The AfterThoughts

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of Ancient Voices

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there is no doubt, as to the relevancy of these words that have flown from this hope-hammered heart of mine, nor is there any lack of immediacy, in passion or purpose, as to my ever-present need, want, deservance or desire to cast them upon every stream of consciousness that has ever run the gamut of ordinary day-to-day existence . . .

or to ply my oars among the tepid shallows of every waveless emotional backwater of antipathy, or uncertainty, or down-right avoidance of commitment or conviction, that has ever caused our collective voice to stammer or quake, in untold and unheard echelons of timeless abandon . . . having marched for Eternity across these night-shrouded millennia, in the up-to-the-present hope of earning just one, single, blessed moment of significance in God’s grand and so mysterious design . . .

and still, I wait for this tireless echo to escape, unfettered and unforsaken, from this shell of immense and undeniable potential, to journey back into the depths of Heaven from whence it came, and now clad in the armor of a most righteous intent, to bear witness, and to bring wonder, into the very source of the very reason that its essence, was ever so inevitably required . . .

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 *      *      *

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there are times when I read what I have wrought, and I still wonder . . . who exactly was this essence, this traveler, this solitary voice, whose echo rings within me still, yet whose substance is but a whisper of a wisp of Hope . . . for all that was written, all that was portrayed in undeniable memory of what Was, is so loosed upon the world in such chaotic disarray, that I am in awe, only because of its former self, and its never-ending capacity to capture again my fear-weary heart . . .

and to cause my trembling hand to grasp this once almighty pen, that scorched these very words with a lightning’s dance across even the devil’s own diary, and once brought the Stars to a standstill, to witness, and to wonder, of the death of Innocence, the resurrection of Forgiveness, and the birth of an empire, called Love, Again . . .

yes, who was this desperate soldier of Fate’s forgotten fortunes, in whose hand was held, all the destinies of men? . . .

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*      *      *

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and how loud must I scream, or how softly do I whisper, and what words do I pour forth, that have not already been issued in every conceivable manner, and in every possible arrangement, including those constructs not yet recognized within fashionable modes of our social or cultural expression, though are fully and irrevocably placed forever into the timeline of the reign of the Son of God . . .

all of which, by the surety and substance of Faith alone, demand to be made one with the designs and desires of this God, and, by virtue of each and every dream, hope, prayer or wish that exists within all the souls of all Creation, that they remain vivid and inviolate by the sheer power of their courage and conviction . . . and, that they need not still suffer even a single spasm of uncertainty regarding their purpose, place, or path within this Universe, from this very moment on, until each and every moment, has finally come to pass . . . 

 

as Ever,

 

 IH

 

March 20th, 2014

Pawleys Island, SC

 

 

from The Voyage of KingsA StoryTeller’s Dream

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The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller's Dream

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buy the new Digital and Print Editions on Amazon and Barnes&Noble

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