Alter

A primitive hand held alter, my only companion in the lonely darkness.  I reopen the portal.  Biting white light invades my eyes.  Cold two a.m. coffee hammers my weary taste buds.   My fingers fumble over symbols beckoning  the portal to spit a soulless recorded voice into my dry ears.  The voice ends, a slow beep, my heart pounds.  I beg, I rant, I try to explain why I should get the thing I desire most.  If mistakes are explained well, people will let you fix them.  Right?  I don’t know.  Talking too much, more coffee.  It is flat, muted, and seemingly dead, like the world feels in the cool dark air.  I throw the portal across the room, my angry shouts slam into concrete and are reduced to silence.  I have forgotten most of what I said, and I am still pacing.  Awake in the deep night and the complication of regret feeling like a stone fist stuck forever in my belly.  I offer fantasy dreams of redemption before the dead alter, with its glow holding my gaze.  In the next moment I am dislodged.  Sunlight licks my cheek.  Shadowy demons swim away from the warm yellow light as it crawls forth from distant horizons.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

Pain

Pain shall astonish you, when it reveals that it is the sister of success.

. . .

I divorced pizza.  Pain.

I tried to do 3 push-ups. Pain.

10 years later, mom is still gone. Pain.

. . .

Pain on,  eating broccoli.  Weight loss, Pay’n off.

Pain on, 30 push-ups gone.  Effort, Pay’n off.

Pain on, Mom’s silence.  How she raised me, Pay’n off.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

The Box

The room is dark.  My heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest.  Sweat begins to invade my palms.  I feel like I am being watched, as my eyes hunt around the room.  Pausing for a fearful moment, I remember to breathe.  I pull the box out of closet, I open it and smile.  Several ‘toe only’ cat steps carry me to the door.   I long to be free of this dark blanket of fear.  I reach down to open the door, the fleshy pad of my hand is hot against the cold metal of the handle.   In an instant, fears ghost like  fingers, pull the hairs on my neck as a voice whispers from the blackness of the room, “What’s your rush?”

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Fabric of Humanity

If you are selling something, wouldn’t it be wise to sell the benefits?  If I were to tell the tale of a black sports car flying up a winding mountain road in the summer air, I might refer to the feeling of floating, gliding through the hot dry air, a cool breeze making my hair dance.  I certainly would not even consider telling someone, that if they don’t drive, they will be walking, and they will get run over, and their blood with cover the pavement.  Would I even go so far as to cackle about their demise?  Sounds ridiculous right?

Apply that concept to the notion of heaven and hell.  Wouldn’t someone who claims to love God and his most precious creation (people!) want to show them the benefits of the christian life.  Why then, so often are my ears attacked by angry people yelling angry threats about the worst possible demise of a human being?  “Your going to Hell” they shout.  Spiting angry fire swirling around words and threats. Do people have a say in God’s punishments?  They joke and jab, laugh and condemn to people who perhaps have never cracked open a bible.  This makes me consider that they really aren’t familiar with the idea and character of God.

I value people, to me, I think they have something of value way beyond their physical bodies.  A soul.  In my mind, souls drive the cars we call bodies.  The best way to sell God, and Christianity is show that you value the person beyond their format.  Talk is cheap, so very cheap.  I have many atheist friends that have a very good point about scientific research.  Things must be observed and proved.  What better way to prove God, than to show his values and principles to everyone, everyday.  I show and prove God with the way I treat people.

The fabric of humanity is the clothing of the soul, and everyone deserves a shot at heaven.  I never want to stand in between them and God.   If perhaps, I understood the vile and terrible place called Hell, why would I wish it upon anyone?  It simple, I wouldn’t.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary  W. Gilbert

 

 

 

Pool of doubt

A premonition of possible demise.

Smoke curls from cracked lips,

whispering, “failure”.

Cold rotten fingers reach out to choke.

Warm surging blood,

pushes through a stiff neck.

A sick ache fills an empty stomach.

Icy sweat, saturated with fear,

coats palms as they reach out,

to touch the approaching demon.

Standing still, waiting to be consumed.

The haunting monster swims out,

of the swirling water,

of the mirror.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Lecture of silence

…and yet, it is the best lecture that proceeds with silent action…

…words dance and jump, play and wiggle, as cold fog in morning sunlight…

…the lecture of life, shown in passionate hunger…

…eats ears, consumes eyes, feeds hungering souls…

…silenced lips, give the listener a chance to see appetite in action…

…the writer who massages keyboards in silence until polished words land…

…silently, soothingly, softly, delivers a living lecture, ripe for consideration…

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert