STREAMERS

Skies spellbound spread
their silky cerulean sheets
over the eyes as a sea,
while festoons of an air ivory patches
adorned by gray and tangerine auras
swirl their illumined charms upon the soul.

Softly the zephyr kiss of windswept caresses
brings its brilliant burn of burnished bewitchment
unto the heart with lofty streamers of seduction,
lifting the mind to rise upon a euphoric gossamer thread
and feel the flow in transcending wafts of serenity.

Becoming a feather in the sunning stillness,
allowing the picturesque panorama
a chance to carry thoughts towards reverie’s utopias
dwelling in the dream’s lighthouse landscape.

Slowly and steadily glowing
from the radiance of the splendor’s shimmer,
its mesmerizing visionary enchantment
sweeping over the spirit as wings.

Stirring their plumes of wander
where nomad eyes are open
unto the caravans within the mind,
rebirth’s traveler steps upon the staircase to the sunset
following the silvery reflection of self discovery
that becomes a pilgrimage beyond stagnation.

Message

I’m always amazed at how the human mind works. The capacity to rationalize some sin as being justified.

Or to make a big issue over someone else’s shortcomings while ignoring your own. That is just as bad.

I’ve been dealing with a person who is that way. And it is so sad because the individual tries to don this image of being so forgiving and loving.

Yet in reality it doesn’t take much for the person to display such hate and do it so easily. As if being very practiced.

It is so remarkable how the person can’t even see the message this type of behavior is sending. Hardly one of love or even listening to God.

I think it is always important to keep that fact in mind. That even when we don’t intend it, our witness truly does say so much that way.

Now I am in no way saying I’m perfect. Or that I haven’t done my share of sinning in my life.

But I do try to be honest about it. There are times when it is necessary to mention some problem.

Yet there is a difference in how we share it. We can do it to hate and hurt or to heal and help.

But being human we don’t always have the ability to not do it for the wrong reasons. And that is always made worse when we are not honest.

With this one person I have simply not allowed their hate to force me into acting the same. I have not reacted by doing the same.

And in the process I think the Lord has been able to use it to show the contrast between grace and legalism. And to see how a person who embraces grace is different than who practices their hate with judgmental actions.

All of which is with the hope that others will see the difference. And then be affected by it in a good way.

It really is a hard path to follow at times. For that means not giving into the urge to return pain.

That never ends up with a blessing. But some never will understand it. And for them it will always end with sadness.

Just A Scratch

Wounds that you assume are hidden
as long as you never scream,
rags you collect from scraps of life
as the settle for tokens of scavenger days,
leaving their cuts upon the heart.

Wrapped tightly in the tourniquets
created by the mind
to keep the bleeding from being noticed
even though they strangle and summon agony,
faking a smile to cloak the pain,
though they leave droplets on the floor.

Muttering the words to mask the misery
because the bandages are easy to explain
than what cause the injuries.

Gluing on wings
rented from a sacred costume store
they help forget the darkness
where bare feet walked
into that alley of cut glass,

Playing doctor becomes a habit
far easier to play than telling the truth,
after all the slashes of mistakes will heal
and stub toes of indulgence shall mend,
but shame from self inflicted harm
is never easy to bandage.

Singing Telegrams

The sacred silvery serenades sanctuary
prepared for a celebration cotillion
in honor of their glorious success.

Golden goblets gained for their feast,
speeches in sanctimonious sermonized sagacity
rehearsed to honor the vocalizes deliveries,
every detail meticulously managed
that this musical messenger melody magic
would resound in such tribute
for every song that bellowed at a doorstep.

And as the décor was finally completed
those guardians of voice who ruled the business
felt dismayed that their telegram minstrels
appeared so shabby with faded uniforms.

Because the leaders never had to venture outside
their wardrobe didn’t get bleached by daylight,
so they were forced out of shame
to not allow their workers a chance to attend
this moment of achievement
they had by their labors given birth.

On the wall for their grand event
was place painting of the perfect melodious courier,
his image was bright and colorful garb,
having a whitewashed face
no way resembling the weather beaten profiles
of those who truly did the work.

Deciding at the last minute to hold their party
in the middle of the night
where they could be sure
there was no risk the employees might attend
who were all too exhausted for staying up that late.

Avenues

Life takes so many unexpected journeys. And you always have the ones who want to tell you want to look for.

There is choice in that regard. And there is also the Lord’s will. Somewhere the idea came that being in the Lord’s will is always a prosperous path.

While it is true it will be blessed, it just doesn’t mean it will be prosperous according to our definition.

And it is very hard at times to get everyone to appreciate that truth. They will always blend their desires with the Lord’s will.

