The Source

I

I write, finding on my own The Wisdom of Solomon.
I read Sirach and The Wisdom of Solomon
And it is like I myself had written it.
That is why I know the Apocrypha is not scripture;
But that is also how I know my writing is not demonic.
It is inspired by wisdom and truth.

Should Dante, or Milton, or Austen
Or Tolstoy, or Chesterton, or Lewis
Be demonically inspired,
Then so also my work, for I Magnify God's law.

I come to the philosophy of Existentialism
Of Epicureanism, of Platonism...
I have help attaining to it.
But, the arguments of C. S. Lewis
I have found, and strengthened.

Yes, there is a little voice in my conscience,
The same one that lets me know what is right or wrong;
It wasn't too long ago, that everyone knew about it.
That is gone in so many---
The voice told me to say that.
It is not audible, a hallucination,
But like a thought, giving me words I sometimes had never known;
Other times, like Malapropisms, which I search for the correct one.
I claim that none of my writing is scripture.
None of it is true, for I am a poet
And work within Vacuous Truths.
I speak in similitudes.

I heard John MacArthur describe
Demonically inspired books.
My hairs stood up,
My heart grew dim.
It is not the peace I know.
My voice is not a demonic apparition.
It is merely the gift of providential utterance;
It has told me of things to come;
It has worked within the fabric of my fingers true words.
If demonically inspired,
If propaganda,
Would I attest to the Divine Christ?
Would I not try to dissuade my reader
From believing in an Omnipotent
Triune God, Who is the Father, Son and Holy Spirit?
Would I say salvation can only come through belief
In this Three Personhood of Deity?
Would I speak of rest,
Or scathe sin in this world?

I do not know why my writing does not get published.
But, it is certainly not by Demonic forces that I have written it.
If The Secret can be published,
And the myriads of books Dr. MacArthur talked about,
Things too disturbing to retell...
Would I be disturbed by it
If I myself had written the like?
No.
Any ghost or supernatural occult thing I would hail
And be mystified by.
Rather, my words are built to heal and turn the world to repentance.
Something much needed in our age of godlessness.
Will I triumph?
No thing I fear more than losing the relationship I have with Christ.
I am willing to be poor and a vagabond if it means retaining my faith.
But, should I be unable to retain faith as a poor man,
Then let me be rich.
If unable as either,
Then let me be fed, and clothed, and sheltered
And no abomination enter into my soul
Nor root of bitterness, nor bark of poison into this soul.

II

There is an anxiety in me...
Having not spoken all.

Hail Britannica came by way of a dream---
How I know not.
Whether by a worm, or drunken chalice of blood
Or by magic I do not know.

What I do know, is that I've asked God
Many times for an Epic Poem.
It is a point of anxiety in me
That I do not know how I dreamt it.

One night, I dreamt of a blue light coming from my bookshelf.
Before I dreamt the story, I remember talking with my friend about it.
I remember asking him what my next work would be.
Whether these things are true, I do not know.
My same friend, I had talked to about the drawer
My dad replaced, and this before it had ever broken.
I thought he was insane, talking about a broken drawer
Which had never broken. Yet, about a year later
The drawer broke, and my dad replaced it.
I remember talking with him,
Whom I hadn't spoken to for weeks.
I also remember seeing myself
At a bookstore, touching a woman I had made into Elora
Wearing the hat I would wear, and the Moccasins I would wear.

What comforts me, is in the words of Solomon
There is a large family who summoned death.
And in Hosea, Death is more prosperous
Than his brethren.
In my dreams, he saw the King's inner chambers,
He made my Epic Poem into a novel---
He even draws me forth to hide his lies.

If you must know, he is the inspiration
For my Doppelganger. He is the inspiration
For my Thirteen Kings...
And I have to dream of this nightmare every night.
Excuse me for writing about it,
For perhaps He is Abaddon himself.
All I know is that I clearly remember
My friend talking to me about a drawer
Being replaced, and lo, the drawer hadn't been replaced.
I remember of talking about this years drought
Last year, a year plenteous with rain
And there could not be a drought at all.

It could just be that I am dreaming these things
As the other night I had dream paralysis
And could hear a woman's voice taunting me.
But, I prayed a weak prayer.

I do not think my source is demonic
As if it were, I would hide these things from you.
I feel like, rather, it is an oppressive force
Attacking me, like an army outside of a besieged city,
And I must use this intelligence to defeat the enemy.

I do not believe I am a god.
I do not believe I am perfect.
Rather, what I believe is simple...
Jesus Christ is the LORD.
I ought to follow His ways;
And I ought to persuade you to follow Him, too.
As any hope for a good life now
Requires your belief as well as mine.
For, if there is oppression because of sin,
My words cannot achieve me the life I desire.
And as is told to Israel, "Take with you words."

The reason I do not believe I'm demon possessed
And that my stories come from Satan
Is that I believe they came from God.
Not as a means to save the world
But simply as a trade comes to any man
Who is an expert at the craft.
Through providential guidance.
And perhaps I have an interesting story to tell.