Jewel Most Rare 4

And my blazing, white-hot fire, ever hotter than before,
Engulfs my bleeding body, each oozing, poisoned pore.
Pained, my mortal frame kneels, bowing to the earth.
Heaven's angels reteach me how very much one soul is worth.

My golden heart, my Jewel Most Rare, now rests in my hands.
I knew not, nor know now, the whole of my God's plans.
But knowing not the entirety, I content myself with part.
I see purity returning to my once-darkened, good heart.

Now angel's hands so pure, two hands not my own,
Reach across, cradle my hands that have, the darkness, known.
Purity and darkness feeling they're meant to meet...
Two pure... two turning pure... their owners take a seat.

At fire's core, where turning-pure has fought since my first choice,
The other, knowing all the darkness, listens, then she gives voice
To a flowing narrative saga.  A tale to set me free.
Tis my story, from her perspective.  I begin at last to see.

I walked through this my fire, turned, and walked through again.
Will I ever find my good heart? I would think. And if so, when?
Much pain and much happiness has from my story come.
She shows me that pain endured well brings me to my sum.

Now rising to her feet, she pulls me up as well.
"Others need you and I to help them through their hell."
"But I am so very fallen," I say. "You have light I do not own.
You are pure and nearly perfect, and nigh to God's own throne."

"What am I but blood and bone, that now can hardly stand?"
Then she answers with words for which I have not planned.
"How many have walked through hell fire, not once but many times,
And still understand what it really means to be kind?"

"How many would shoulder stranger's load, bearing harshest chores,
Or take a friend's cancer, and live in hospital forevermore?
Can you not accept that your heart-jewel preciously endures
So many fires, because it is very nearly pure?"

Her words, well-chosen, desperately needed and wise,
Remind me why I wish free from Satan's lies.
Now one desire resurfaces, as ever it does.
I want always to bear in mind my war-poet's Because.

"This mortal journey," I say soft, "To which we have been called,
Oft tears me asunder.  I have so many falls.
But one thing gets me up each time.  One thing pulls me through.
It's the thought that I want always to be with you."

"God has many daughters, and each I feel is choice.
But choice is mine, too.  And to it I give voice.
I want you. I want us.  If such will ever be..."
"Yes," she responds.  "Let's walk the fire, you and me."

Adam Scott Campbell


http://adamspoems-bp.blogspot.com/2010/08/through-blazing-white-hot-fire-i-chance.html

Did I Think No Other Fought?

I do not know, but yet do wonder why
The war seems required for the warrior I.
Fighting seems one with the verb "to try."
Despite exhaustion, I do want not to die.
War fought now.  Is my cause a lie?

Is this battle needed?  Has the good side won?
Has a starless night turned into a day of sun?
Has a broken cripple found at last that he can run?
Does heart-shattered warrior now see his war is done?
Will he drop his weapon, whether sword, or club, or gun?

Can he relearn what he never understood,
That he doesn't have to fight, nor that he should?
That inner peace, now grasped, he found he ever could,
That full, outer tranquility would
Follow, and both were good?

Do hands typing these words tremble for all unsaid,
Or do they shake for all the great good done instead?
Can nourishing morsels to their owner's mind be fed?
Will tension trapped in soul-skin, whereon foes leave tread,
Find it is released, to where other enemies fled?

I yet know not, but do still wonder why
I thought the fight required.  How far the warrior I
Has walked from Home beyond endless sky...
The fight was ever fought, that warrior I
Might survive.  Did I think no other fought?

Was this why?

Outlet

Thoughts.  On this blog, and in my writing in general, things can become dark.  I do what I can to introduce something positive, something to offset the dark thoughts.  I don't know how to introduce the positive sometimes, feeling that I would not be genuine for you, my Reader, at certain moments.  Every post I have blogged is a way to release tension, angst, pain, sadness... the list goes on.  It's a method, also, of creating something out of my darkness instead of letting the darkness implode and do some serious damage, as it has before.  I'm not afraid of the darkness, but I know how deadly it is when it's not channeled into something helpful.  I see it as one of the most powerful creative mediums available to me.  It's a dark energy.  I have to do something with it.  When I'm in mental pain, I often form a mental scene of angels gathering around and laying soothing hands on my pained soul.  Angels, to me, are spirit children of my Heavenly Father- and as such, are my brothers and sisters.  I think that imagining heavenly help is not a crime, but an active belief in, and enabler of, real miracles.  I certainly believe in those.

I believe that we are miracles, the greatest miracles God has ever performed.  You, O Reader, are a miracle.  Maybe you already know that, or perhaps you've never considered it before, or maybe you are in the process.  I knew it so long ago, yet chose to disregard it or even reject it at times.  My darkness was so powerful even then.  The fact that I am alive to type this is incredibly strong evidence that miracles are real and active, in my life and also in yours.  Drawing the curtain over my own life is something I wanted to do, so many times.  I wonder if you have, or if someone close to you has wanted to.  I don't expect an overwhelming influx of replies to this post, but I know that there are many in this world who would like an early exit.  To say it simply,  I want you to live.  I do.  I do not want to live on this planet alone.  If you need or want an outlet, I invite you to respond to this post.  You are more than welcome, and if what's inside you is killing you, I beg you to do so.

Adam Scott Campbell

Keeping Me Alive

Life hurts.  You know that.  Life can be more painful than you know how to deal with.  Maybe you deal with the pain by disconnecting.  I do that.  Not all the time, but still.  Maybe you have the pain taken care of by someone else, because you have exhausted other options.  I've been there.  Maybe the one taking care of your pain wears scrubs for much of the day, or maybe he or she wears jeans and a t-shirt.  If taking care of your pain is a necessity for your physical and/or psychological survival, then the person performing such charity for you has earned the title "angel".

Do you recognize your angels?  Can you see them, and can you see them for who and what they are?  Maybe you do.  Maybe gratitude overflows in your heart because of the grace bestowed on you.  Angels both mortal and immortal have place in your life.  They talk to you.  Or draw or write to you.  Or sing to you.  Or dare to keep breathing for you.  Or smile randomly at you.  Perhaps it confuses you sometimes.  I can be confused so often.  If we reap what we sow, then surely the grace granted you was something you gave to someone else, at some point, in some circumstance.

For whom are you an angel?  You are reading my blog.  That makes you one of my angels, because it means that my words are valued.  That gives me hope, and my hope, like the title of this blog, is embattled- it has to fight for survival.  You, O Reader, are keeping my hope alive.  I am alive.

Thank you.

Adam Scott Campbell