I taught myself to believe
That you were better than that
That you were not the guy everyone told me you were

I taught myself to believe
That you're mistakes were not the usual you
That you were actually really nice

I taught myself to believe
That you were a genuine boy
And when push came to shove, you cared about me

I taught myself to believe
That you were perfect
And that everything would be wonderful if I could call you mine

But after all that teaching
I learned that I was wrong

Resurrection


When the seas, all seven, align and combine,
To form one tide, do you believe we have a selection, to
Reside, hide and remain alive?
Or is that our mind tryna confide,
In our own made lie, afraid to die?
If the angels rein down a path to heaven,
I wish to accept, find, listen and abide,
Until I arrive.
Once I’ve arrived at my final destination,
Only then will I quit the investigation,
Quit the pacing,
Where thoughts are constantly racing.
End of days where I communicate,
Debate and question every nation.
An owl of silent observation,
Mixed with a perfection I can imagination,
To relate,
To create,
And modulate,
An exhilarating answer to the allegation,
Fact or fiction,
Which is resurrection?
Such unbelievers, who claim afterlife is an illusion,
Unaware that they are too, just bait,
Heading straight,
Into the great,
Hands of fate.
The weight of the truth,
And proof,
In representation of resurrection,
Cannot be ignored, just like an antique china plate,
Or a mate,
Who’s at times, difficult to tolerate.
It’s inevitable,
So renumerate,
Your pure self, and reinstate,
Circumnavigate,
To the Golden Slate Gate.
Enter your new estate,
Where you are enchanted with the power of illumination.
Before you can await,
The glorious one who turns death into rebirth,
Giving your soul a chance to resurrect,
Recreate, and once again illuminate.





Natasha .K. Bailey

It’s crazy to say
That I once believed in God
He seemed so real to me
What happened?
Did I fall
From imaginary grace?
Was something there
At all?
Searching for answers
Imbedded in my skin
All I find
In the lines
Are more questions

I believe what is true but knows not truth
Instead I feel truth is what I believed
Most believe what they feel, instinctively
But I, without reasons, cannot believe

Alas reasons found on self evidence
As in what is and is not cannot be
Conjectures they are if truly honest
But axioms worked in all mathematics

Is truth then not of reason but of faith?
For does not ear test words as tongue tastes food?
Surely then we do have some means to know
Even so, must not faith be tested true?

For faith is circular: a conviction
Compelled by strength and conviction of will;
A will constrained, by flesh, susceptible
To unknown beings in spiritual realms

But what if this being is God? And faith,
Conviction of the certainty of things,
Holy Spirit’s gift, marking election,
Affirming justification in God.

Truth by two or more witnesses is sure
Do we attest the Holy Spirit true?
A blasphemous thought perhaps, but prophets
Led to lie to kings and shown to be false.

Thus ignorant sages showed assurance
Lies solely in God’s grace, mercy and love
And in his faithfulness to the elect
Declared in Israel again and again

In my search for truth, I was led to faith,
The faithfulness of God, truth’s ultimate rock
His gifts unchanging, irrevocable
And confirms the fear of the Lord is truth