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A Time As This

A Poem, By Matthew E. Kegans

 

Clanging sounds ring thru the night

The drum is running dry

Shattered weapons in the fight

The end is coming neigh

 

The truthful echoes resound mute

As though it were obscure

But all that follows is acute

Amid the blinding blur

 

Surrounded by the questions still

If only answers would appear

The emptiness would all but kill

To know that truth was here

 

Here in the midst of our time of need

When answers are seldom and few

In times as this our fathers did plead

When failure was all they knew

 

Twas failure that brought them to a halt

And helped them to find their true calling

It seems whenever we turn from default

Tis then that we find ourselves falling

 

We seek in the seeking all to far

To bring to pass destiny

While seeking itself is the scar

That veils our past slavery

 

We've asked at length for answers again

While answers are here with us

For what purpose are we locked in this pen

To see the length traveled thus?

 

But yet in this time as you call us by name

For such purpose and calling await

It is us and us only that remain the same

In refuting our foreseen mandate

 

This was our purpose, to draw all to you

Should the skies repeal and protest

For such timing as this, is all but new

By the years we've failed in the test

 

This testing has come to make us strong

In the strength you give us now

We clearly can see that it was all along

In our fields, you were the plow.

 

Heartcry

A Poem, By Matthew E. Kegans

 

The prevalence of who you are

Crucifies my inset notion

Of the things that keep me far

From striding with you in motion

 

It's no easy prayer for such

I leave behind notoriety

For all I'm worth, in so much

I stand indebted to a fee

 

That held my soul in earth-bound chain

Clasped by ties to the unknown

Helped the less, by weighing gain

Of things to which decay are prone

 

Remorseful as though it may stand

This debt is carried through the age

Inherited, or passed by hand

But certain with a war to wage

 

No man may lie nor bribe the judge

But all must pay the equal charge

To serve the sentence filled with drudge

Or yet incur the trial at large

 

To which eternity stands guard

Waiting there at heaven's helm

Whence passage is but ever barred

But to the man who knows the realm

 

And to its claim his soul is counted

As to the least of these alike

When mercy's seat is far dismounted

And the hand of truth has made its strike

 

He'll stand among the chosen few

Striding in concurring beat

There to overcome the slew

Of HaSatan's maligning fleet

 

So there it stands up to this day

For all men to make their mind

Accept the truth or rather pay

The consequence, soon to find

 

This is an everlasting case

Of things that come to take away

From our strength and fervent pace

Along the drastic, weary way.

 

Sailor's Folly

A Poem, By Matthew E. Kegans

 

"Join my ship!" A man once said

To those near standing by

"Trust me now, I've seen ahead

And see no troubles nigh"

 

"Follow quick!" He said again

Pacing as he strode

"Come to me you eager men

For I have trod this road"

 

"Never fear!" He cried aloud

Assuring greatest reward

By now the awe-inspired crowd

Resounded in one accord

 

"I'll take you to the end of the world"

Said captain to the servants

"By and by, though tempest hurled

I stood my ground with fervance"

 

Word for word, the men agreed

This was the one they waited for

"He's come to us 'pon coastal steed

To lead us to heaven's shore"

 

Now young and old, brave and strong

Funneled to follow this seaman

Careless and prone, they followed 'long

Failing to notice the demon

 

"We'll come at once," they said to him

"To join your band this day"

No doubt was heard, not a whim!

For truth was kept at bay

 

So off they left, to the unknown

Where none had come back from

Into complacency they had grown

With minds now fully numb

 

Upon the waves, they crashed, they fell

With ship and crew now torn

Trapped within a motley cell

In the midst of surroundings forlorn

 

"Had we but heard," said one to a friend

"The wisdom that through ages shined

Had we but seen the nearing end

In folly, we'd never be entwined.

 

The Mill of Axiom

A Poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Flowing currents, sinking tides

The world if falling still

Upon a sinking ship, she rides

To face the coming hill

 

For we stand as mighty warriors

Upon no hill, but mountains higher

As watchmen yes, but even couriers

Of the truth, alike a blazing fire

 

Dull, mute, soundless cries

The deafened ear to sanity turns

Men of truth and falsity rise

As the mill of axiom churns

 

Blurred lines mar the cause

That many sooner leave behind

Perfection reeks of utter flaws

There is no remedy to find

 

A holy priesthood, once, no more

The chosen few have disappeared

As flowers fade so does the score

Of men who once, our God, revered

 

The righteous standard is relapsing

Contrast binds the enmity

While society is itself collapsing

Men acquiesce to levity

 

It's a slow fade, 'tis said before

An evolution to the worse

When you have given up the war

Surrender is your curse

 

There falls the lot of much despair

To they that deny hope, in kind

As searching to discover where

Abides the love they'll never find

 

Their primal quest is remains their shortfall

Seeing days succumb to night

For straying wealth and woes that call

Their name in tongues of blight

 

We wonder till our minds are numb

Why courage fails in blind deceit

We play our harps, we sing and strum

But cannot unify God's fleet.

 

From Nature

A Poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

The bee: modest and kind

Humble, complete in most things

Near perfect, with one fault to find:

It's death is as near as its stings

 

If even in these, the simplest of creatures

The lash of a tail brings demise

We being human with superior features

To fall, we're more prone than to rise

 

This is our hope, strength, being, our grace

That we in our truism halt

It makes us more common, fault-filled and chaste

That to oneness, not perfection, we’re called.

 

 

Promises

A Poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When days of doubt come so frequent

Looming like an age-old empire

Always look to see the sequent

Beyond the dirt, dust and the mire

 

Days will die, yes times renew

With distant paths still yet to run

Though sacred pledge I have with you

All your days beneath the sun

 

As stars in sky and sand of shore

So all who belong to my name

Be just as these, Yea! Even more

'Tis this I by my might proclaim.

 

 

The Eagle

A Poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

The way of the eagle is steadfast and true

Determined, contrite and with cause

Chasing horizons, steady in view

In constance, without wait or pause

 

The stallion of sky, perched atop heights

Giving to those in her care

Staying the path, through nefarious nights

Not questioning why, when or where

 

How, we must ask, can these qualities stand

To direct in the footway life throws?

For what better way can we see the right hand

Of God, but through out his windows?

 

Hurt and Healing

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

The deepest scars, voiced and vivid

Lead us from the hand which sends

Though even when the pain comes livid

So faithful are the wounds of friends

 

For pain, in essence, is our healing

That which tides the fearsome angst

The deep emotions that we’re feeling

Are those which keep us bound in lengths

 

We either learn or repeat cycles

Evolve from tears to hands of grace

Hence we’ll become Love’s disciples

Ere conforming to His face.

 

Community

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

We are not defined by brick

The buildings which we gather

But by endurance, as we stick--

--together, by this, rather.

 

Breaking Point

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

I've seen you in your weakest state

Composed of faults and sickly

Striving, breathless, full of hate

But when haven't I come quickly?

 

I've taken note of all you've gone through

Hour after grinding hour

Here I've stood, your all-in-all who

Never left you without power

 

When tyrants came to steal your heart

I fought them by the hoards

By death I gave you a fresh start

I am the Lord of Lords

 

Now you're mine, we are one joint

Together moving forward, strong

I caught you at your breaking point

Now live your life as a love-song!

 

The Inner Us

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When you're afraid to be yourself

The time to change is now

To find that all the greatest wealth

Is in the changes we allow

 

What makes us, ’us’ is not the dream

We hold so highly in our thoughts

For that which binds the hidden seam

Is often that which ties the knots

 

Building laughter, killing tears

Our inner ’us’ is truly tough

Though grains of hate can birth the fears

Of never being good enough

 

See, life is full of trusts and doubts

Enough to make a grown man break

For giving heed to cynic's shouts

Is thru-and-thru your own mistake

 

When to a halt our vision rests

With flame inside no longer lit

Remember this amid the tempests:

'We are the shoes our life must fit.'

 

Generation of the Unoffendable

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

He said, she said, they did something

Beyond all decency

We hid, they ran, there is nothing

That can set us free

 

Hurt and healing, pain and grace

We battle on the edge

Bleeding, writhing, to save face

Only to build a hedge

 

We've boxed us into tighter corners

Than those from which we came

We live our lives in tense of former

Yet act like it's the same

 

When will we learn, oh friends of old?

That life starts at forgiveness

The fire's here though we are cold

Because we fail to live this

 

Offense enslaves our inner hope

For love that will continue

Resentment forces us to cope

With acts we can't undo

 

This is the sickness in our nation

With remedy to find, in full

Know this: we are the generation

Of the unoffendable

 

Not fighting, hurting, setting blaze

To friendships once held closest

We are beyond this, higher raised

Not ever to be below this

 

For relations are, in clearest form

The basis of our lives, in length

When all around, from us is torn

Stability, where is our strength?

 

See, nothing, no one can withhold

The Father’s love he daily sends

So why should we feel need to hold

Offense against our dearest friends?

 

We are stronger, we will forgive

In time we’ll learn to love each other

Let us once more begin to live

Lives devoid of vice for brothers.

 

 

 

The Effort Made

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

On the backbone of failure success is renewed,

with heat giving way to expansion.

The greatest of these began as a crude,

mud-hut before ‘twas a mansion.

 

From the cavern of misery a pillar uplifts,

by the ages mountains were moved.

Until we are willing to govern the gifts,

He gives, how will we be improved?

 

Reflecting on failure one sees his mistakes,

directing his path through each trial.

The guardian of mastery, steadfast as it breaks,

the wall between truth and denial.

 

The instance we regard success as a choice,

that choice is no longer a given.

Knowing is trusting is finding the voice,

to proclaim the victory we are livin’.

 

No matter the cause, great or unsure,

to defeat, farewell must be bade.

Greater still than safety’s allure,

is the promise in the effort made.

 

 

Tunnel Vision

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

I am incomplete,

my eyesight fails me.

I wish to retreat,

but where can I be free?

 

Laughter is no longer here,

tears reshape my dreams.

Crystal scenes emerge obscure,

all is not that which it seems.

 

Flouting light incriminates

this tunnel walked in blindness.

As truthful measure calibrates

the path preceding highness.

 

I'm caught again within the breeze

of air beneath my feet.

Swiftly guiding souls with ease,

along the tandem beat.

 

My heart throbs with the momentum,

I feel each racing stride.

Fading breath does quickly vent from

tired lungs inside.

 

I live the creed my heart allows,

I face each coming day.

I break beneath the weight of my vows,

and have no words to say.

 

"Is this how to live?" I question.

"Why are things this way?"

I contemplate every suggestion

my conscience has to say.

 

The nearest objects fall away,

as if gravity rebounded.

"Will my goal be reached today?"

I ask, or so it sounded.

 

I realize now: this was a test,

to make my guard-walls strong.

The times when we are beyond stressed

are those which write our song.

 

For tunnels, far and wide, the same,

lead on to measures, fairer.

The outcome: be it servitude or fame,

You'll see when you get there.

 

 

Journey of the Heart

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

A step toward God is one apart

From everything we fear

The path untrod within our heart

Draws us ever closer near

 

To that which sets the earth in motion

Creator of all things finite

For if we could but glimpse the ocean

And where we are within it

 

We'd see the vastness of it all

And the distance to be gone

This is the path to match our call

A journey of hearts, to set upon

 

Unmapped, unknown, beset in awe

What even wisest men can't tell

More complex than Newton's law

Yet simpler still than the Gospel

 

It's in the midst of the unknown

That most things become clearest

As when in darkness light is shown

Those farthest now seem nearest

 

The hidden depth we've yet to find

Is where the source of life is found

Where those that loosen, tighter wind

And heavy cords become unbound

 

But sure with pain to bring, no doubt

For is that not what journeys are?

Our quest within to know more about

That which guides us from afar

 

Here within two powers fuse

One to give and one to take

One makes old and one renews

But both unite for the sake

 

Of making strong the spent sojourner

In essence, to relight the flame

That once so brightly lit the burner

Buried in each one the same

 

For broken hearts have traveled longest

And yearn to leave the pain behind

The weakest will become the strongest

As thru the path of hearts they wind

 

 

Together Strong

A Poem, By Matthew E. Kegans

 

A man set out to plant a field,

in expectation of plenty.

He labored on in hope of yield,

and tended to it gently.

 

Another man, unlike this farmer,

had a vision, varied:

to pioneer a steady commerce,

this was the cause he carried.

 

But yet again a man of change,

ambitious as he was,

envisioned there a vivid range

of industry abuzz.

 

The visionaries, three together,

with goals widely differed,

set about to boldly weather

the hurdles life incurred.

 

Yet soon to find each one alone,

upon the other does rely.

For until cooperation is shown,

each man in vain does try.

 

As builders build, farmers grow,

and men of trade sustain,

length of time will truly show,

each man alone is vain.

 

Without commerce sales stop,

it’s simple economics!

For even produce and its crop,

are as a culture’s bricks.

 

The three together are the glue,

that bring about solidity.

Everyone and what they do,

combine as one in fluency.

 

This reflects our given call,

moving closer toward oneness.

To judge another is to fall,

short in showing forgiveness.

 

For we all have equal need,

of the gifts that we are given.

Just as the farmer’s seed,

and plow by which it’s driven.

 

 

 

Desire’s Touch

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

I stumble as I concentrate,

to see what I clearly cannot.

The phantom nature of our fate,

and fantasies we've wrought.

 

It burdens me the more I think

about all it entails.

I fear I'll miss it if I blink:

the day my love-boat sails.

 

My heart is heavy as it sinks

into the stillborn night.

It feels that I am in a jinx,

and nothing is alright.

 

But does it really matter much

if we are among those,

who are beyond desire's touch,

as a thicket for the rose?

 

I ache as feelings make me want

to be loved and be held.

Though must I for my future hunt?

By this I am compelled.

 

Can hopes and dreams be any more

than simply null and nature-less?

If not, why do we so easily fall for

stray intentions gone amiss?

 

The failure we so often meet,

draws us toward the dim-lit flame.

Ever-constant, giving heat.

A true display of love when tame

 

But every fire, large or small,

contains within the potency,

to light the world or burn it all.

The difference lies within, you see!

 

For with the power to ignite,

comes equal charge as such:

to make the shadows bright,

with so ever soft a touch.

 

So let us take our inner zeal,

in fearless aim to lead ahead.

Not forsaking desire's appear,

but adding fervor to our tread.

 

In Time

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

By nothing but My holiness,

are you made pure and sacred.

It's only by My blood, yes, this,

are you of your failures rid.

 

You are more than past mistakes,

and fiction which you trace.

A man becomes what he intakes,

not just what he can’t face.

 

There is nothing that can take you

far from where I do reside.

So let not deceit ever make you,

doubt the warrior inside.

 

In time your haunts will come to rend

and bring before your conscience,

things to fill your thoughts and send

you lack of joy and innocence.

 

We can't accept the mindless child,

we were before salvation.

For that which has been reconciled,

is no more life's legislation.

 

Truth has paid the price in blood,

these things are dead and gone.

Now open wide the endless flood,

of grace to keep us moving on.

 

For if we leave behind the past,

which kept us back from living,

imagine God's own love, so vast,

and gifts we could be giving.

 

Then we would be made anew,

no longer prisoned in our mind.

Everything we thought we knew,

replaces what our soul does find.

 

For that which haunts our inner being,

can and will be cleansed from us.

The illusion that our mind was seeing,

is renewed by his righteousness.

 

All things shall be revealed, in time,

the earth in all its glory, shining.

So let God and God alone define,

the unclear lines He is defining.

 

Flame of the Tongue

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

By word of our mouth,

we are built or destroyed.

To lead north or south,

or guide into the void.

 

What is said can break,

the soul from within.

What man does intake,

makes to lose or win.

 

For as flame from the hearth,

is the tongue in its greatness.

Deposing hope and mirth,

or empowering the faithless.

 

For there is made clear,

in the road which is lined,

pride's unspoken fear,

which cannot be defined.

 

But it's often made known,

by what others declare,

that which cannot be shown,

comes alive only where,

 

We receive as sole fact,

what is of false nature.

Granting right in a pact,

if not decided for sure.

 

For this here must be settled:

is our life lived in vain?

In what lies have we mettled,

what truth do we feign?

 

Can't you see the toxin,

contained in our speech?

By them we do box in,

the truth which we preach.

 

For out of our tongue's gate,

come both blessing and ill.

Birthing ill and forced hate,

or the good of God's will.

 

So let what you utter,

be uplifting and wise.

For nondescript mutter,

gives air to much lies.

 

As a Tree

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Submit to the struggle,

then you'll become stronger.

For as restraints muzzle,

know this: truth shall foster.

 

For when pain is present,

there is draw to refuse.

See, life won't be pleasant,

but you will not lose.

 

So pursue the promise,

and truth of eternity.

For to know is to harvest,

the fruit of urgency.

 

Soon you'll see how,

what once made you irk,

will become the vow,

tying you to His work.

 

Though the process is dire,

in change we don't know.

All that once was your empire,

will soon be made low.

 

For don't you know this?

All sisters and brethren.

That which we call 'bliss',

ties us deep to our sin.

 

We can't grow on ground,

of a King we don't know.

For as voice utters sound,

so we reap what we sow.

 

We can't mask our nature!

Not for long, in the least.

We'll be known, for sure,

by what cannot be ceased.

 

The heart tells all, you see!

And none can evade it.

So release to Him every fee,

for His blood has paid it.

 

In this, be it known:

to grow is to grapple.

So let's lay at the throne,

sin in which we dapple.

 

The Man Who Broke

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Once there was a man of promise,

climbing culture’s ladder.

Two houses and a seaside office,

to him did greatly matter.

 

Prideful, high on life, he walked,

taking progress by storm.

By nothing was this human blocked,

and he did not conform.

 

For he was in his way steadfast,

confident wherever would he go.

And every hurdle he’d off-cast,

would serve to empower his ego.

 

Numb to existence, no worries to haunt,

he fell to his sin and entrapments.

Pain as his weakness to openly flaunt,

he killed every fear with his gambits.

 

Leaving behind the graces of past,

embracing the tortures of worry.

He flies at his failure often too fast,

with vision that is much too blurry.

 

Trying and trying, but failing again,

clasped by indigenous fallbacks.

Will he see the daylight, lo, even then!

Will he surrender his all or relapse?

 

This is the story of greatness and power,

when good souls are drawn to the dark.

These are real people, to this very hour!

Who strain at the love's slightest remark.

 

Why aren't they seen? You aptly incur.

Where are they now if they're real?

The matter is not: to know for sure,

but to discern if our hearts truly feel.

 

They are the captives of their soul inside,

feeling in fright for their sanity.

Yet we in our masked devilry and pride,

continue pretending we're free.

 

By now can't you see: to judge is to hate,

this is our disease, and our habit.

For we're the ones who guard at the gate,

with keys to the cell they inhabit.

 

Who We Are

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Be still and know that I am He,

who forms the highest mountains.

Return to that which payed the fee,

to dissolve your doubts and sins.

 

Remain steadfast in the cause,

which brought you to this place.

Do not define yourself by flaws,

long since made new by grace.

 

Know this: you are the new I Am,

no longer slave to righteousness.

For by My Son, the divine Lamb,

I’ve vanquished all divisiveness.

 

There is nothing that can hold

you back from knowing all of Me.

So free your soul of every mold

which drains of your identity.

 

Stay the course, do not defect,

to things which bring you down.

For soon when all are made perfect,

constance will be your crown.

 

Let not the things of past control,

your future and your calling.

Day by day—your doubts—annul,

even when the sky is falling.

 

Don’t you see by now, My child!

Storms are here to shape you.

In every earthquake, vast and wild,

land is formed in breakthrough.

 

Heating, writhing, shaping futures,

carved in time and passing.

Making clearer that which blurs,

undoing wrongful fastenings.

 

For this is who we're meant to become:

those no longer prone to falter.

So why won't we humbly succumb,

to lay our all upon the altar?

 

In the confidence we have in knowing

all our sins are dead and null,

let us express our love by showing

trust in Him who is all powerful.

 

Fork in the Road

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Two paths before you I have placed,

to lead you or to stray.

One will fill your tongue with taste,

but soon come to decay.

 

The other fills a certain gap

made deep in sacrifice and trial.

Avoiding unforeseen mishap,

and granting truth in your denial.

 

Each one has benefits to offer,

attractive in their own reward.

But to the unobservant scoffer,

the other reeks of pure discord.

 

For one who sees the moon to sum:

"How brighter is the light of day!"

But doesn't know where it comes from,

speaks only what he knows to say.

 

For he who speaks to wrong the right,

has made his choice to take the path,

which leads to detour from the light,

and face the anger of God's wrath.

 

This is how we know the answer,

when direction fails our heart:

what is of darkness is a cancer,

that will tear our being apart.

 

There are no two ways about this!

In that there are two ways to travel.

So don't resort to things of bliss,

or then you'll see yourself unravel.

 

So remain strong upon the course,

which I have given you to follow.

Not for your guilt or harsh remorse,

but because my love's not hollow.

 

The roadblocks you will face so soon,

can't separate from me and you.

But if in fear you curse the moon,

know that its light is but a preview.

 

For what you conquer paves the way,

of strengths to be instated.

Let not the choices chose this day,

be but the ones you hated.

 

Horizons

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

In truth, my heart is someplace far,

but calling leads me here.

As I seek to find the hidden star,

to guide me through my fear.

 

Unseen tides, in lapse-less pursuit,

greet the distance met between.

While certainties resound acute,

the call of God is mystery's queen.

 

For to know God and be known by Him,

is to our soul a given proneness.

Though in this world, devoid and grim,

fear of man promotes aloneness.

 

We fall into our comfort's fortress,

untouched by call or reason.

Until we come to come to face the bliss,

which infiltrates by treason.

 

For we must come to choose at last,

between our flesh and greater good.

To welcome winds to drive our mast,

or remain stagnant where we stood.

 

This is the crossroad we must face:

for us to settle or to soar.

Though both begin at equal pace,

and both have God at core,

 

Only one will change this world,

with lasting resonance to spare.

Seeking God with sails unfurled,

to let His presence take us where,

 

His call directs, and we are willing,

with staff in hand and goodbyes said.

This is our chance to see the healing,

brought to those whose hearts have bled.

 

We are the change some wish to see,

this is the anthem of our purpose.

For nothing's greater than to be,

the people called to holy service.

 

And now that we are here together,

hearts on fire and voices raised.

Let's move on to boldly weather,

the storms of the horizon, blazed.

 

What is Love

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

The more it pulled, the more it felt,

like nothing could resist.

Our togetherness, ready to melt,

into what could not exist.

 

The more it drew, the more we erred,

past where we could be saved.

The less we tried, the less we cared,

that our flesh had us enslaved.

 

Not conscious to what we had known,

our thoughts reflected our failure.

Despising regret, careless and prone,

unwilling to lay down love's allure.

 

We tried and tried but failed again,

to safely guide our own ways.

Before our missteps, yes—even then,

our vision remained in a haze.

 

Even at first, we hated the thought,

of seeking what could never be.

For futures that our mind had wrought,

defined the faults we didn't see.

 

Our hearts deceived, our minds inept,

our senses numb to the truth.

We broke the promises we once kept,

becoming to feelings a sleuth.

 

We tested—in essence—the Lord himself,

in thinking we could circumvent,

the limits instated for the tribes, twelve,

all to bring His people to repent.

 

To darkness we fell, not knowing why,

as the acts done were immature.

Had we known, our demise was nigh,

our sparks would have lit for sure.

 

For where fire exists pain must ensue,

it's the nature contained at its core!

So allow love's passion be left to do,

what it must, yes—that and no more.

 

In our future's pursuit, let it not become,

a blockade to God's best for our lives.

Instead, let it bring us to fully succumb,

to let Him pick our husbands and wives.

 

The Gift of Choice

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When fruit is ripe, it tastes the best.

This fact we can't deny!

But when we fail in our heart's test,

and to our conscience lie,

 

That is when we fall the shortest,

in pursuits whose time is later.

If we permit pride in our fortress,

and do to our feelings cater,

 

We’ve already lost the battle, raging,

o’er our souls and future path,

for the way to fight is by engaging

rebellion with spiritual wrath.

 

Time is true, yet comes with testing,

as we progress in love's facade.

Let us consider how we're investing,

our emotions in pursuit of God.

 

There is nothing that can take from

us the truth of what He's planned,

except what we define as freedom:

such will lead us from His hand.

 

That fact that God is as our father,

seeking good things for all those,

who are His, what then can bother

us as our song doth He compose?

 

For He's the author of our futures,

yet gives us choice to write.

He sees the details our mind blurs,

and gives aim to our sight.

 

But not to say He won't allow,

us to walk in our deceptions.

Choice is what He offers now:

to guide by our perceptions.

 

Yet that is how we're often tricked:

entwined by lies we trusted.

Just as if unripe fruit we picked,

there's guilt as if we lusted.

 

Though not to say we didn't listen,

or truth could not be found.

For even though the waters glisten,

by it we can be drowned.

 

Birth of a Flower

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When seed is planted,

it is there to redeem.

As a line that is slanted,

made upright as a beam.

 

To bring about growth,

is to empower sacrifice.

For hope and faith both,

will in all things suffice.

 

Blood that is spilled,

for His purpose and path,

prepares to be filled,

the bowl of His wrath.

 

For blood that is bled then,

brings forth in power,

the might to raise dead men,

as the birth of a flower.

 

See, death is the start,

of a newfound beginning,

which stands to impart,

the fact that we're winning.

 

To find what you lost,

and to lose what you've found,

strengthens the cost,

of that by which you're bound.

