Walking down my favorite path,
If in heaven, the Jade would be
The smooth stones reaching up from
The park path, there, mossy
And in brilliant, earthy greens.
The dirt golddust, which in heaven
I'd understand the value of it still
As there I'd walk, and in an eternal spring
The trees in their leaves ever changing
Like they do, in the moment of April and May
When the leaves are at once new, 
And worlds seem new yet again,
But still, impress upon the imagination
Familiarity. The golddust beneath
Our feet, and blue granite pebbles
In their blues and black stripes would be
The least of the stones, and Jade
And Turquoise, and Citrine,
And Agate, and Calcite
And Chrysoprasus and Chrysolite
And Chalcedony and Beryl,
With golden sedimentary rocks
Infused with bits of Quartz 
And Corundum and every color Diamond.
We shall know the value of these stones
While walking down our park paths
And the trees of life shall bear their fruit
Which upon every maple like branch
Shall be twelve kinds of pear or apple or peach
Or even a pinecone of the taste like candy wafers.
The bells shall give forth their twelve fruits
Every season changing, and like walking into new worlds--
The smell of the woods fragrant, in many different perfumes.
Keep an eye out in Late April and mid May
For the moment the trees are full
And it is like walking through a new world.
In heaven, it shall monthly be like so
But just like April and May
Impress upon us a sense of familiarity
Always with new colors to see, new plants
New habits of the natural fauna;
But no death or decay.
The rain shall be living waters
And bring a new color to the forest on some days---
As rain accentuates a forest and makes brilliant colors seen---
And all that is there shall feed upon life.

My dad told me all the hard stuff.
There were hermaphrodites.
That catholic Nuns used to get pregnant 
And commit infanticide.
That the church was full of hypocrites.

Sometimes I wonder if that's not the evangelist we need
Is one who's not a prude, but tells us things
From a based perspective.

Sure, my dad blasphemes every day watching the ball games;
Sure, he's a little bit rude and can be bullheaded.
Sure, he says a lot of the same things every day
And there's the lament of America...
But even that lament of America has helped shape me.
The fact that my country isn't perfect
And I think those pillars of true faith
In the face of strange realities
Is what Christians need.
So, I am that evangelist
As certainly Christ is true regardless.
Why? Because He spoke what was our conscience
And even the Old Testament--if you can be truthful--
Speaks, as we truly do have it in our hearts to destroy the malignant.

On a winding road of golden-rod brick
I happen upon the entrance to a tall city;
It's jacinth towers rise, and in-between
Them are markets---where no money is needed---
The buildings rise like leaning emeralds
With a hazy hues of cherry red;
The baker's trough is there, and the delicatessen.
They plucked the truffles from the ground
And the fungi, and the lichen, and there it tastes
Like the umami of meat, and the savor
And the texture, and the cuts are so choice.
There is something like salt and spice there
But new flavors as yet unheard of and unseen;
The sausage ground from fungi, and the skins from fruit rinds;
The cheeses made from the exotic kine that come from all around.
Roasted in their ovens, the smell of the fungi wafts of something new.
The kine are interested in it, and come from the open fields
Of grain, from their eternal grazing, to eat.
The emerald towers raise, and I whist myself 
Into the air, and fly high, higher, higher
Until I meet the face of a massive clock tower.
There, its second hand ticks to the rotation of a whole universe---
Its minute hand ticks, and its hour...
Its face is inlaid with precious golden lapidary, 
And my Hephzibah is beside me---for I am never alone here.
And I feel perfect peace, perfect joy, perfect love...
And I am dwelt by Christ's righteousness,
So I have the eternal free will, to choose righteousness at all times.
For, my body cannot sin, nor can my mind, nor can my heart.
I am fully indwelt by the Spirit, so I cannot fall like Satan did.
I cannot rebel, for I am made one with the Holy Ghost and Word
And am fully embodied by the Spirit's Truth, so I, in my consciousness,
Cannot sin, but will, with the full awareness of choice
Like I have right this very moment, eat, drink, merry
And partake of heavenly wonders which this book cannot describe.

