few words in red.

My daughter picked up a hitchhiker, dressed in blue,  his hidden fingers, were red.

Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.

Blue eyes cry,  into a bloodshot red.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert