GUN SLINGER WITHOUT AMMO

This is not feel good poetry but the wrung out tale of a miscarriage (A misrepresentation of an artistic design supposedly destined for manifestation. A true false-appearance of what could have been the rise of another general)

I accepted the draft into the 85th platoon of writers in Zion Military and received all the necessary gear - what Ephesians would term the amour. I spent time in training filling up my arsenal. My mission was simple – decongest Hades through the media. Get fellow citizens of Zion back home by building bridges with my knees and getting the vultures off their backs with the blood from my ball point.

My first assignment was to blog… So I built camp with the C.I.A… significant progress was made until I felt I had “risen” in the ranks. When other opportunities offered more material gains I neglected my duty post… Right now, all I see are sing song cobwebs asking me to pay rent to spend a night in my own blog. 

With each passing humble dawn I paid less attention to the well-spelt assignment… Imagine my shock when I realized that each passing day didn’t change the way the sun rose… consistently it rises from the east and whether or not you acknowledge it, the sun still rises… It doesn’t matter who says “Good morning sun” or not… it still does its duty… and no matter how mundane the sun rise has become it doesn’t change the fact that the exotic beauties of life are dependent on its “mundane” rays

I felt that my blog wasn’t relevant because nobody reached out to tell me “awww… this was beautiful” or “that was just on point” but now I know better. Only one person called me into this army; The Field Marshall himself – Jesus. 

Whether or not I get any praise shouldn’t deter or determine my post rate… because only Christ can pay my minimum wage. My neglect of this duty post was a FALL… say what you want, I know what I know… It was a FALL… I fell because, fulfilling my duty was meant to refill my arsenal… so, after a long stretch I looked inwards and realized my magazine was empty… not even one clip… worse off, the few benefactors of my word arsenal were starved… my gentiles couldn’t become Jews because my pouch of circumcising words was empty…

Here is my apology… I am sorry… I don’t intend to stay down… I know my mistakes and I have received the grace to run the race once again… 

By grace I will stay here as long as the Field Marshall needs me here… By grace I will keep pouring this ink in… and one day your heart will receive it by Grace… 

Welcome back to C.I.A…