I’ll always be a poser. A loser at heart. The inside is broken. The outside’s a frame. I do it all in Jesus’ name. Fame brings no fortune. And fortune, no fame. The elements twisting. Aligning the game. Run for the hills in Jesus’ name. I’ve always been homeless. A wandering soul. Jealous of nothing. Yet wanting it all. Find contentment in Jesus’ name. Peace brings no freedom. And freedom, no sleep. The contention still lives. It always remains. Til’ the trump sounds in Jesus’ name. Can you value the future? Surrender the past? Love what’s leftover? Relinquish the masks? Just lay them down in Jesus’ name.
White picket lines of peaceful persuasion
Cannot undo the cost of invasion
Endless fine lines of baser perversions
Weakened strains of moral conversions
Flawlessly wielding falsified searches
What will become of us all?
Cold, calculating meaningless data
Hiding underneath the smiling strata
Clinging to less fortunate ideas
Laughing, dragging, while dreaming of sions
Intricate veins coursing with curses
What will become of us all?
Meanwhile, one white robed throng preaches the Writ
Tenaciously keeping holy flames lit
Falling valiant, bleeding from vicious slits
Ten thousand swords critically slashing hits
Battered, beleaguered saints climb past ashen fritz
What will become of us all?
One bright light pierces the eastern sky
A triumphant shout falls from mountain highest
One brilliant white horse gracefully flies
The armies of Heaven closely aligned
Every blood-stained voice shouts toward the sight
What will become of us all?
They twist and turn in the lamplights glow Whether friend or foe we do not know Tomorrow's ghosts above and below They are tellers of yesterday's truths The woven tales are not of their making The chains they clutch hellishly shaking With fingers pointed and backs aching They are tellers of yesterday's truths Consequences near or far removed Only delayed by time unreproved Their only intent is life improved They are tellers of yesterday's truths Can I deter my own convictions Interfere with mystic magicians Paving way for faulty suspicians For the tellers of yesterday's truths Holding onto hope like slippery pearls My tenderized heartache twists and twirls Fading memories chasing unkept trails From the tellers of yesterday's truths This transformation isn't complete Little changes building faith so sweet Ground thumping with irregular beats For the tellers of yesterday's truths May tomorrow's ghosts see helpless grace Arrogance gone like a broken vase Reckless demons falling out of place For the tellers of yesterday's truths
I’ll take you to the gates of Hell I’ll show you what’s there It’s a horrific, sadistic, gaudy affair With twisted metals and steep swirling stairs I’ll take you to the throne of Death I’ll show you the way It sits atop the fork of two great lakes One called disunion, the other disgrace I’ll take you to the bowels of Hades I’ll show you who’s there The liars, the lied-to, ordinary faces With haunted red eyes and bent bloody feet I’ll take you to the edge of Sorrow I’ll show you the pain The broken, intrepid, intricate traces Longing to find relief yet complacent I’ll take you to the verge of Salvation I’ll show you the plan The death, the water, the rush of language Choice determines the end destination
A Brief Introduction
Daemonium Avi is a narrative poem based on an actual event that took place in the parking lot of my church. Daemonium is the Latin word for demonic, and avi is the Latin word for bird. I believe the title accurately describes the subject of the poem. Demonic Bird seemed to carry more gravitas in Latin. Plus, what is poetry without a little dramatic flair? However, the contents of this poem are true, and no dramatization could adequately capture the intensity of the spiritual encounter. Hopefully, poetically sharing this moment will remind others that the supernatural invades the natural more often than we realize. And that a person filled with the Holy Ghost has authority over satanic fear tactics. Resistance in the name of Jesus will cause the enemy to flee (James 4:7).
The car door thudded a final thump Keys rattled and clanked against A coffee cup of metal and steam It wafted tantalizingly in the sun Arms and elbows full of daily chores I fumbled around opening the door When a blackbird perched nearby Lifted a guttural unearthly cry Startled, I turned to see this beast Could this blackbird really speak Yes, it stared angrily towards me You’ll never win it screamed and shrieked God doesn’t care, and your faith is too weak I swallowed a lump lodged in my throat How did this brute steal my hope This blackbird wasn’t a bird at all Something sinister was truly involved Suddenly I noticed it’s crooked wing Hanging as if lodged by a string The bird spoke again, but this time it sneaked One step, then two, nearer it creeped Blurred vision, my head spinning ‘round My voice thickened to master a sound I knew this fowl was not Heaven sent A single prick of light suddenly hit The warmth of courage filled me up From head to toe, I shivered and shook Words tumbled out from somewhere below In Jesus’ name, be gone, thou devilish crow
It was not hard but rather easy standing on the glittering edge of Truth. “Of this thing, I am almost persuaded,” he gestured with an elusive wave of the hand. And with that unholy utterance, a heavy silence blanketed the thronging crowd. Just like that, the chasm between error and eternity widened its dark gaping mouth.
Yet, self-delusions are only illusions that become more elusive with each passing year. “What is Truth?” the tyrant cried while neurotically washing his blood-stained hands. But the Truth was a man standing tall before his gaze with thorns pressed against His brow. A God-man-king who refused to win His Kingdom with swords or mechanisms of man.
“Are you a king?” the petty tyrant sneered, to which the God-man-king replied with ease. “My kingdom is not of this world, and anyone belonging to Truth listens and obeys My voice.” The seed thudded against the soil, but some rock, some thorn, some unseen hand snatched. Little did the tyrant know how close to the warm glittering edge of Truth he stood that day.
A whisp of wind, the chirping of a phone, the struggle of a long day ever pulls our minds away. Away from thoughts that matter beyond the scope of this finite earthly existence. “There is no Truth but this one truth that there is no Truth.” They shout from ivory towers. They shrug and smirk at their own paradoxical claims knowing something isn’t quite right.
Yet, they stroll into the darkness without pausing to examine the glittering edge of Truth. There are fakes, and fake fakes, and fake fakes of fakes, but it does not dimmish the diamond’s gleam. Some follow Truth with doubts. Others follow lies with faith. “Which is better?” The prophets ask. To which the crowds respond, “We have no answer except to follow our feelings forward.”
Forward into the darkness, their feelings lead them into pits of despair formerly unknown. A sudden light appears between fanciful dreams in the eyes of a boy who has never known joy. “In seeking pleasure, we’ve only found pain. In seeking love, we’ve only found hate.” He cries. He looks to the stars for the first time in forever, and at that moment, he is not alone.
This boy hears the cosmic heartbeat and feels the breath of the God-man-king move across his skin. This is it! The moment we each will find before we die, an otherworldly encounter. The forlorn boy closes his eyes and cries, “Am I really standing on the glittering edge of Truth?” He was, and you will too, so when that moment comes, just know, eternity depends on what you do.
A relevant apostolic resource that covers biblical topics of interest, ministry, Christian living, and practical insights hosted by Ryan French. An extension of the popular blog Apostolic Voice (www.ryanafrench.com). Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/support
Everything meant to break us made us stronger than we were before.
Every fear meant to freeze us made us braver than we were before.
Every lie meant to ensnare made us wiser than we were before.
Every dream we thought was dead is bigger and better than it was before.
Every sad song became a worship medley in the playlist of our lives.
I remember when we talked and you cried tears of joy and healing was in the sky.
Our hearts soared to spiritual heights as realizations of love filled our eyes.
I remember when you took my hand and asked if we would always be alright.
I knew then that God would always be at the center of our lives.
He took broken puzzle pieces, trampled-twisted; flipped them around, and made masterpieces with them.
Every hurt meant to embitter made us better than we were before.
Every hit meant to bruise made us bolder than we were before.
Every strain meant to drain us made us fuller than we were before.
Every chain meant to enslave made us freer than we were before.
Every fallen tear became a bubbling brook in the landscape of our lives.
I remember when the sun stood still and your eyes grew wide as strong winds beat against us for the very first time.
Life did what life does and pain tried to quench the light but you grabbed my hand and held on tight.
That was far from the last time but it was a beautiful beginning to a wonderful life.
“Every sad song became a worship medley in the playlist of our lives.“Tweet
God takes broken puzzle pieces, trampled-twisted; flips them around and makes masterpieces with them.Tweet
Ep. 70 | Why Pray If God Already Knows? & Twix Popcorn Good, Gross, Great – Apostolic Voice with Ryan French
- Ep. 70 | Why Pray If God Already Knows? & Twix Popcorn Good, Gross, Great
- Ep. 69 | Should Christians & Pastors Be Involved in Politics? with David Tipton (MS District UPCI Superintendent), Pumpkin Oreos Good-Gross-Great with the Brocks, Sister Rachel Cole & French Fam
- Ep. 68 | The Asbury Revival: A Word of Caution (Support Your Local Revival) with Timothy Hadden
- Ep. 67 | Six Dating Standards for Apostolic Singles with Taylor French, Relearning Love (Poem)
- Ep. 66 | Praying In Tongues with Dr. Talmadge French, Ryan Raw & Real (YouTube Kids, Is Coming For Your Kids) with Jonathan French
The burden of Truth is heavy. Sometimes it feels like too much to bear. The weight of knowledge is forever. It grips the heart with an icy stare.
Wondering soldiers know that home is elusive. They search for solace, yet it’s just not there. They look for hope in the strangest places. They search for kindness in angry faces.
The burden of Truth is an honor to carry. It hurts much more than we show or share. The cost of honor is expensive. It takes a toll yet most don’t care.
The dutiful soldier knows something of pain. A lesson that most have never retained. Opposition to Truth brings death to the soul. So, to the Truth we tenderly hold.
Dear one remember that life is a vapor. It’s not what we’re feeling that matters the most. For hearts are deceitful and often don’t know. It’s where we are going that matters the most.
Dear one remember that life is a vapor. It’s not what we’re feeling that matters the most. For hearts are deceitful and often don’t know. It’s where we are going that matters the most. #apostolicvoice #ryanfrenchTweet
What we touch today might be gone by tomorrow. Making the burden of Truth a blessing most hallowed. For what we can’t see will endure beyond sorrow. And, the depths of despair are blessedly shallow.