SMASHED SAINT

truth sets free: a blog

Sir Frances Wyatt’s Dream

of a country full and free tasting of glory and zoe blossoming where all nature, breath, voice and heart blazes with praises to an Almighty One and His covering falls on us thickly, freshly, a land of holy freedom… America My country,’ tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing; land where…

May 18, 2011
Being In Love

This longing might kill me… The sweetest kind of death

May 15, 2011
Humble River

The last stanza of Longfellow’s ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’ stirs something within. Here it is. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,…

May 11, 2011
love for lunatics

i want to collect all the broken pieces, and all the good parts, too, all the sweet hearts that pass my way, to gather them all up in my arms and hold them close until they know how much i adore their beauty and mess without any weirdness to kiss the bloody beating things, excise…

May 9, 2011
The Sun of Righteousness

And then the rays of Opening Light Shoot out over mountain tops To a symphony of colors and choirs In ten-dimensional Hallelujahs And tesseract-ed Major7 chords; I am gloriously suspended in the Freshest Dawn I’ve ever known, And I can’t wait, Father, I can’t wait To see what You’ll do this Today

May 4, 2011
Sleepiness

Sandwich the I Between Sleep and Your -Ness, Rest Like a rockabye baby High up in a Nest

May 4, 2011
Unstopped Life

It’s strange to taste feel smell see hear Perceive with every fiber and atom that Life, life surely goes on, the earth twirls Drunken tilting on its axis a flirtatious Ballet around the sun barely containing Its stellar fury and magnificence… A grand theater unfolds in the quiet Of this or that thought, tear, punctured…

April 28, 2011
Freshness

the Word became Flesh and the world became fresh (in lesser moments of greatness it’s easy to forget) my woes became blessed

April 23, 2011
Poetic & Rhetoric

Words Elude me When writing For something Truly poetic like The life of a father But trapped inside Sentences and strange Rhetoric that mar my Mind like an apple bruise Makes me glare at Poetry That constant friend who In this moment shrugs Shakes her head sadly Helpless except to soothe Me in this moment…

April 23, 2011
quite simply

sometimes we don’t want to be anyone’s hero, not even our own or our future children’s children it’s not for want of large hearts, or wells of bravery and nobility, or the stubbornness of faith– no. these we have in unending supply, though some would have us believe they are scarce and dry yes. catastrophes…

April 18, 2011