Like a Prophecy flow

Interceed
like a prophecy 
over looking
broken grey cities
filled with smoke of
ruins
with passion
breathe
spilling forth
liquid spirit of soul
over word level
on street of cold
layed out
your exhausted
from the raw heat
the rejections of yesterday
speak
but not as loud
of what
burns of inside you
to be

released.....

the field of yesterdays ....

It was just yesterday i went by the fields of the past and longed for them to come back to me.they pleaded with me not to enter but i did not understand..as they prophesied their warning in the wind and signs.....as i longed for something not to be mine.

my Father the accused his grave now unmarked and wild weeds grew from there...I touching kissed his grave with the crucified's blessing upon it..and binded all the curses against his soul and spirit again,,long ago in the winds of time had buried him there...silent is his life now..but green in my memory..and a prophecy to me to live and cast away the sins of the father upon the youth....they are not effective here ...for my love buried his imperfect remains in the fields of the cities lost.

I walked on to the fortified city...like a lost and hungry vagrant i found my brothers grave beneath the sea...it called to me kinda of to redeem itself...so again i knelt down and kissed the sea where he lay and thanked it for the life we had spent together in the dawn of our youth..i left his ashes there where my tears ran down from the bridge of the breach into the fields of the deep seas..

I found my mother's grave among roads, it was overgrown with yellow flowers forgiveness and warmth of the sun heated them and promoted me to grow as they too must grow in God's sun

I still longed for things of yesterday...but it had long died in its fields,,after I had abandoned its destiny to God each one of them appeared in my vision, as if they wanted to speak so I listened to the thoughts..

it all...

Come with me I prophesied to them and leave the fields of the past behind there we will run the beach prophesying over the ragged edge rocks till they are smooth. We shall run free to the sea and meet our God there together. There were no more curses that day for old things and ways had disappeared.

I left them there and walked father out toward the warmth of the day..the future fields lined up with warmth and hope.a.Grasshopper lifted his head at me as if to speak something...I noticed as he watched my every movement,,i was facinated by his presence and it seemed that he was curious of my next move or thoughts...

he spoke to me symbolically of the months that the locust ate.....but calls to me deep in my spirit to rise to the new fields..then all returns to you and then again swept out by the sea and mist of times...."I will restore the days the locust ate".

Remember me I said to the phantom friends and family of yesterday..for i seek not these fields again,,remember when the dark sea sweeps over your face to cool your pain, when the rain falls like a tear of conversation on your face, when the gate of the field of yesterday breaks open and we run toward the vision of tomorrow,,prophesying with our God.
Then the voices of our past is silent in the sea at rest for I knew i was a memory you could not look upon then as we saw through the glass darkly,,,buy then now it will be face to face...
and the heavens will open the trumpet will sound and the dead in Christ rise from the earth...the seas shall open for us
and we shall rise together from the dark..


in a desperate moment i ran back to the fields of yesterday and tried to return to them...thinking i could turn back the moment of the lost and redeem situations...only to hear the beloved prophesying through the new fields of tomorrow of restorations..

"I will restore the days the locust ate".

I ran to the sea of his spirit where he sweept over me through the darkness blue coolness ....we went out to far places of night of the sea of prophetic verses...
it was redeemed by your love thats all there need to be he said....as he whispered and the waves took us out further to a place of beauty and vision...




to be continued...

d.gansmann

The cathedral of the christian mystic (mysteries of Christ)

when I think of mysticism. I think of the first book I read at 17 on practicing the presence by brother Lawrence.  I also found time back then to to reflect on Thomas Merton books. I started finding myself in catholic cathedrals. The stainless window effects haunted my soul and drew me further into the mysteries of Christ. My mind floated back to my Roman catholic confirmation and how mystical it felt to me. Mystical meant mystery to me and it was always the mystery of Christ I sought. Though raised Roman Catholic I found myself protestant in my teens and enjoyed a bit of both protestantism and catholicism. The prophetic came at 17 at the united pentecostal church I visited. Even though legalism reigned there was also flow of spirit and prophecy, which I drank up with a large thirst. 

To be Continued..

 

Into the desert with God

this is the place where all things 

be scorched 

and left to burn 

in sun trials of spirit

how vacant it seemed

as it streamed 

in and out of my consciousness

was I alive

it seemed the struggle 

uprooted all that was useless and dark

time was endless with the ancient of days

In these barren places

he may choose you to walk

and breathe life 

with a word

the days like fire prophesying

The days

like fires
prophesying
over scarred souls
that rise from the concrete city
like a mist
a vision
of people reaching out past
the remains of yesterday
somehow we
must rise from this place
of desolation
of want
the cities speak through
its peoples
as they press on
trying to rise admist
the burnt city ruins
the end days
flow on and empty one
till there is nothing left
and i am left alone
on the streets
trying to find a word
in the fire stillness
to awaken the disturbed

hearts of the city.

awol the dark places, prophecy poem

awol
the lost vacant places
the ruins of yesterday
hidden in graves made by man
i call to you
from depths never seen
i rush into you like a river
ressurected by winding flow
of spirit
why did you doubt
when the river changed course
you could not see its destination
yet i directed you
to flow here in seasons
to prophesy over great waters
i love this place where the waters
of man and God meet
here i speak a word
over the sleepy silken city
i speak to her
in the rumbling dark alleys to
the gold fragmented fields
awol the oppressors pleading
the dark swamps of stagnant thought
the lowlands of yesterdays mourn
for i will restore the times
pouring out my spirit
over cold nites of unbelief and ruin

prophetic poetry on nite edge

what seas have i yet to cross,
to prophesy your vision,
it is a color,
a word,
a feeling in the nite
a reflection in the nite,
the nite watches still
and reflective,
yet in our struggles
bitter like a wormworld peophesied
we hang our heads to cry.
yet stand and prophesy saith our God
over such ancient of nites,
prophesy over these days rise,
for though they be like a bitter ruin
i rebuild them,
the cities like
a flickering light
unaware of its demise,
yet i say rise
from these ancient ruins.
i give you vision
this nite,
rebuild,
restrengthen
, refurbish,
reestablish,
over this nite
ability
to withstand the wind swept
places unsettled and empty with want,
speak forth word
and nourish
this places