I’m on the floor wailing, with my head buried in my hands,
Covered in dirt,
Unable to shake these pictures, these visions.
I go wandering on the hills,
Ankles leaving traces of myrrh-soaked tears,
Looking over the city,
Lights twinkling energy,
Pulsing creative vibrance of potential,
Raising up a cry…Aaaaahh…

I try to shake these pictures by the movement of my palms,
Like the writhing twist of sexually obsessed, unattached, self-absorbed minds and bodies
That can feel nothing more,
Can stomach nothing less acidic than venom raging against, slamming against, thrashing inside…
Everything.
And you can’t even feel anything anymore,
Waking up in the morning, bleary eyed, head sore and bruised and emptied out of all that used to mean something,
Used to breathe freely,
Used to know what life really is.

This vision of hope’s obliteration is spreading through the streets of my headless city,
Stifling the sweet smiles of children into emotionally burdened and broken, experienced adults.
I’m wandering the tops of the hills overlooking the city,
Wailing, weeping, staggering like a defeated father,
Like a bereaved mother longing for her children,
Longing for her children,
Longing for her children,
My children have been stolen and lured away by their own selfish fantasy,
Unaware of their chosen destiny.
Oh, return to me, children!
If undeniable reality life truth love kissed your cracked and worn out lips,
Would you even know it anymore?
Would it awaken the thirst for something good,
For something real,
Something that could open your bleeding, hardened ears?

If you can hear this still, small whisper, the light is dawning,
Spreading from tiny pinpoints and flashlights and streetlamps and beacons,
Opening their floodgates to rush through the streets, lifting heads up, eyes blazing, tongues shouting LIBERTY to the sky!
I’m desperately longing for the time that’s coming when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God,
And those who hear it will live!
So I’m on the floor wailing, weeping, with my head buried in my hands covered in dirt.

Return, return, return, return...

Redemption cries desperation for a generation
Filled with creative explosion power to awaken,
Arise, end lies, soar the skies open eyes of a nation mesmerized,
Hypnotized, galvanized, entrenched in the stench of disunity, discord, and confusion.
Will we pierce the illusion to relational reality?
Break the seclusion of heart longings for fulfillment, purpose, destiny, direction?

Choice lurks in a peculiar people’s path.
Voices breathing forgiving love or spewing violent wrath?
Claiming our own, autonomous self-rule or submission to a foolish trust rebirth?
A planted seed could change the earth.
What are you and your crown worth?