 

So count as a seed,

the sacrifice of necessity,

as blood that you bleed,

paining, in what you see.

 

For there is required,

in this journey, uncertain,

employs to be fired,

as it relates to our sin.

 

Yet even our comforts

hold back from surrender.

In as much as it hurts,

to growth it's a contender.

 

Our all is what's needed,

if change is to be seen.

As a plant that is seeded,

with death there between.

 

The Father’s Heart

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

As feelings tempt, to satisfy,

there is a greater good to seek.

One which brings about a cry,

to deter from the dull and bleak.

 

It's called by some: sovereign will,

by others: sanctification.

Regardless, we must not fulfill,

what brings demotivation.

 

We must surround ourselves by what,

cannot run dry like fires.

From futile things we must be cut,

before our time expires.

 

Can you not see: what gives to take,

only serves to spite us.

For selfless love won't bend to break,

but rather, will unite us.

 

While distance often draws apart,

the feelings which unsettle.

The truth of love is in the heart,

where worry cannot mettle.

 

Fear and mystery cannot deprive,

two destined with such confidence.

Not even what our minds contrive,

keeps God from knowing all of this.

 

Even when we curse the hand,

which gives us daily bread and breath,

His mercy covers all we stand

for and what keeps us far from death.

 

If we don't seek the one who gives,

how can we expect good to come?

The man who plans the life he lives,

is unopen to God's relentless sum,

 

Of blessings which He set in place,

before the earth was spinning.

Can we succeed at such a pace,

in the race we're to be winning?

 

Lo! I say to him who'll hearken:

to focus on our future’s vanity.

Even shall the brightness darken,

what we cannot, our God can see.

 

Selfless

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

What is life but love and peace,

and everything we see?

For as our life is but a lease,

let us live unselfishly.

 

Not turning back to sin of old,

in comfort and remorse.

But let us rather become bold,

with Jesus as our course.

 

If then, we do not see the change,

we wish to see in culture,

have we truly let God rearrange

our hearts, to make us pure?

 

Or are we stuck in mindless acts,

without a care to spare?

Do we base our lives on facts,

or live to the contraire?

 

Where do our heart and mind abide:

on self or on eternal affairs?

Do we from truth attempt to hide,

with unsympathetic stares?

 

This defines what makes us real:

that we hurt for those in pain.

But just because our heart can feel,

we can't let our vision wane.

 

There remains the highest calling:

to know God and make Him known.

But at the point that we start falling

to our sin, grace must be shown.

 

See, we are all but broken structures,

waiting still to be renewed,

awaiting God there at the juncture,

where good and evil brood.

 

For this remains to be decided:

will we allow our soul to grow,

in matters that our God confided?

This truth we soon must know.

 

In all our dealings, circumspect,

let us confide in Him alone,

who made the earth, then reflect,

upon what He makes known.

 

Crossroad of the Soul

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

My heart is caving in,

there is nothing left at all.

I cannot face my sin,

for my heart is in mid-fall.

 

All my hopes are shattered,

life’s sustenance has left me.

My being hangs on every word

of lies which have bereft me.

 

I cannot find the light which comes

to those who wait upon thee.

It's like if music lacked the drums,

and the tune was melancholy.

 

Twisted vibes define my morale,

what can keep me standing?

I'm held in chains by every vow,

and my being is disbanding.

 

If life was meant to be this way:

a travesty in the making.

I guess it's true, what people say:

"Live life for the taking."

 

Why even strive for holiness,

if it only serves to break us?

Is there any more to this?

I find the need to discuss.

 

I've felt the power of His blood,

and experienced His greatness.

Through it all I've felt life’s crud,

lifted, as though weightless.

 

For I've seen the supernatural,

and can't deny His beauty.

Of His presence I've been full,

but from regret can’t flee.

 

My life is changed beyond return,

eyesight fails my vision.

So what is left which I must learn,

to seal up this incision?

 

It's true: my heart is full of bleakness,

as if a bullet pierced my armor.

But He is stronger than my weakness,

and will fill my heart with ardor.

 

Deception of the Heart

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

To love is to accept,

not for what we see,

but for what is kept,

behind lock and key.

 

Not judging another,

by how things appear.

To love as a brother,

those who are here.

 

For to judge is to kill,

not in word but mind.

If deception we fulfill,

our eyes are still blind.

 

See, truth empowers,

our mind with new vision.

As water to flowers,

and sunlight's provision.

 

For just as our heart,

grows fruit like a garden,

we must let God impart,

sun so they won't harden.

 

Lest we become stagnant,

and lose our perspective.

If His heart was a magnet,

our love'd be deflective.

 

That is what keeps us,

as beings disconnected.

We are filled with puss,

yet deny we're infected.

 

It's a sickness, a misery!

When we judge by the cover,

a book filled to the tee,

with the struggles of another.

 

How can we seek friendships,

if from reality we hide?

For by deception one slips,

according to his pride.

 

In this, let us attempt,

to love unrelentingly.

Of deception, repent,

for what we don't see.

 

Morninglow

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

The softened glow of day arises,

complete, in essence and detail.

So comforting are its auric reprises,

when the sun returns without fail.

 

Queens and Kings

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

"Are you willing to grow deeper?"

