“Wow! What luck! You passed the test!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t get fired!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t get divorced!”
“Wow! What luck! Your car didn’t crash!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t die”
Pow!
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
“Wow! What luck! You passed the test!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t get fired!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t get divorced!”
“Wow! What luck! Your car didn’t crash!”
“Wow! What luck! You didn’t die”
Pow!
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Behold the black lion. His teeth red, his chin wet, with blood. Glowing embers from the depths of hell, fix on his prey, fix on you. “Your safe. Your ok. Don’t worry,” a rumbling murmuration, rumbles from his throat. His words, that are his unleashed children, are all lies. In an empty field, cold air bites your skin. You have no weapons, and the black lion approaches. In your hand you remember, you have a one way radio. On the other side of it, He is listening. You need not format your words, or regurgitate some ancient chant, just talk.
“Put down the radio,” hisses the black lion, showing the snake tatoo on his silver tongue, “He is not listening! Why would he help a wretched blight like you… Surrender! Surrender to me!”
Your thumb finds the button, waking a red glow. The line is open, as the black lion lunges for your throat…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Everyone’s life, is a fabric square on a large tapestry. We all live, for a twisting wisp of a blue gray shadowy moment, then we die. Our story is added into the tale of humanity. Where does the tapestry hang? Is it proudly displayed in God’s great kingdom? Or perhaps, is it only stored in books, and memories. A dying phantom, chained by lost languages, burning invaders, and evolution’s relentless march.
That prompts a question. Does death scare or hurt Evolutionists? From nothing, there can only be nothing. No soul, no life beyond death, no real value, becomes all there is to look forward to in that perceived existence. If I were to believe evolution as true, I would reduce myself to the product of random chance, and the offspring of a filthy monkey. I would have no creator to ask for guidance and help. My relationships with other people would be reduced to simply the shifting and sorting of dead matter. Life, would not matter. Millions, and millions of years of nothing was all there was, so what value is a few years of a false something. There remains, only nothing.
I recently heard a wise man say, “I don’t believe in God, I know in God.” I like that. As a writer I am commissioned to write what I know. I have never been to Heaven, or swam in the fiery lakes of hell, but I do believe they are real. Much like I believe there is a center of the earth, and a heart in my chest, I believe gravity and heartbeats are felt, and not seen. I therefore can only tell what I believe, and if you need a demon wing, or a pillar of heaven, then I can’t help you. All I can do, is show you that you have a value beyond your physical pattern, I can take that invisible magic that is called love, and send it floating on the invisible air, to land on your invisible soul. Love, for the sake of simply showing it exists. It rhymes with the purpose of God. It shows God. It is God.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Ruminate on life.
value in health, kids,
and loving wife.
…
Work to support
family, only one goal
warm childhood soul
…
Love, silky red mist
clothe my weary heart.
Life anew with kiss.
…
Time becomes soft
moments are fragile, gray,
memories are lost.
…
High above Earth,
life looks so very simple,
death is birth
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
My friends, I humbly ask for you to consider the following notions, before you release the swarm. In conversation, with other human beings that inhabit this world, please entertain the idea that their story doesn’t match yours. All people, perhaps, have unique back stories, that may identify them, haunt them, or inspire them. The fibrous stands of time are woven together for us all over years and years of experiences. Yet, the patterns, shapes, and perspectives are vastly different. Some fabric is cut, some are burned, some have vibrant stories and colors, some depict great tragedies. Words are not defined by your strings, but by theirs. Father, may be a word that is equal to the devil. Mother may mean perpetual anger and criticism. Please dear friends, I beg you to pause, and allow rumination to take your thoughts on a flight. High above your own city and town, where events that have happened to you are lost, and the vast landscapes of another person unfold below you. Become the Hawk, high in the cool breeze, seeking to capture their story, hiding in the rocks. Swoop down, and consume their tale. Live, with them in their moment of storytelling. Listen, learn, and most importantly, love.
Take the institution of marriage. Why, to me, it is a fine thing. My parents stayed married their whole life, as did my wife’s parents. I watched them endure mighty storms, but they were as steadfast as a rocky shore. My tale, is my tale. Other souls may have the word marriage fall upon their ears as a ball of thorns beings pushed into their heart with a glowing orange iron from the fire. A man may have used his might and authority to foul innocence. A woman may insult a child because they remind her of the man who failed, and left her alone. There are thousands and thousands of stories. Consider, listening. Discover what life is to someone else.
The swarm of your words, waits like an army. As the ruler you choose what to arm them with, when you unleash them into conversation. Will you attack in foolishness, or will you send an unarmed scout, with ready pen and blank page to learn the tale of life, from another.
My friends, please consider carefully concerning the swarm. For if you attack, for the sake of yourself, you will become a defined agent of pain, and burn another thread of time black before it is sewn permanent into the tapestry of someone else’s life.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert