A Thank You, and An Invitation

Dearest Reader,

Guess what?  I am being published soon!  My poetry book Embattled We is coming out.  If you like or have benefitted or know of someone who can benefit from words such as those you read on this blog, please take a look at my new website, AdamScottCampbell.com.  Though not published yet, Embattled We will be posted there, and other works to follow.  I want to thank you so much for your support.  Persevere always.  Never give up.  Ever believe.

Adam Scott Campbell
adamscottcampbell.com

Because

I have learned, again, that I am both wanted and needed here.  In this life. On this earth.  On my daily walks on the sidewalk.  On my daily walk before God and man.  Sometimes I do not want to know that I am needed or wanted.  It’s impossible for me to stay down when there are so many who believe.  A painful thing.  A wondrous thing.

Perhaps you, dearest Reader, believe that no one wants you, or that no one needs you.  I do.  I, Adam Scott Campbell, want you and need you.  I can look at my blog stats and learn when my blog has had a visitor. Seeing that, seeing the stats, the daily stats, saves my life.  I mean that in a very literal sense.  Those daily, weekly hits on Embattled We prove to me that someone values what I have to say.  That he or she values me.  Maybe…

Maybe, probably, very likely you have had a moment, maybe many moments wherein you wondered what I have.  “Why should I keep going?”

I don’t use the word “try”.  I have no appreciation, none, for the word “try”.  “Why should I try” is a phrase used by someone who has given up.

“Why do I keep going” is a question leading to action, the act of fighting through the fire and the storm to your core and learning about the wondrous person you are, who you have always been and always will be.  Followed all the way through, it is a question that leads you to your life purpose, your Why.

I have found my Why.  “I want to touch one more life.”  This is at the core of my Core.  How many people live on this earth?  How many times can I touch just one of them?  The possibilities are endless.

So why then would I find any desire to be done, if my Core can be filled in this life?  The answer lies in my wholehearted belief that there is life after this life and that others are waiting for me there.  But more, it lies in my understanding of just how impossibly wonderful that after-earth-life is.  Imagine having happiness fill you.  Imagine it overflowing.  Imagine yourself so happy that you are compelled to share it with every soul who crosses your path.  That is what I see in my afterlife.

So, the final question: Why not take myself there?

And the final answer: That would be taking God’s right for myself.  God gave me my life.  It’s His to take, in His time and in His way.

Adam Scott Campbell

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

Proud Of You

Maybe you are like me.  Maybe you feel you do more stumbling and falling than rising and walking. Maybe you have developed the ability to block out the thought that you feel stagnant- that you are moving, but not getting anywhere.  Perhaps the war you are engaged in isn't a fight against other people, but maybe you wish it was.  Maybe you want to do battle in the physical realm, and not the spiritual or intellectual.  Physical struggle can be a great reliever of mental, emotional, and spiritual angst.  Hence the allure of working out when stress is at a high level.  Imagine being locked up in your own pain-laced thought processes for months at a time.  A thought, an act, or the wrong medication, or a lack of any medication, could have been the switch that set it all off, and now, knowing you're in real trouble, you don't know how to turn your soul-ship around and head back to calmer waters.  Maybe you doubt the existence of such healing waters.  It has been a very long time for you.  I know it has for me.  I fell into the ocean not knowing how to swim.  I have been led to isles to rest on every now and then.  Each isle has been a moment of sweetest grace, often brought about by a random act of kindness, usually by a stranger.  I am grateful for, and need, those acts.  They have tended to be the best mortal moments of my life.  But mainly it has been an endless endeavor to stay afloat, and I still don't have a good grasp on the skill of swimming.  I'm not quitting. But I am tired.  I was tired far sooner in life than I should have been.  That is surely true of more of God's earthly children than I know.  I've seen more wear and tear in the eyes of some children than in the eyes of some adults.  It is heart-wrenching.  Whatever turbulent waters I have been through, there are others swimming in seas just as turbulent and treacherous.  My brothers and sisters are swimming and struggling and not giving up, all across this ocean named "Mortal Life".  I am proud of them.  I am proud of you.  Keep it up.

Adam Scott Campbell

Letter To Reader

Dearest Reader

There are times wherein I don't feel like blogging another post.  It has been two weeks since my last.  I want you to know that I want to share my thoughts and feelings with you and with whomever else finds their way to this blog.  I want what I write to be of benefit to you.  I am in the process of publishing my poetry book, something I have dreamed of for some years.  I have a twofold purpose in this message: To let you know where things stand, and to do something to hold myself more accountable.  If you want to help in this endeavor, please send your positive thoughts/prayers/beliefs in as close to my direction as you can stomach.  To you dear Reader, my spirit-sibling, thank you for reading and thank you for your help.

Adam Scott Campbell

Rushing Toward Me

I was falling very quickly.  Ground rushed toward my face.
Wished, I, for help.  Yet I called not for God's own grace.
I felt that there was naught in me to warrant such demands.
God would do what God would do.  I'd not mess up His plans.

I thought of all things I had felt, and heard, and known, and seen,
The mountains, birds, plants, animals, rocks, lakes and streams.
Each had brought me comfort.  Such beauty ever does.
One might ask me, "Was it worth it?" I'd look, and say it was.

It was worth my pains, my agonies, my deepest wounds, my scars.
It was worth my wretchedness at gazing helpless at bright stars.
It was worth the sore soul-changing that simply had to be.
It was worth the anguish of years-poison burning out of me.

You, dearest Reader, may wonder just what IT was.
Was what worth it?  Why must I write "Because..."?
Why would I go through what I have and suffer very sore?
Twas a very simple reason- I wished to touch one more.

If one more heart of one more soul of one more child of God
Could benefit from words of one who oft thinks himself odd,
Then even if that heart never feels the words I wrote,
I'd write them.  I'd hurt far more, not scribbling a note.

I would pray and I would hope and I would hope and I would pray
That some small word of mine might take the night and make it day.
That night-turned-day would shed its light on heart that does not feel,
And maybe, just maybe, that one heart could start, at last, to heal.

The ground is rushing toward me.  Now what do I do?
Will this bit of rhyme ever find its way to you?
I feel at last my wanting, from whence my anguish stems.
I cry out to my Father God, "I want to stay, for them!"

An instant of black.  I awake, sun shining through window.
I yet live, I yet breathe.  Yes, tis grace, I know.
God wants me to live.  To live by Him alone.
From dark to light, to day from night... I've learned, and I have grown.

Adam Scott Campbell

Your Worth

My candle burns so brightly.  It keeps the dark at bay.
While in my heart I feel the start of yet another day.
Each adversary prowls along the edge of my small light.
I prepare me now.  There soon begins a fight.

My sword arm wields no weapon.  There's no shield in my hand.
Though I am feeling stronger.  This battle was long planned!
The weapon of testimony, my boundless certainty,
Will carry this fight forward.  Tis my faith that protects me.

I know the Rock I stand on.  How oft I've turned aside,
When some insidious whispering murmured, "But you've tried..."
While such is good, and needed, tis not near enough.
I knew then, I know now, I must still try when things get rough.

You, O Reader, hoping for hope, while the dark grows bleak,
You, too, can build on the Rock you may not know you seek.
When so much light you gather that you cannot help but share,
Of danger and of grace you find yourself very aware.

I am no well-versed pastor.  I am no preacher great.
But I know light and dark.  In me each claims a stake.
I know that you, O Reader, are also wanted dear.
For you, dark foes gather.  For you, angels shed tear.

I do not speak these heavy words for to make you afraid.
I'm urging you to get on God's path.  Once you're on, to stay.
I've gotten off and stayed off, for weeks and months so long.
I knew, yet refused to know. that I was going wrong.

Your God is your own Father.  He aches to hold you close,
To protect you from the darkness when each dark thing He knows.
You're worth more than you realize.  You are why this battle's fought.
Speak to your Father God.  You'll find the light for which you've sought.

Adam Scott Campbell

As Thou Wilt

I would stand in the midst, a squadron on one side,

Another on another, my hands and feet all tied.

I would have peace, knowing I gave another shot,

And a second and a third, for all for which I've fought.

My last thoughts would be of precious souls I've known,

Of words said and felt.  Of sacred compassion shown.

My last prayer would be like those uttered in past.

I'd beg for those still hurting, that God would heal them fast.

All the wounds, scars, and blemishes that my spirit shows

I'd plead that God would heal me, as my final moment flows.

Hands that have done both good and evil- such tied hands, mine-

Itch to show a final bit of kindness, to give some parting sign.

What can I give to make one last mark on this earth?

How can I help someone, anyone, learn their eternal worth?

Where dare I place my bets, to hope some pure soul rise?

Only by example, some small, inner voice cries.

