Toil.

From dramatic, face contorting,

out of your mind, torment...

To the mundane, can not TAKE this anymore,

everyday bleakness;

comes a ferocious word called:

TOIL.

Must it be my constant companion?

It follows like a shadow of death,

In the valleys of life,

And the peaks of mountains.

Even in the sweat soaked throngs of victory over summits,

Toil is lingering, not far behind.

Even when I am content or even ecstatic,

I can see it watching me from the sidelines.

Waiting for weakness.

Am I not supposed to be comfortable and content?

Euphoric and plump?

Painful toil will be with us all the days of our lives.

We are the descendants of the first Adam.

Ask him of toil.

Ask him of torment, bleakness, euphoria and loneliness.

Ask Adam of separation.

I accept my challenge of toil and hope,

Flesh and spirit,

Cautiously leaning on the promises.

The Good Thief.

A good thief in the night

is like a lamb in lion's clothing.

Not to take possession of things but of hearts.

To steal away from this world of lies,

And give to the rich in spirit.

Who is the opposite of Robin hood 

but The Good Thief.

This world rejects what is to be taken.

But will not want to relinquish, out of spite.

This One of richest spirit is not in need,

But wants the hearts and minds and souls.

This thief is like a lion in sheep's clothing.

Some homes will be gently picked through

Like a antique dealer at a garage sale.

Others will be cleaned out

like a Good Curator in a gallery of clay pots 

masterfully formed, strengthened,

glazed and kiln fired.

Some lonely homes will be left alone.