This can cause so many problems at time. And it can cause people to come up with some really crazy philosophies.

Plus each one who follows the Lord is set on a path He designs for so many reasons. It is for inspiration, learning, faith and growth.

So since it will vary by person and not have a given set of rule then comparing the avenues can be rather unproductive. In addition at times we need to learn by making mistakes.

What is said is if we take a detour by our own choice and end up messing some will make it sound like it is not their fault. As if there is some crime in making mistakes.

True there are occasions when somebody made have been responsible for our straying, but we still took that road. And accept it can be hard.

Now I admit that I get more than a little annoy with the ones who hold up false signs that lead you in a bad direction and then lie about it. It was my fault for trusting you, but you were the one who held up the sign.

Guilt can make so many act crazy. They can get so in need of excusing their behavior. Like that really helps.

And when they do that it makes it very hard to forgive them. Because you know they will do it again.

This is never an easy avenue to follow. For it will be one that always has problems. And that is a struggle.

Yet at times it is necessary for so many reasons. And to learn from it is the one blessing we all need.

Hopefully we can walk that journey without hate for ourselves or others.

FIreworks

To set the night ablaze
in the burnished twinkle of stellar sights,
is to ignite a cosmos from the brain
shooting sparkles that beguile
and ride them as a spiral within the heart
beyond the terraces of dwelling
where life is a listless layer in lethargy.

But it dies during the eye’s harvest
if it was only a luminous vapors in flashes,
the mirages of suns we dreamed.

All the starbursts we crave
during the light show in our mind
are the auras of what we long to explode
then send rocketing by our hand.

You never appreciate its true essence
as long as you are only fascinated
by a fiery pinprick appearing in the darkness
without wondering about who lit its fuse.

For the real illumination that endures
beyond some eruption that bewitches in a blink
exists the shine within
where the fireworks are made.

Inside will always be the factory
of what can rise to light the sky,
being composed of inner gun powder,
which will reveal its true worth
not just erupted on special occasion,
eventually those gifted missiles of genuine talent
burn long and hot
in steady celebration of value
having more than a temporary ability to impress.

Fabric

Nostalgia’s lace
wrapping mind,
even frayed
it warms the heart.

Sandwiched Hearts

Walls can’t silence the neighbor’s voices,
their sobs and laughter seep into the head,
as heat bakes the thin shelters,
where hearts feel stacked as sandwiches,
sweltering in sweaty and sticky seconds.

Flies form their S trails in the air,
landing on the small and precious hordes
of desperately gleamed provisions,
bartered in anxious trepidation at the marketplace,
praying the fruit and vegetables won’t spoil
before they can be eaten.

Stained and soiled skin clothed in shabby rags,
walk barefoot down the rickety planks
parents and grandparents once trod.
The spirit can feel their ghosts watching
out of the shadows as if still caring and hoping
some freedom will release their descendants
from this legacy of layered poverty.

Yet in the midst of those rancid smells
there is also the song that comes
out of souls who still see the sky
claiming life in the middle of the cramped darkness.

Faith flows with its defiant sounds,
they are heard along with the calming tones of love,
families who cling to each other
gently holding onto the frail framework of survival.

Hope still shines in the sun’s shafts
piercing the cracks in the wooden structures,
creating their patches of white
on the weather beaten textures.

The mind suppresses the vines of depression
while looking into a child’s eyes,
for in all the oppressive air that drains the dreams
inside there still burns a candle
keeping alive the fire to wait for another sunrise.

Grounded

I rode the whispers of her words,
a wafting glide across the sky,
which shined in her cerulean eyes.

My heart felt weightless
within the breath of love,
gasping and moaning,
taking me aloft
far from that prison in my soul.

How she wove her angel feathers
around my mind,
softly and seductively sending me soaring
upon a current of exhaled, euphoric sighs.

As a bird enraptured, I caught the winds
within my dreams,
thinking she was holding a magic carpet
sailing us to an air
where we would never feel the soil
stain our lives with muddied days again.

But I didn’t know how for her
this was just a hot air balloon ride,
a thrill adventure she had taken before
and when the moment came
when my being a passenger
lost its lure in her mind,
she just pushed me out
without a parachute.

Fortunately the feathers that had grown
from thinking I could truly fly
made my descent slow and merciful,
grounded, but this time
not thinking anyone
could make me impervious to gravity.

God's Delight

God’s delight is to shower with love,
by bringing such sweet angels into the world
that a mother would be His blessing
and grace others with His precious gift.

To have the cycle of life be completed
a new tender heart created as daughter
of His many beautiful miracles,
so all could see and be reminded
how much He cares for everyone.