First, there was flourishing, and peace in every corner of the world.
Then, the LORD reigns in our hearts, but His holy ordinance dies in our hearts---
Then, a fire explodes of hypocrisy in worship--so unholy--and it burns the people with sin.
Then, there is the repair. But it becomes costly, and wears down the soul.
Because hard times come, the rocky soil of your neighbors and friends wane, so with it yours.
And new politics arise, which must be made room for, and out with the old politics of Christ.
Then, fewer and fewer are found upon the Earth, to be blessed or holy, and one starves for company.
Then, at last, the faith is sold to the Roman City, and it sits in disrepair.
Then, at last, all the devils and demons come, 
And throw what is holy upon the floor and break the stain glass windows.
And that is how the Church dies.
I use nosisms, but do not mean me. As a Christian does.

Remember heaven will be even better than this:

I walk down the forest path, as the trees are in their mid fruit.
Every tree, and many varieties of them, bear their fruits.
Heavenly scents of the flowers and tree barks perfume the air.
The dust is gold, with rocks of Unakite, Pink Howlite, Turquoise
Coral, Carnelian, Amethyst and Jade.
Boulders, in their unpolished form spring up;
The tree's bark is textured, like a bark
With their variegated shaped leaves
Deep rooted in the golddust. The bells, and pears, 
And shapes of the fruit, growing from the shrubs
And wildflowers, and the grasses made into bread;
Many colors, as the insects fly--every insect
Killed by a Christian comes to Heaven---
And they glow as fireflies, and are harmless
With prisms upon their bellies;
And each makes a distinct honey, from the least to the greatest
Which the kine that feed upon the heavenly grains, 
All different manner, which men had slaughtered for the holy offerings
Or had eaten--every beef a Christian ate, comes to heaven too--
And there they feed upon the grass, and make milk
For all animals, from the reptile to the bird to the dog,
Make milk, and they make heavenly milks for cheeses
And holy drink, and mixed with honey, it is decadent.
I go through the woods, and find
The river of God, and behind me is Mount Zion
Sprawling 12,000 furlongs tall,
As high as the distance from Earth to the Moon;
It is a pearlescent Gold, of Red and Green
Like Jasper Stone, the ancient rocks tall
Bending inward where I would stand upon the waters.
A bridge, likenened of the path goes over
With trees planted atop it---like in Germany---
And so I walk over the forested path, surrounded by trees and the oceanic rivers
And I walk for days--which feel like minutes for I am so old--
And I come upon a house, with triangular architecture
Born from wood made from the Tree of Life---
As durable as Iron---and the gems like the rock
And boulders around her house, are as strong as Brass.
Unbreakable, and I open the door, and there,
See the waterfalls of my Mimi's house,
And the onyx and marble tiles, and the inlaid
Roof buttressed and painted by Michelangelo.
I walk into her room, and she descends the stairs
Smiling, and in her dawning raiment
Of her most precious righteousness---
Like being at her house as a child, the warmth and kindness
And love that surrounded her then, I feel it there
Which is only made by God's Holy Blessing--
And she dawns it, in such radiant colors I can't even describe.
She descends the staircase from her kitchen,
And we embrace, and my Hephzibah is there beside me
As the two speak on issues of Heavenly Politics--
Which are the joys of the Saints, and the carols sung
And the great carnivals:: and sorceries defeated on Earth.

Oh, why is there such pain 
And anguish in the world? 
If not to cry out, "There must be a better one!"

How do we get there? 
Christ, Christ has the answer... 
"Live well, believe on Him, and rest on His divine Power."

Lost is the art, the sacred at I want it, so I make it

Speak in the nuances of the soul I believe it, so it is.

Speak the truth, in passages of the purple hoar of the mountain crest I want it, so it is.

Bring silence, whispers, and see what is real I make it because I want

to.

I have seen, over my few years
Men destroyed by scripture.
I have seen men go astray
Who were once very good.
I have seen children abused
By preachers, and women raped.
I have seen the sick cast into hell
Because there was no voice of wisdom.

I do not know why some men
Are pursued all their life by truth;
And for some reason they listen.
I do not know why.
And some men, never hear a sound word
Until it is far too late.
I do not know why.

I do not know why,
Those professing to be sound
Believe the word of God
And do not try its wisdom.
They preach a false gospel
That is so popular right now
And try to win souls like a cult
To bring men into the fold
By simply telling them,
"I'll lead and you blindly follow."

I have seen men destroyed by shepherds
Priests, evangelists, even the Holy Bible itself.
I do not know what protects one man
And damns another.
But, I have been bequeathed with a full Gospel
And I know the truths of scripture with my every absolute breath.
I know every moment in history
And have compiled it, and tested it
And seen it's true. I have tested every Word
Spoken by my LORD, and found them faithful.
I do not know how it came to me,
And not to many of you.