Says the Father to us all.

"Will you awake or be a sleeper,

when upon you I do call?"

 

There remains the choice this day:

who will you give control

o'er your life, to guide the way,

in truth: to lead your soul?

 

Existence is a gift I've given,

your breath, My life imparted.

If you desire a life worth livin',

this is how it must be started.

 

Day by day, yourself deny,

seek to praise Me in all things.

Give to Me your lives and I

will make you queens and kings.

 

This is why I've called you forth,

your purpose lies in knowing Me.

Then to make My spirit poureth

out on those who cannot see.

 

You are royal, you are sacred,

never let your hopes diminish.

Every fear from which you hid,

will usher you unto the finish.

 

This will be your song to shout:

as you in desperation cried.

From Egypt you were beckoned out,

and to yourself have died.

 

A choice for you has been prepared,

one which seeks to inspire.

While many for the worse have faired,

response, will God require.

 

To choose this day the good or bad,

but nothing in the middle.

If black and white were all we had,

color would matter little.

 

But not to say there is no grace,

in this wide and pond'rous road.

See, all I ask is we would face

the challenges He has showed.

 

Root of Rebellion

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

If life was as transportation,

I did not pay the fare,

but from authority did run,

as if no law was there.

 

I disobeyed when it was said:

"Do not cross this line."

From common sense I aptly fled,

and to myself was lying.

 

I saw the bounds and I kept on,

lacking guidance where needed.

I let my failures mask the dawn,

as light—from me—was bleeded.

 

For even if real, the fact that we feel,

does not in the least make it right.

This it reveals: as to flesh we appeal,

we allow our demons to take flight.

 

What cannot exist becomes as a God,

like a fish who wanted to fly.

In following suit, our heart we defraud,

and soon must to fantasy, die.

 

It's a painful progression when we allow,

our rebellion to take hold and reign.

Restraint as a whole will follow and bow,

to the weaknesses we haven't slain.

 

For all must be yielded unto the One,

who rightfully owns our existence.

Yet He has given us choice, like a gun,

to kill our regrets or resistance.

 

The matter at hand is found in this:

that all selfish ambition we cancel.

For death is a sword swung by bliss,

with rebellion there as the handle.

 

It only makes sense that if we submit,

to the struggle as it comes our way,

much stronger we’ll be as we are hit,

by temptation which comes to sway.

 

So take what comes amid the run,

for He will strengthen your wits.

Follow hard until the work is done,

but never, My child,

 

Recovery

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Today is the day I start anew,

striving to see better days.

All that I have made it through,

has brought me to this place.

 

In my attempts to find the light,

I've hurt those closest to me.

Now is the time to make it right,

and face retribution's fee.

 

For there is ever a cost to be paid,

as to selfish ambition we answer.

It's just as if a garment were frayed,

all discord will come as a cancer.

 

This is a fact, when we turn from Him:

nothing but bad can result.

Our light will turn from bright to dim,

and into the flames catapult.

 

I've been there at destiny's crossroad

and now am turning my gazes,

towards the all-present One's abode,

and to Him now lift my praises.

 

But there is a process to be undergone,

with much pain and sorrow in its hold.

For just as the morning before the dawn,

it's darkest before comes nature's gold.

 

In the dark is where we're formed,

making us strong and long-lasting,

where the last of us is conformed,

to the Spirit who brings chastening.

 

For it's true when said: "Life is a game."

Because of the cost there involved.

Though it is hard, we'll not be the same,

when the great mystery is resolved.

 

When pain comes as a faithful friend,

do not draw away to your sorrows.

God alone will carry you to the end,

and lighten your heavy tomorrows.

 

This must be endured now or later,

for to fall is human in essence.

Do not to waning emotions cater,

but rather, live in His presence.

 

Root of Bitterness

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When we judge we invite,

bitterness to take root,

causing hurts to ignite,

with death as its fruit.

 

It's the start of decline,

when we despise others.

For love is our lifeline,

in the conflict of brothers.

 

When we deny friends,

the courtesy of forgiveness,

it subsequently ends,

the connection here in this.

 

We're unified by that which,

causes gears to work it.

But our choice is a kill-switch

and our fears, the circuit.

 

Each day is a choice now,

and we hold the keys,

to unlock love and allow,

it to welcome in peace.

 

It's only when we become,

despaired in depressions,

that our passion is numbed,

in such active expressions,

 

Of love for friendships:

how we treat those we love.

Just as the sunset dips

past earth's edge from above.

 

Although all warmth is gone,

for a time until the return,

of the ageless morning dawn,

this lesson we must learn:

 

Even though we may for now,

lose aim of what gives leading,

such bitterness will soon allow,

our relations to start bleeding.

 

So don't let pain and hurt endure,

for they will only turn to spite you!

Let forgiveness make love pure,

and confidence will shine through.

 

Beauty in Death

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

My vision has become a haze,

lackluster thoughts arise.

My mind, by its nature obeys,

that which directs the eyes.

 

Questions here deflect the truth,

I cannot carry on as such.

Love of life does vaguely soothe,

like cotton to the touch.

 

I thought for now all was alright,

as if for a moment I was fine.

But now all good is full of blight,

and my soul on dirt does dine.

 

"What happened?" I inquire again,

"When did the tables turn?"

