monstrous responsibility

i may be a monster
but i possess some good
which i see is inconvenient
to the ending of your book

i may be a monster
but it’s implied that i was made
every wall was built
every evil brick was laid

which part did you construct?
what sins did you leave behind?
what dark design did you
conjure with your mind?

I’m simply a mirror
held to the face of man
when i’m wielding the ax
my hands execute your plan

God Loves/God Saves

2 Cor 12:9 NASB “…power is perfected in weakness.”

God loves the worst of sinners. Me.

Jesus came to save the world. Not judge it.
I can, at least, love it.

God doesn’t need anyone who’s perfect. Thank God.

You can’t argue with lies. Repeat the truth. And the devil will disappear.

Jesus was table-flipping mad.

if we are to prepare a space for the living God (holy spirit), then we shall have to turn the tables as Jesus did in the temple. when he saw the mess and corruption, he didn’t go find a bucket of suds or the latest swiffer mop, he went radical, he went nuclear. we are the temple. our bodies and minds are compared to the temple. more accurately, we are the tabernacle (worship tent). the portable home for God to dwell. Jesus didn’t neatly put everything away: sort, keep, donate, trash. he violently flipped the tables aside and cleared the space for God to come in. he showed them the error of their thinking immediately and required a change. stop tidying up and start flipping out!


Inspired by the new Punisher from Netflix

Blood on the handle
Blister in my hand
Not from anyone else
I’m the devil in this land

Torn up by my own prison
I’m the guard who locked the door
Threw away the key
Sleep shaking on the floor

You can’t punish me
I’ve already got that job
I’m the best at blowing up my life
Home-grown, hand-thrown grenade lob

War-torn, closely shorn
Baptize-bathed, newly reborn
But not in sparkling water
In blood-soaked blackened scorn

There’s no salvation
For the wicked vengeance I have wrought
No price that can be paid
No offering that can be brought

My sin came back to roost
My wrong came back to haunt
My eternal jail will be
Never having what I want

Doomed to roam the world
Bringing justice to the dark
I won’t know love or bring the light
But my hammer strikes a spark

Paul, the Know-it-all

This morning in church,
Tried to listen for your will.
But my heart simply fluttered
Off the window sill.

She flew over
The hanging cloud.
She made her way back
When Pastor prayed out loud.

When they prayed for change,
I searched my mind.
What do I want?
What is there to find?


I hate this guy.
I hate this Paul.
He’s way too intense.
A self-righteous know-it-all.

Why would I want to be him?

Paul was passionate.
A hard-core monk.
And all-too-ready
To unpack his junk.

He was confident.
A writer.
A traveler.
A speaker.
And truly a seeker.

Courageous and bold.
Boaster of weakness.
Loyal and hungry.
Submitter to meekness.

I want to be a Paul.
Tamer of sin.
Lover of all.
Overcome where I’ve been.

Saul was blinded.
But Paul can see.
Struck by Jesus.
Suddenly set free.

Saul had everything.
Or so he thought.
But Paul understood
How grace is wrought.

It’s not something to study.
Or something to attain.
It simply falls
Like a gentle rain.

You can’t buy it.
It’s not earned or learned.
It is experienced.
Selfish life turned.

You either kneel in the fullness
Of Jesus’ shed blood.
Or stand with fear
Of the impending flood.

Paul chose against his past.
Saul repented from his brilliant plan.
Paul rose to the impossible task.
Saul was buried by Paul’s own hand.

“Die to yourself and follow me.”
That’s what I want.


Bleeding on a cross.
He never did a thing wrong.
And justice for All.

Sacrifice of blood.
Offered to the Undeserved.
From man’s only chance.

Do you want to die?
Find the only way to live.
Die to yourself now.

Last shall be first, huh?
I don’t accept the logic.
Why am I waiting?

Meek shall inherit.
Watch that wild horse be tamed.
Modern miracle.

Would you invite the devil over for tea?

I wouldn’t sit down
And have a simple snack
With Devil or demon.
You’d have to watch your back.

Would you talk to Satan?
Would you want to hear his side?
Would you trust his story?
For centuries, he’s lied.

I wouldn’t sit with Satan.
I wouldn’t believe a word.
He wants me to fall with him.
Bring down this broken bird.

Most people wouldn’t eat or drink
With a red-faced, horn-graced beast.
But do you invite this angel
Frequently to your feast?

If you:

You’re dining with the devil.

If you long for what your neighbor has
And don’t appreciate your mess?
Then Satan has had his way
And he has been your guest.

If you lie about who you are
To have another follow?
Then Satan has gladly baked the cake
That you so greedily swallow.

If you hurt or hate,
Live to watch another trip?
Then ol’ Guess Who is pouring
From the cup you eagerly sip.

You deny your frequent visitor.
You deny he even exists.
But he continues to come to tea
Because your negativity persists.