Commissioning Days

I have the taste in my mouth
The same smell of soap
That I recognize from the hospital

Sheer edge am I on, cold collects
On my arm, indelibly do they 
Look at me, scratch artists, collecting
Their due, dew rises from the hairs
Scared and scared again, I shiver
In my bed, the slender window
Rocking fro, aglow with the Spirit
So dear to me, gleefully we
Then it's back to madness, gladness
Has departed, started the engines
Ablow of minds ago went straight 
Down, wedding gowns go unbought
As the thought of ending possesses
The wrought and the whimless

Happiness cost less than prison meals
Meatballs and spaghetti on wheels
I trill, thrilling at the taste of relief
My nose bleeds, literally, over and
Over and over again, spending the
Day and the night over Glory and
Wrent dreams that died before they
Were ever born, I was not forlorn
But close to the edge, sheer shorn
Up the torn river bed, I said, If this
Is hell then I might as well be dead

These were my commissioning days
I could not see Jesus but I saw enough
To say, I might as well be dead. If this
Is hell, I am going back to bed, the 
River styx is all in my head, the red
Dragon, that devil, has bled, I tore 
Him up in the shower drain, toilet 
Paper, constipation, laxative warfare
My gain being the retreating of a
Storm that never began before it was
Ever born. Birth certificate, already
Said, 999 did it read on the creed
Written on my arm, charming little
Trinket they used to track me, accordingly
Do my friends suspect the government
To have spent the low and the high day
Searching us, plus the garden beyond the
Window speaks of people going
To and fro, 

I remember touching a tree
As though eternity had just
Released me.

High fence around our common defense
Basketball, our favorite pastime, passed
The time playing, you guessed it, Basket
Ball. 

Basket Ball. Christ was with me through it
All. Nurses dressed in blue and gall did
I swallow every hour that would follow
The cramping and the swamping of my
Head, red was the pain, I gained some
Friends I never called again.

I love the Holy Spirit, but obviously His
Enemies do not love me. And why should
This be? Because I hate them too. After
What they did to me? Or are rather,
DOING. DOING. DOING. CONSTANTLY.

Jesus is with me. Always does He
Comfort me. Comfort me. Comfort me.

Thank you, Lord. For saving me.

Blessings, Luke.

This is very personal, the gist is all I received.
But it really challenged me...when I stopped trying to "understand/comprehend" it and just allowed it to "be" and accepted it as a "gift" given freely.
It flowed beautifully...

I know exactly what you mean, I consider this as part of my testimony. Really love you brother!

In time it will unfurl more clearly. That was not a poem but many in one.
In due time...from the "one" will be birthed many.
Sometimes I've filled notebooks trying to say one thing, then when it happens the entire notebook becomes obsolete just raw material to draw new ideas from, years later it will seem fresh and new again.. But rarely ever again a stand alone piece.
Keep em' comin' Bro'!
From Abraham..."many Nations".

Thank you brother.