But for the one who give this cherub birth
joy swells when cradling that soul in her arms,
tomorrow will be written in the smiles
gain while guiding her frail one to her destiny.

God's Blanket

In the winter of my soul
when I fell over a drift
of my own creation
I thought not mercy
could ever undo
the stain from my humiliation.

Left bruised and battered
with no one to blame,
but the errors of my own steps,
my wounds bled their sorrow
nothing could seem to stop.

Dwelling where the cold darkness
perennially controlled my heart,
there was no hope in my spirit
that this misery or pain
would ever disappear or be forgotten,
constantly visible
anytime I looked into the mirror.

Then in my deep hole of despair
God’s hands covered me in his blanket
though I knew it was undeserved.

It warmed and healed what I assumed
was my cursed fate for all my wrongs,
knowing it was not a reward
for the wretched nature of my life.

How I cherished this gift
never understanding its blessing,
just accepting that the Lord
truly loved without conditions,
even when we stumble
and have no excuse for our wayward ways.

In The Silence

Oh sweet hush of simple spellbound stares
to see Heaven’s song resound so intently
within the light and sounds of life.
Serenity suddenly sweeping over the soul
being immersed in an entranced view
of the stunning cerulean hues
radiating from the picturesque peaks, waves and sky.

Feeling the sun’s citrine stained streaks
pierce the ivory pillows of the air.
In the silence comes the most soothing caress
by God’s spirit touching with grace’s kiss,
which arises as a mesmerizing sense
over the way He has blessed
every precious face and feature of Mother Earth.

Heart and mind entwine in awe
by faith’s sturdy steadfast stance,
embracing the moment for its inspiration
while His words ring softly within.

A psalm of praise flows from the lips
as one savors the blessed communion
between creature and creator.

Eternity’s breath blows over the mind
from the tangential tides of salvation’s promise,
adrift joyously on that divinely enraptured sea
where happiness is the remembrance
about how all that is before our lives
was made as the Lord’s merciful gift of love.

The Last Dance

Pirouettes of passion
parlayed at reverie’s cotillion
feigning steps that twirl the heart,
ears prime to pierce
the plethora in platonic partner
for the stunning spellbound sounds
created by love’s destined mate,
lacing the reality in soft
zephyr caresses to one’s fingers.

It is when the world fades
into the mesmerizing sway of magnetism
seen in the adoring gaze from the one you know
intently and so completely
is the hand you’ll ever hold
and never want another.

The last dance of loneliness
replaced by the first waltz of two lives,
ecstasy the melody rising in the soul,
happiness is the serenade heard constantly.

Immerse in the airy magic of oneness,
yesterday lost in attraction’s clouds,
being entranced by this euphoric touch
that sweeps so seductively through one’s life,
while a river of serene sensations drowns the mind,
divinely enraptured by the match
you know with such deep overwhelming awareness
was written in heaven.

Lips seal the moment with searing strokes of elation,
what was written in solitude’s diary is forever erased,
replaced by a fairy tale lived with a constant amazement
over how finding the other half of your soul
feels so timeless after the first embrace.

Her Solo

Life’s symphonic resonance
serenading into every heart,
Mother Earth’s solo
sings creation’s masterpiece.

REEDS

I thought my heart was a pillar
made from Heaven’s oak,
faith’s timber hewed from a divine lumber,
sturdy and unbending against any tornado,
engrained in my soul with roots that wouldn’t break,
giving a strength to withstand
what blew across my life
by the wafting whims of time’s whispers.

How I found fate’s flaring flights so forcibly bending
against the stalwart limbs spread in my spirit,
yielding to their tempest touches
while slowly my stricken and stiffen branches
bowed to the press of fortune’s gusts.

Was my cry unto the Lord
to know why this wavering wisp
had been swept through my life,
taking what was a towering support of my quintessence
and rendering it malleably to a day’s whirlwind.

Then came the resound of grace
a psalm of light unto my plea
that I would know in His eyes
within me was not a tree, but a pliable reed,
one that could reach out with compassion
to the brokenness of others
with eyes of love that accepted
each of us is a bruised stem
in need of His hand for support.

GAS COMPANIES BEWARE!

I was listening to a preacher on the radio once
speaking of the power in prayer,
how God can do the impossible
and then mentioned a time when even with his faith
found something that happen as really unbelievable.

He spoke of this gal coming up to him
after one of his Sunday Services,
she told him about being out of work for two months
so didn’t have enough money for gas to come hear him preach.

But was so anxious to see him in person
that she prayed a desperate petition
for the Lord to turn the water in her garden hose to gasoline.