If you who read these words care to take them to your core,

I dare to think them, that you may find your life is more.

If life means anything, or might mean something, to you,

Then do as I do now, when my life is done and through.

I kneel, as death hurls itself at my mortal frame.

I speak, and give voice to a sacred Name.

Tis the name of the God who gave me life,

Though oft I've wished to end it, by flame, or fume, or knife.

I then speak three words that sum up all I feel

After what I've done to try to help each wound heal.

Bullets and intentions, now buried to the hilt.

To my God, while they bury, "As thou wilt."

Mirror, Mirror On The Way

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall,
Does balm exist for us, at all?
Will we find Elixir's call
Waits to help us stand tall?
Shall mended hearts and souls
Make paths to all our goals?
Shall said balm repair each hole
When every one has played a role?
Mirror, Mirror On The Way.
We pass you, hopeful, today.
Though joyed the sight, we can't stay.
Our destiny calls for no delay.
Wish us well, that God bless our road.
We've shouldered well our carried load.
We've ever "survived"- we change our mode.
Of eternal life we sing an ode.
Mirror, Mirror On The Son
Lets us see just what's been done.
We've crawled, and walked, and jogged, and run,
It's not been easy, nor always fun,
But knowing now just who we are-
God's own children, come so far-
It seems that just to touch one star...
We know we are more than this.  We are.
We will touch each one- and more.
We will find the worth cradled in our core.
We'll find the Light we hold in store.
We seek Heaven, and find an open door.
We'll walk through, and know we belong.
Gone every pain.  Healed every wrong.
Joy overflowed makes easy our song.
Struggle now gone has made us strong.

Adam Scott Campbell

Heaven Knows We Need It

who touched you?
who reached inside you? or
stumbled,
beat up and
bruised and
broken
to find themselves on the threshold of your heart-castle,
hurting for what they didn't have inside?
who did not belong anywhere near
your sanctuary?
who did you let in anyway, feeling
that if you didn't,
they would be lost forever, not understanding
their own worth
their own talents
their own worthy dream?
who has crossed your way, needing human touch
in a world getting colder, and
more hardened, and
less concerned with the sanctity of human life
than with the desire to be free?
what did you find sitting in your sanctuary
after being gone for so long?
was it a heart other than your own,
waiting for you,
hoping for you,
hurting for you
dying but still breathing
for you?
do you know your purpose
here on earth?
do you understand how vital you are
to me
to God
to every soul you come across
on your earthly journey?
I need you
yes, you, you who read this
to reach out
to someone
to anyone
who has a heart that beats.
they hurt
and have hurt
for so long that they may not know how hurt they are.
help them to know that you know hurt, too.
help them to know that they are not alone
in a world of over seven billion people,
help them to know that hurt doesn't hurt
anywhere near as much when someone cares.
let them know you care.
make your part of the world
a little warmer
heaven knows we need it

Dare To Keep Breathing

I've been through the mill.  So have you.  So has she.  So has he.
I'm still here.
So are you.
So is she.
So is he.
You began the journey of life a long time ago.
Do you remember your beginning?
Have you decided when, and how, you will finish?
I've walked, and stumbled, and crawled through perilous, raging-white flame.
So have you.
So has she.
So has he.
We are still breathing, though I know breathing is more difficult for some.
What would you do, if one you loved couldn't breathe,
And you were given the chance to trade your breathing for theirs?
You would make the trade.  I know you would.  That is is what love is about.
How would you feel, knowing you had sacrificed your way of life
So that they could have their own life more abundantly?
How would you feel, in a hospital gown, with breathing tubes and IVs and
Monitoring equipment hooked up to your body, complete with beeping
And humming noises threatening your sanity with their repetition,
Knowing that your sacrifice has enabled someone's freedom?
How would you view yourself?
As a hero?
As a warrior?
As a golden-hearted miracle touching the lives of other miracles?
However you've suffered,
Whatever your personalized, soul-crushing fires have done to you,
Remember the things you have fought through and are fighting through.
Look at the real You.
The You that still fights on.
It doesn't matter what your chances are.
What matters is that you take your chances, and run with them
Or walk
Or crawl
Or sit in a bed hooked up to a breathing tube and IVs, and
Dare to keep breathing.

Adam Scott Campbell

What If

What would happen if every dream you held inside your heart
were all at once granted wings to fly and each soul-shattering pain
relieved and released from its grip on you, and abuse were halted
and ceased and made no more, and what if the only tears you
ever cried were tears of joy, and all your stumbles and trips and
faceplants in the mud made you laugh at the cartoon-esque vision
of yourself that was planted in your brain, and what would happen
if you were given a glimpse of the afterlife, in all its breathtaking
glory, and  you saw yourself as you really were, a brilliant, talented,
precious, worthwhile human being and child of Almighty God, who
did what you were called to do and meant to do, and the mistakes
you'd made in this life were swallowed up whole in the glory and
joy of Deity, in whose presence you now dwelt with all those you
loved, happy and saved and quickened and glorified, with all your
wounds and pains and scars healed so completely that you can
hardly remember them or find their shadows upon your soul, and
what would happen if words of hope were spoken by everyone
you came in contact with, and each soul had a reason to smile
and took advantage of the opportunity, and what would happen if
you took what you learned through your personalized struggles
and pains and agonies and chose to show a fellow sufferer how
your difficulties have taught you to persevere through it all be-
cause only when you persevere do you have the opportunity to fix
what's wrong and chalk one up for the good guys, and what
would happen if you saw the sufferings of those who worked
and sweat and breathed all round you, both friend and enemy,
and knew deep inside you that they each have a heart that beats
and pores that sweat and bleed and a soul of worth equal to yours,
and what would happen if you remembered to look at the bright
side however small that side may seem while you feel you have
been or are being torn apart but not allowed to be done, and what
will happen when you take your next step and come to know that
you still have ground to walk on, or skip on, or roll on, or just sit on,
and you still, you still, you still have the option of moving forward
to a glorious future?  What will happen?

Adam Scott Campbell

Deepest Wish

I walk to the edge.  I look all around.
Wind on this cliff's height.
I have not will to make a sound.
My muscles, lungs... heart... so tight.

I walk to the edge.  I look left and right.
Motored metal roaring past.
The darkest tunnel.  I see a light.
It draws nearer, coming at last.

I walk to the edge.  In a garage.
Motored metal, quiet, here.
Key in my pocket, safety's mirage.
Door shut, fume-danger so near.

I walk to the edge.  In hospital cell,
Forehead strikes the wall.
Here after months and years of hell.
"Stop," comes the intercom's call.

I walk to the edge.  Throat forms a lump.
I've stayed off my meds so long.
On back of my head, a long, scar-ish bump.
I was called to this.  They think me wrong.

I walk to the edge.  Tears streak my face.
I've no desire to stay on.
Stay on, I will, in this Journey-Not-Race.
My strength, my vision, gone.

I walk to the edge, many others behind,
Begging me to come back.
I have, on all levels, lost my pained mind.
But peace I, still, so lack.

I walk to the edge.  I turn away,
Knowing tis not the right.
Many may beg me stay,
But I walk by my own sight.

I walk from the edge, seeing you as you come,
Wanting what I have, too.
I know your thought far better that some.
I've another thought for you.

If you walk to that edge and keep on walking,
It will not be your end.
There is life after this life, but what kind?
It depends.

If you take this life and choose to snuff it out,
However miserable you may be,
You'll be far more miserable,
Having harmed your eternity.

I know this.  I know misery.
I've hurt in hell, too.
Find a reason to keep living.  This is
My Deepest Wish For You.

Adam Scott Campbell

Soul-Angel

Sword arm pauses.  War-heat recedes.
Sacred soul-sister silently pleads
For only peace, which never has been.
Only has such been seen within
A soul with the humblest, most basic needs.

That soul I've fleetingly seen before,
Crossing my path when I'd naught left in store-
Nothing to which war-poet may run.
Soul-sister - Soul Angel - seeing poet undone,
Paused, to hand war-poet gold from her Core.

Now that the struggle nears grateful end,
War-poet's Soul-Angel finds him again,
On bloody battlefield, the fallen all round.
He lays still and quiet on stained, grass-less ground
Soul Angel holds his lifeless, talented hand.

"Where go we now, soul-poet?" cries she.
"Where is the hope for two such as we?
Ever you struggle, stumble and cease,
While angels sue to grant another life-lease
To you, hoping someday to bring you to me."

"If there were no God," croaks war-poet.  She starts.
"...then there'd be no hope for dead, shattered hearts.
No love, nor joy.  No sorrow, nor pain.
No wondrous bleach-water for eternal stain.
No creation.  No science.  No need for the arts."

