Soul Renewal

Livin’ life without a net,

who’s to catch me if I fall,

except the One, that I met,

to Whom I’ve given my all.

Renewal of the soul,

at the beginning of the day,

quieting of the mind,

as the light fades away.

Nighttime brings its own song,

in sync with the rhythm of the heart,

reflects upon all that we long for,

dreaming of a new start.

Livin’ life without a net,

who’s to catch me if I fall,

except the One, that I met,

to Whom I’ve given my all.

Every year, the world’s tears flow

like rain from unfamiliar clouds,

until, at the first light of dawn,

we hear Your voice call us home.

Upon the wings of eagles we glide,

in time with the prophetic cue,

brought to the place where we will reside,

in our hearts, singing a new tune.

Livin’ life without a net,

who’s to catch us if we fall,

except the One, Whom we’ve met,

and given to Him our all.

As nations gather together for war,

we will rise above all the flames,

in search of the world no man can char,

the Kingdom that fell is risen again.

One vision to guide us

through the darkness of the land,

One truth to abide in,

as we perceive His guiding hand.

Livin’ life without a net,

who’s to catch us if we fall,

except the One, Who said,

I request of you, your all.

(warning: violence)

(coronation scene)

Renewal on the Horizon

creative image by Lee Madgwick

Somewhere,

amidst the broken-down dreams

of a nation bereft of its heritage and pride,

amongst the scattered ruins of a once thriving

society of angels and men, seeking harmony,

lies the spark within, the light of renewal

that will bring home the downtrodden,

who still carry faith in their hearts,

and walk with the strides of righteousness,

alongside the saints of olden times,

who have not forgotten their G-d above,

nor their moral responsibilities below

on an earth that teeters and totters,

reels and shakes from the revolution

of an immense proportion

that spins the globe into chaos.

In the distant future,

when the angels fly overhead,

we will be lifted into the air,

only to be resettled in Paradise.

© 2022 all rights reserved

dVerse prompt

Caelum

Biding my time,
finding my way,
seeking the sublime,
en route to a brighter day.

Looking toward caelum,
in expectation of Moshiach,
Who from the angelic realm,
descends to avail us.

Awaiting the final hour,
when the veil will be lifted,
let our faces not be dour,
for we have truly been gifted.

And, if compelled to do more,
than gazing heavenward,
let us guard the days of yore,
with the intention to one day soar.

For only then, at that time,
will our dreams be realized;
everything concealed will finally be
revealed as we rise into the sky.

Journey Home

We are pilgrims on this earth,

like our father, Abraham –

destined to wander, with a purpose,

only to be realized in Olam Haba.

While here,

amongst the thicket’s

tangle that ensnares the soul,

relief is at hand, before

the darkness takes its toll.

The muddied waters

will turn crystal clear,

and cloudy skies reveal the sun,

concealed behind a veil

of tears, washing gently down

from the face of G-d.

Joy, will pour forth

from the fountain of salvation,

at the heart of Israel –

as we make our way home

to the land of our forefathers,

where the Kingdom will shine

forth like 10,000 suns.

note: inspired by “Home is where you feel at home. I’m still looking,” from Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s

dVerse prompt

Days Foretold

Send our roots down into the ground,

and let our spirts soar, up into the sky.

Let us be nourished by the earth, under our feet,

and set our vision upon the heavenlies.

As above, so below, all is foretold,

in regard to the days that will unfold.

Shower us with blessings,

place your burdens upon us.

We will serve you with sincerity,

and rejoice within ourselves

Disunity

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.”

William Butler Yeats

The iniquities accrue,
layered upon each other,
like bodies stacked high
on the pyre of Moloch.

As civilization crumbles,
in due time, as if expected,
what beast will rise out of the ashes
of Western civilization?

Torn apart by universal critique
of everything under the sun,
nothing is immune to scrutiny
within the framework of wokism.

A woke world is not awakened,
it is silenced by a vocabulary of oppression
that divides people into categories,
and individuals into idealogues.

Erasure of memory of the past,
in favor of an obscure future,
a vague promise of a utopia
that can never be realized.

© 2022 breathing-inspiration.com