Choices – A Poem

January 31, 2023March 3, 2023 Ryan A. French

Choices are fragile, necessary things.
Tantalizing, agonizing little things.
Brimming with endless possibilities. 
Accoutrement laced anticipations. 
Funneling into careless cessations. 

The question is asked, “Which way should we go?”
The question echoes, “Does anyone know?”
Arrogance answers, “Just enjoy the show.”
Ignorance answers, “There’s no way to know!”
Malevolence answers, “Don’t rock the boat!”

Yet, choices are tenacious little things.
Creeping through our minds even while we sleep.
Twisting and tunneling deep in our souls. 
Every action straddled with reactions.
Consequences lurk beneath distractions.

They ask, “Is day any different than night?”
I believe that shadows prove the sunshine.
My friend, the sun still burns with fervent light.
The night knows it has but a little time.
And choices we make determine that time.

What Will Become of Us All? – A Poem

December 21, 2022December 26, 2022 Ryan A. French

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?

The Gates of Hell – A Poem

October 25, 2022October 25, 2022 Ryan A. French

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

Relearning Love – A Poem

October 18, 2022November 16, 2022 Ryan A. French

I’ve had to learn,
Not every love comes with an expiration date,
Not every heart comes filled with unrecognized rage,
Not every kind word hides secrets full of hate,
And fate does not control what God creates.

If He is love
then love is good regardless of the pain. 
Perhaps the good is better 
once the hurt has filled our veins. 
Maybe love is worth more than we can explain. 
God gave us hearts that break. 
And grace to put them back together again.

I’m relearning love, and it’s better than it was 
Because love is more than fairy tales 
and pretty songs, beating hearts
simple thoughts.
It’s bigger than castles and kingdoms
demons and dreamers
roses and poems and old dusty speeches.

It’s stronger than iron
colder than frozen glass
and burns like the summer sun.
It’s laughter and tears, turmoil and fear. 
It’s incredibly happy and unbelievably sad. 
It’s anger and madness. 
It’s faithful and kind when things are bad. 
It’s tough in the struggle, a light in the dark. 
A whisper in the wind, a hand 
holding tight 
when the worst possible news steals your breath 
and holds it like a vice.
Love forgets to remember 
and remembers to forgive when it does. 
That’s the paradox of love.
It confronts and contends 
without controlling or pretending. 
It speaks up but never down.

But most of all, it casts out fear. It just throws it out.
It wrestles and fights and grabs it tight 
sometimes from morning to night
until finally, perfect light.
Suddenly, with flashes of godly light
love shines so bright
all traces of darkness vanish beneath its might. 
Finally, fear is forced back 
to Hell from whence it came.

Daemonium Avi (Narratio Carmine) – Demonic Bird (A Narrative Poem)

October 25, 2021October 25, 2021 Ryan A. French

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).

Daemonium Avi

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

The Burden of Truth (A Poem)

December 21, 2019September 25, 2020 Ryan A. French

Ep. 70 | Why Pray If God Already Knows? & Twix Popcorn Good, Gross, Great – Apostolic Voice with Ryan French

Ryan discusses the question: Why pray if God already knows? Does prayer change God's mind, and did God need to repent? All taken from the recent Apostolic Voice article, Why Pray If God Already Knows at http://www.ryanafrench.com. French Fam gathers for a fun edition of Good, Gross, Great rating Twix Popcorn. — Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/support

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 #ryanfrench
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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.