Holy Heart Crowned

My hand is trained in geting strong, not to reach for the surface but profound;

How strange it is to love the bitter cup, To hold the loathsome thing and lift it up?!

I am in every second of my life, me, a choice, the freedom of own owned will!

Even by spear pierced,

vinegar given to drink.

My senses vomit by my soul demands, squeezing the muscles, tendons tight.

Though soft pleasures, comfort, scream persuade, yet I am starving on this holy apple food.

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I loathe the venom, yet I drink it whole, to kill the animal beast in me and save the holy soul.

Would I spit upon the cross to which I cling, repulsed by every heavy, needy, natures thing?

My flesh desires laughter, sun, and joy, but loves the horror of sacrifice bestowed upon.

Would I curse the wound, then, kiss the iron blade, in love with ruins that my choice has made?!

Suspended tight between two warring poles, the easiest paths produce the deadest souls. I am a traitor to my own delights, to gain the gaze upon my vision in the blinding night.

For love is monstrous, violent, and cold—It hates the youth to buy what must be eons old.

It is a vow to embrace the rotting skin, to let the agony of truth begin.

The thing that makes me shudder, gasp, and bleed,

Is the only saving grace I need, blessed be the carbon beam carrying me…

❤️‍🔥

I wish tortures end, revoked, while wishing to endure steadfast, renewed again in power, strong.

I turn my back on what is bright and glitter, to hold the very shadow that I feared.

It does not please the eye, it brings no cheer, jet in it’s coldness, truth was drawn near. I choose the silence of a heavy stone, and leave the crowded room to stand alone.

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Beauty superb I find in the paradox calm, above the running blood, standing dry-eyed within a rising flood, eyelids cut.

My preference is light, warm, free and freedom reshapes what I extracorporeally see.

I love the person not the pain that destroys the whithin by whim.

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It is the sovereign will that makes the choice, silencing the instinct’s frantic voice; to love the difficult, repugnant, averse;

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Not for the hurt, but for a higher way-who-but the same could understand…

…

that here, the inner spheres of conflict plasma burns , as all stubborn, laird walls of “coulds”.

The iron will, which rules by brilliant mind is my clay hidden in my God, and the resistant scourge of loss it leaves behind.

❤️‍🔥

Intellect’s prerogative is a must! to bow to wisdom’s reign, before

the deeper proof that heart exhibits plain.

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A sovereign soul will finally confess: to hold the world is not only to possess, but greater wisdom down this road is known—The highest power is a voluntary surrender's throne,

a Crown on Heart’s Head of transparent Gold!!

…the mind embracing what the senses shun, “greater is your then the will of mine”and in that quiet veto✝️, peace in-love Jesus is miraculously

won

❤️‍🔥