Roses, Thorns, and Angels with Horns.

It's easy to call that fully open and delicate rose beautiful when you haven't been cut by its thorns. 

That transparent sky is a beauty too until it blackens, swells and mourns. 

Those galaxies are fascinating to examine with your naked eye.

Lovely to behold but never to touch. If you could stretch so far, you'd die. 

The chaos raging in those galaxies would rip all of your breath out of your chest. 

How lovely the wine! But not the grape that has been stomped and pressed. 

Every beautiful beholding has come through an immeasurably great price. 

The salvation of a human soul in exchange for a Holy God's life. 

To experience the freedom of forgiveness like a flood. 

To realize those redeeming waters that wash you consist of innocent Blood. 

It's easy to call that fully open and delicate rose beautiful when you haven't been cut by its thorns. 

It's easy to believe in angels, but hard to believe in the ones that grew horns. 

You call my mind beautiful. Consider that it has been pricked and that it bleeds. 

You see my great strengths. Consider that I have great needs. 

You see this humble man and great King and you desire to be like Him.

Just don't forget He left His Kingdom to die and become sin. 

You marvel at the ocean and its unsearchable depth.

Just don't forget that those waters fill cavities on this earth where bottoms can't be met. 

You're in awe of the stars as they dance and burn for you. 

Just don't forget the chaos, the violence and fury they exist through. 

It's easy to call that fully open and delicate rose beautiful when you haven't been cut by its thorns. 

How desirable is a covenant, but who sees the turmoil to fight for oaths that have been sworn?

You see His glory in my life. You see power and you see light. 

Don't be fooled to believe such things come without a violent, private fight. 

To everything there is a season and to every season there is a purpose.

If your stem is rigid and you see thorns growing, don't be nervous.

Your bloom is on the rise. Your petals are coming.

You may hear the wolves howling in the night, but tomorrow the birds will be humming. 

You saw him cross the finish line, but you never tasted his sweat.

You watched her conquer her demons, but those demons you've never met. 

You see the sun but you've never asked it about its violence and rage.

You wait for its warmth, but you're oh so far from the blaze. 

You see the moon but you've never asked it how it feels to be the lesser light.

You see the beauty of one who has surrendered to another's might. 

It's easy to call that fully open and delicate rose beautiful when you haven't been cut by its thorns. 

It's easy to desire to be the King until you're the one everyone scorns. 

Every beautiful beholding comes with thorns and fights and pains.

This is why you must see beauty in your own battles and shames. 

Your thorns cut, but all beautiful things were designed with weapons.

The brightest butterfly is filled with poison for any predator that threatens. 

Don't hate your struggle. Don't hate the song your life is working to compose. 

Don't hate your thorns. With them, you're a beautiful rose to behold. 

Roses are red. Bruises turn blue. 

God has said, "To death, I love you." 

Ceilings and Walls

I lay here and, like a crazy person, I stare at this ceiling. 

I hate it! I hate everything it represents! Limit setting and destiny stealing. 

It pretends to keep me safe from the storms and the rain.

But what can it do for the hurricane in my soul? It can never protect me from life's turmoil! This pain! 

It tells me I'm small, I'm insignificant and most assuredly, I'm insane. 

It tells me about all the boxes, boundaries and borders in my brain. 

My eyes move and my disdain grows as I stare at these walls.

We stay safe inside these toy boxes like G.I. Joes and Barbie Dolls. 

They send me silent messages, and they tell me so many lies.

They tell me I'll be here forever, boxed in, until my heart dies. 

Where are all the roses? Where's the priest? Because I'm in a casket.

This life with walls and ceilings... Dead Man, you can have it. 

Where's the rest? Where's the peace? 

Because I'm laying in a grave.

Serving these walls and ceilings... Dead Man, you can be their slave. 

I clench my teeth. Tears sting. My jaw is stern.

Through me, these ceilings and walls have a lesson to learn. 

You can't persuade everyone. You can't get into every head. 

Not everyone is going to sleep in the bed of complacency until their dead! 

NOT ME! Call the doctor! I've lost it. Yeah, I'm finally free.

I've lost your lies. I've lost your threats. I've lost all your seeds. 

I know. You worked hard to sow. But with all my might, I let go. 

This ceiling is far too low, and these walls move far too slow. 

I can't succumb to these ceilings and walls. 

I'm not made of plastic like Barbie Dolls. 

There's blood in my veins, and it's boiling hot!

It triggers my brain and reminds me what you're not.

You're not my friend, and you're not my forever.

You're not my standard, and you're not my never. 

You don't set my limits. You are not my end.

You can't keep me kept. We'll never blend. 

I won't be drugged or hypnotized. 

I won't be numbed or desensitized. 

Dead Man, you can keep this silence, this space, and these ceilings and walls. 

I'm too alive for this bondage. I choose the prison of Paul. 

Dead Man, you can have this safety, this protection, and this covering. 

My lungs have too much air for all of that smothering. 

I'm out. I gotta go. I'm leaving you behind. 

I'm out growing and out living these ceilings and walls in my mind. 

It's time for me to taste the sky you kept me from seeing.

It's time for me to encounter the life you've kept me fleeing. 

Ceiling and Walls, just promise me one thing of our time together.

Hold my story in your paint, and forget me never.

When another radical who is boxed in stares at you and hopes for more.

They'll see my story in your paint, and they'll run for the door.