A Starry Night


The universe speaks quietly tonight.
Listen close.


When the streetlights fade and the diamonds ignite,
On a starry night, I feel love, I feel right,
A starry night brings me hope, it brings me peace,
I look up in awe at God's masterpiece.
The stress lets go, the inner noise retreats,
Staring up at the rhythm of his celestial beats,
Power beyond measure, the magnitude I can’t define,
I’m just a little breath standing under God's divine design.


It's midnight the cold air hits my skin,
I step outside, let the healing begin,
No notifications, no scrolling, no need to pretend,
Just the silent truth that only a peaceful  night can send,
I trace the dust and the deep, the constellations unknown,
Every single struggle I carry feels suddenly overthrown,
My problems shrinks down to a single grain,
When I look past the light pollution and the superficial pain,
I feel the peace that surpasses all my short-term understanding,
The quiet assurance that my soul is safely landing,
My ego dissolves, the human constructs fall apart,
It’s pure recognition flowing straight into my heart

The blueprint of the cosmos, is the brushstroke of the Lord,
That’s a power source that’s never been depleted or ignored,
Sometimes I wonder how that sovereign power, so high and far away,
Still cares about the trivial things that I face today,
But the hope is delivered through the light that traveled years,
Proof that He’s patient, conquering all my fears.


Love, hope, peace.
It’s all written in the stars above 




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Being Me

The current of my nature flows, The only path the spirit knows. No mental strain, no forced disguise, Reflects the truth within these eyes. The gait is common, plain, and free— It’s easy, yes, just to be me. But should I gaze upon the stage, And try to turn a foreign page, To mimic movements, sharp and neat, And steal the rhythm of their feet, A heavy effort starts to tell, The mask does not adhere well. My voice grows thin, my gestures fail, Beneath the weight of borrowed mail. The borrowed phrases feel like lies, The awkwardness begins to rise; The effort to achieve such grace— It's difficult to try to be anyone else. The soul rejects the ill-fit shell, The conscience knows the plot too well: That counterfeits will not sustain, And only bring exhausting pain. The energy required to feign, Is better spent on growth and rain. Why seek a mold already set, Or chase a shape I can’t quite fit? The only role that stays secure, Is the self that’s honest, deep, and pure. The script is wri...
Read more

Helping

I like helping people out and them not knowing it came from me. They give the credit where the credit should go..They thank God. Like sometimes I'll get 10 food trucks but them out for the day and feed the homeless. I even get some top notch security guards for each individual truck to give someone a job and to make everyone feel safe.  I can't lie and say security isn't needed. We always have needed the security. And along with security we pay for a police presence. It is for the safety, but it's more for the look. To attempt to let everyone know that this is a place of peace and we are going to do are best to keep it that way. This is something that happens twice a month.  I never let them know where the money come from. I'm just give a large private donation to make it happen.  I also volunteer at each event. I do everything from cleaning, cooking, security and anything else. No one knows I'm paying for it. 
Read more

The Happy Man

Upon a road of humble thread, a man did tread, With pockets light, and coin a scarce-found friend. His labour offered little more than bread, A modest dwelling, where his days would end. He carried burdens, weights unseen, untold, A tapestry of struggles, uniquely his. Yet when the sun, or even clouds, unrolled, A ready smile was his, a happy kiss. His laughter echoed, bright and free as air, A current of pure joy within his soul. Though dreams of riches might have danced a share, And peace from troubles, he’d have made them whole. Yet in his heart, a deeper truth held sway, More precious than the gleam of minted gold. He’d trade it all, for love that lights his way, And in God's presence, find his story told.
Read more