Then said she filled up the tank with it,
telling her story with such a somber and serious face.

What could he say?
After all she did get there,
merely adding that since Jesus had turned water into wine
it mustn’t have been that hard for Him to change it into fuel,
cautiously observing this was not
a recommended method for everyone to try.

Living On The Fringe

Life spent in the corporate lair
requires accepting certain realities,
for power has its inalienable rights
invest by the one’s who hold the talons of control.

You learn that image is more important than truth,
loyalty valued over competency,
favoritism reigns instead of equality.

So you suppress in your soul the bias that dominates,
accepting a paycheck is better than unemployed pride,
and tolerating ineptitude that is raved as genius,
gracious when you get included as team member
with a passive token of tribute given
before the gold and glory is awarded
to the one deemed deliverer and god.

Playing by the rules that are changed without notice,
contributing you labor though it is seldom appreciated,
because something inside demands excellence be spent
even when the limelight shines elsewhere.

Living on the fringe of fame is a land you till by choice
making it paradise or wasteland
by the seeds you sown in your heart,
facing each day knowing you poured out your passions,
fully and completely into the hour’s demands,
content in knowing that at least with Heaven’s eyes
what you did with zeal and fire
will be seen no matter who else notices.

What Sleeps Within

What Sleeps Within

Thoughts of hesitance
ponder the beast
beneath the mask
uncertain the truth hiding
in the heart unseen,
wondering the whirlwind
that will be stirred
when caressing
what sleeps within.

Fear is the keeper of hands
who must decide
to reach with palms or fists.

Remembering times when scars came
from presuming a gentle touch
would be enough
only to have fangs exposed
and stunned by the violation of trust.

But to extend fingers just the same
with soft delicate measures
is often the gift that truly dresses
a wound that heals,
until the sufferer
can do the same
for those also imagined
as a disguised creature
merely subduing an instinctive rage.

TOPPLED

Stacking the blocks of trust,
each one used to create
love’s towering pillar
to ascend from sadness and solitude
and see the world from a place
where it doesn’t look so hopeless.

Waiting to have it become the castle
as a palace for the joy,
but the bricks often crack and crumble
because they weren’t based on truth.

In the sudden shake of discovering
what you were told was false
all you constructed and expected
crashes and topples,
leaving you buried under a mound,
feeling so crushed and stunned,
not sure you have the strength
for rising out of the rubble.

Afterwards the scratches and scars
makes the desire grow feeble
not wanting to try building again
if you can’t be sure
this time it won’t collapse.

Nervously examining every new source
of building material,
questioning if it will truly survive
even when you do start another construction,
still left worried about risk
how this edifice with the heart as foundation
might fall and again leave you trapped
under an avalanche caused
from being given faulty supplies.

NOTHING MATTERS

Nothing matters when your heart
lies on a bed of spikes,
bleeds so much both day and night
from the love that vanished
you thought would last forever.

The sun grows icicles
each noon is an ice box,
dressed in suit that makes you numb
to any feelings, winds or words.

Only touched by the image
of the face the fled your life,
body grows numb to the world,
every news treated as just the same.

Wanting to feel again the way it was
when every second was on fire,
life was a thunder the never stopped,
a power that had no end.

Sitting crippled in the aftermath,
very existence having lost meaning and passion
even desire has gone to your care.

Watching the world out the window,
still clutching to the memory
of that ecstasy soaked existence.

Waiting on a miracle to occur
to restore that stroll in vibrant seconds
because without it
each heart beat seems pointless,
might as well reserve that plot,
just can’t breathe without knowing
the happiness that came from two being one,
someone it will be uncovered again,
for until it does the light will die,
and evening will always be winter,
they are the image motivators
as an alarm clock of warning
always ringing in the head.

The Greenhouse

Billions of souls all flowering for identity
facing towards the sun and trying to blossom as unique
in a greenhouse where the beds are always overcrowded.

Some sprout as stunning roses
while others becoming weeds,
but it is in the roots their true essence lies,
where their creep as vines that can strangle
or simple seek to nourish and give life.

There is no reason seen by the system of planting
the gardener always tills unseen,
he doesn’t explain his methods
in ways that always make sense.

So the seasons of aging are sheltered
for the spring of many hearts,
it comes as an inner sprouting
at the time that ticks inside,
being so different for everyone.

Clustering together are those of like petals
who try to make a bouquet out of the harmony,
but it often gets so complicated
as each one gets preoccupied with one’s own glory.

How the ground of life changes so often,
wilting and new births constantly altering the scene.
And though we know our fate is to wilt,
we all still want to believe
our summer will last forever.

