Black Velvet Curtain

This is a poem written by my husband a few months into his eyes being opened to the truth.  At the time, I was still trying really hard to stay asleep (it was just too overwhelming) so the poem did not really make sense to me.  Since then, we both had forgotten about it actually until today when the Holy Spirit brought it to my mind out of nowhere. This time when he read it aloud, with eyes opened…it made complete sense and I knew I had to share.

 Black Velvet Curtain

The hour of reckoning is near.
Time and space collided fear, fusion in awakened minds of we.
From the beginning of the beginning, we now comprehend.

The vastness is connected to the velocity
and the velocity is connected to the void
and the void is no longer…..
The sleeper has awakened.

Hopelessly hidden,
faithfully forbidden
from behind black velvet veil.

Lurking behind,
evil blinds binding with lies.
Pitch darkness dwells with spindly spires
and wretched reeking stench.

The Shadow Show,
a fantastical flurry, slight of hand,
misdirected magic, ringmaster man.

Handsome hawker, fast talker,
sterling tongued tactician.
Subtle spin, wriggly wondering word play.

Kaleidoscopic confectioneries
coat meaningless menagerie,
distracting illusions whilst the deviant devourers prey.

Precious child feeble family stoke steamy stews
never extinguishing voracious vipers.

Wealth no longer satiates the soulless seeds greed.
Influential power is their only noxious need.
Nevermore! Nevermore!
Crows the cast-away’s and societal in-sane.

From darkest depths of despair comes redemption rebirth.
Just as planned precipitously serendipitously
Torsion time compression expression curls and hurls us to the predestined path.
From the beginning of the beginning
Word, Our loving Father, Creator.

The sleeper wakens woefully,
blurry sight stinging bright white.

Teary eyes wide,
focusing to finally see,
what first-time forgotten, me.

Deja Vu views,
knee bending seas,
arm raising trees,
familiar soft smells,
green cool grass tingling toes.

In the wistful windy hills bells toll,
synapse spark, memories flow.
I now know,
I am Home.

© Michael Black 2012

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