I once wrote life, but lost the pen,

and for completion yearn.

 

My book was closed to anyone,

who ever though they knew me.

For they drew joy in making fun,

of the man I called 'the new me'.

 

I thought this was the time I'd find,

joy in past accomplishments,

becoming strong in truth divined,

by all that's happened since.

 

Maybe I was meant to face these,

without knowing what's to come,

leaving back comfort and peace,

in essence, making feeling numb.

 

For this is what I feel I deserve:

to live in pain and disclusion.

My heart desires I could serve,

but I'm indebted to retribution.

 

Yes, it's true, I've fallen away,

but even death has a beautiful face.

For life itself is prone to decay,

but sacrifice lets change take place.

 

So in this let us come to realize,

all must face their future, strong,

lest untruth rule to taunt his eyes,

and carry him to a life of wrong.

 

Game of Souls

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

There is a battle raged for souls,

with two sides: light and dark.

We must fight as darkness pulls,

lest we're claimed by its mark.

 

All have equal charge to take

truth into deception’s realm.

But many in such trying break,

and lose grasp of their helm.

 

They who love but do not act,

are worse off than the sinner.

For to know yet fail to impact,

proves we are not the winner.

 

We've lost the war if we don't try,

to make right what is broken.

For many more will fight, and die,

exchanging lives as a token.

 

There'll always be a price to pay,

when it comes to bringing change,

whether in acts or words we say,

the prize is won in length of range.

 

Keep on trying, but don't lose faith!

Never let your fervor die down.

When fears appear there as a wraith,

stand strong, but don't lie down.

 

If you allow my grace to lead you,

no evil will befall your dawn.

Pain will come to make you new,

but I give strength to carry on.

 

For in this battle which we fight,

we war not with flesh and blood.

It is darkness in conflict to light,

as time-worn ships amid a flood.

 

None can stand against our King,

this is a fact we can't deny.

For although the light is flickering,

its power comes from on high.

 

So when in hopelessness you cry,

know that not all is for now.

For that which serves to dis-unify,

will be made low to bow.

 

The Lord’s Poem

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Forgive us as we forgive those,

who've sinned against all of us.

The beauty of the scarlet rose,

defines how friends do love us.

 

When the thicket comes between,

the lasting covenant we keep,

we're blinded by what's not seen:

the great distance that we leap.

 

For pain that separates our hearts,

serves to destroy what is good.

Indifference comes as fiery darts,

piercing our defenseless hood.

 

We mustn't allow hate to take hold,

even if we have the right to it.

When we defend, our hope is sold,

for a plane—giving flight to it.

 

Offense is a courtesy vehicle,

taking us places we don't need.

Still we fill it up, though it’s full,

with prideful ambition we feed.

 

If we can see the hidden schemes,

which the enemy tries to enact here,

we'd live by what the Spirit deems,

denying the deathly tact, called fear.

 

Our lives with God should emanate,

from mindsets promoting oneness.

But by judgements ending in hate,

we are weakened as we run this.

 

For life's alike a marathon we

run, not to be the first or last.

It’s by endurance we shall be,

made new when all has passed.

 

It kills when we promote separation.

This is not how life was intended!

For failing to forgive aids the invasion,

of hurt to harm what was mended.

 

Let this not determine our outcome.

We're stronger than fragile connections.

Don’t count sins or their costly sum,

for He forgives us with Godly affections.

 

The Warring Within

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

Sun still shines although doubt,

comes to make us turn our backs.

When we allow deception to clout

our eyesight, actions become lax.

 

We must trust when faith is dead,

that it will rise again much better.

For the only way to spring ahead,

is by trusting, when doubts fetter.

 

It tries the man we thought we were,

empowering the warrior inside.

For by God's word we know for sure,

in His victories we can confide.

 

“When has He failed?” This I request,

that the man who can tell certify.

We are the seeds God does invest,

so why would He allow hope to die?

 

This is the purpose in His trying:

that we follow Him without question.

If we, to temptations, are dying,

we'll be strengthened in this session.

 

For just as gravity and its barrier,

pull all towards the earth below.

We’re just as an unseen carrier,

each with our own spirit flow.

 

We either act of our own willpowers,

or submit to Him who's higher.

As darkness which does kill flowers,

or light—building God's empire.

 

Our minds are blinded if we let them,

wander where faith can't dwell.

So let His wisdom cause fruit to stem,

from what makes lies to dispel.

 

If we who see God's mighty hand,

yet fail to act in the power promised,

we miss out on what He's planned,

'cause we're as a doubting Thomas.

 

Let your trust in Him endure,

for the dawn will soon be rising.

We aren't who we once were,

so let us live by God's advising.

 

Season of Renewal

A poem, by Matthew E. Kegans

 

When life gives hope, hold fast to it,

for this is what will carry you.

In trials of life let your being’s intuit,

welcome in the promise new.

 

Know that when such troubles arise,

My steadfast nature will amaze.

The journey’s hard so that your eyes,

will be trained to trust always.

 

There is reward for those who stay,

and in testing won’t deny,

that the life-long pursuit in this day,

starts with one word: die.

 

You must not allow ambition to break,

the zeal by which you’ve been called.

This must you know: tis for your sake,

that His future work within be stalled.