"Just so, dear poet," she breathes in, relieved.
"But it's you has always and ever believed.
I want you to persevere through it all."
"I do.  I shall, though I batter steel walls,
But admit it.  You, also, have always believed."

"True," she smiles gently.  "Tis truth you speak.
No matter how strong, no matter how weak,
I will always have faith that triumph you'll find,
No matter how very far you unwind,
No matter how much life-water you leak."

Soul-poet saved, yet another time,
On Almighty God's e'er- gracious dime,
By angels, whose purity bring me to squint,
Dull, indeed, seem both steel and flint,
Compared to an angel's brilliant soul-shine.

Adam Scott Campbell

Angel, Angel, So Wounded

What did he do?  Tear you apart?
Did he reach into your most sacred heart,
And with the treasures he found hidden there,
Build a fortress, stone walls without,
And lock you out, ere you were aware?

What does he see, once he turns the key?
Do hallowed heart-halls make him wish to flee?
Does Wounded Forever, in the air,
Cause this invader to fall on his face,
On glass floor, in sanctuary-now-lair?

"Wicked wolf, wicked wolf, let her back in!"
I cry to the beast locked deep within.
But wolf, having taken what can't be returned,
Shattered two souls in one evil move.
Was it far too late for wolf to learn?

You, O Wounded angel I saw
Standing soul-shattered with no balm at all,
No healing, no defense where legions should stand,
Blades ready, to defend only you,
God has GOOD things, healing things planned.

No angel, no healer, no wise man writes this,
But God can re-form all your stolen bliss.
Turn, quickly, to The-Hand-That-Wrote-All.
God's Hand can rewrite your future,
From this horrendous fall.

Angel, Angel, so wounded, so pure,
I cannot tell you, "You have to endure."
You shouldn't have to.  But I hope you choose
To keep persevering.
I hope you will choose.

Adam Scott Campbell

You Have A Choice

When you feel so very much that your mind begins to tear,
When every word makes wounds spread over every thought and care,
When those you love, though present, seem too far to touch,
You wonder when you'll know peace, and if it costs too much.

When you feel so very deeply that feeling seems a curse,
When one more drop of hardship makes you feel you are immersed,
When living feels a death sentence, and death, the kindest grace,
You do not know why you try daily to save face.

When feeling people hurts, but not knowing how to shield,
When knowing you were hurting, not knowing how you healed,
When surrounded by hurt, no matter where you turn,
You ache to feel more like them, in hopes that you would learn.

When words you speak, meant to help, cause only further pain,
When all your tidying up leaves only dirt and stain,
When recipients of your good intentions think you full of it,
You have a choice.  You can persevere, or you can quit.

You can quit.  You can lay down in the crummy dirt, to stay.
You can throw away your tomorrows, and finish your last day.
You can turn a blind eye to the others who, round you, lie,
When deep inside you lives someone you know won't stay to die.

You have this choice.  No matter what your state, it's there.
You know what you will do.  You know.  You know you care.
You will get up, fast or slow, but no matter, you'll persevere.
Seconds, or minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or months, or years.

When you get back up, others will still lie around.
Go to just one of them.  Help just one rise from the ground.
That someone, whomever they are, will help you then to heal.
This is the treasure waiting,
For those
Who dare
To feel.

Adam Scott Campbell

Grace

Cross-legged on a mountainside,

Back against a tree,

I feel others nearing

Whom I neither hear nor see.

Though my eyes are open,

I see no one at all.

I care not for comfort.

I wish to hear and heed the call.

I've waited to hear it,

Call to make eternal rhyme.

But long though I have waited,

I know it's not my time.

My mind is onward reaching,

Tendrils sent throughout

All the earth beneath me,

Those who live within and out.

I feel them drawing closer,

Angels, my wound, to heal.

Suffered on the battlefield,

I wished not to feel.

Deepest gash in my right side,

Much life fell therefrom.

While I try to right the scale,

And gain a happier sum.

Hands of heaven, gentle, touch

Where foe's death-blade fell,

In a try to make writer-warrior's

Soul-body well.

Too much life-water lost,

More angels kneel around.

Hands on head, arms, back, chest,

They make not one sound.

But I yet do feel it,

The love they pour inside

Brought from our Heavenly Father,

Love wide.  Eternity-wide.

I'm filled with such soul-balm

I've not felt.  Now I taste.

This, that I might share

This, God's own grace.

This prayer I offer you.

This, Grace shared anew.

Grace, and all God's angels
I beg God to help you, too.

Adam Scott Campbell