When fall appears in our stems
each responds in their own way,
some trust to the soil’s owner for their fate
others merely try in vain to remain in bloom,
hoping what happened to the rest
will somehow pass them by.

Eye Of The Storm

Tear drops soaking holes
through the parchments of decree,
those constitutional scrolls written to control
that spread as a shroud with utopia mirages
over the freedoms in our day.

Craving the refuges beyond those words
that flow with peace’s tides
into an inner harbor of reveries,
quietly moored in serenity’s scenic allure
amid the rumbles from life’s cymbals
where one can float as captain of sailboat
calmly swaying from the gentle touch in tranquil tides.

Detonations of dismay destroy the bliss,
fiery eruptions recall the episodes,
stealing laughter with their haunting explosions,
which echo through the long night of unanswered dreams.

The mind’s eye pierces the smoke,
waiting until the fire subsides
to again ascend the soothing sea within,
for there is a port in the heart,
nothing will ever destroy
what you can see so clearly
while anchored in a boat you know was built,
from the wood you cherish as life.

Then no matter what paper
shadows the spirit,
one can always swim in a place
of light and hope,
facing a sunset to fears.

Thirty Second Ecstasy

Scalpel phantom surgically removing heart,
no anesthesia except for sitcoms,
sunrise painted on death shroud
held over the living room door.

Breakfast consumed of cardboard piranha,
contemplating, which game will strangle
the light out of the day.

Sun moves towards a yawn,
floating in a shot glass,
a swallow is the only paradise
between the bed and a scream.

Picnics

Heart reveals its mysteries
to a lover’s gaze.

Touches tantalize
the secrets sealed by the lips,
inspiring a single embrace
as a picnic of passions.

World disappears
into a stare,
two bodies surrender to lunch,
utterly spinning the mind.

Panting whispers
brush their hints
while the sun burns inside.

Strings

Her desires were tethered to a dream,
silky cerebral threads that stretched into the sky,
and taught her to believe in magic,
holding it in her heart as a soft stuffed animal,
a wish teddy bear to hug at night
when the day served a stew of disappointed.

Playing the doll before others to appease,
painted her mask to obey,
but inside the stars still sang,
light unveiled the mysteries of cosmic twinkle,
as her mind exploded in countless shimmers of clarity,
streaming their truths within her head.

Still she preserves them in silence
while upon the stage where she performs,
because she was so hungry for approval
and no one wanted a seer of secrets,
no matter the love that shined in her thoughts.

Living where they craved clowns and fairy tales,
eyes guarded the mysteries kept in her head,
for she continued visiting in worlds unknown
while never sharing them for fear of persecution.

Within her charmed reality the visions kept her spellbound,
yet outside she dwelled as expected,
being a puppet upon another’s strings,
wasn’t a story she wrote for happiness,
still it brought its own strange sense of peace.

The Gates Of Ever

I am a gossamer sail on a celestial sea,
drifting as a featherweight soul
through the gates of ever.

The locks held in my mind
to realms where my heart is a wand,
a pure magician of imagination
and all my wishes become images,
alive and intense,
lovers who I missed along life’s path,
utopias my deepest longings see as reality.

Sometimes I drift into an abyss,
swirling in creatures with claws and flames,
they scorch and gnaw
while dragging me downwards,
descending into a cesspool of fears.

Morning comes as a hot air balloon
riding it back to the sunrise,
still possessed by the portraits
painted by my desire’s brush.

In the noon of my thoughts
how I crave to enter those gates again,
hoping day is really the dream
from which I will wake up.

A Little Mark

My heart will write it feelings for you
not by flowers that will fade,
words that may touch today,
but will not warm during the night
or caresses that hold you for a while,
yet not when you are alone.

A little mark I leave with my lips,
with it comes all the passion inside
to reach deep within you with all my desires
that you would know
how everlasting is my love
so ready to cherish you always,
adore you with each kiss
until it lasts and makes you glow,
no matter where I am.

Because you first embraced me
and made me feel so complete,
now all I am belongs to you,
its devotion flowing with each puckered touch.

I will leave it as my vow,
the very blood of my life
and the essence of who I am,
for without you I’m a mere ghost
whose spirit and being
will eternally be yours to possess.

The Pearl

My first awareness
was of floating in an ocean,
no waves disrupting the smooth glass quality,
it was indigo and warm
and I could see beneath the surface.

Panic seize my insides
for I couldn’t see any land
so I worried about drowning,
but the incredibly bright cerulean sky
somehow calmed my fears.

Then for a moment I felt
as if I was going to sink into the deep,
suddenly a white hand
the size of a whale
appeared underwater
and held me in place
until I felt to relaxed and serene.

At last I notice the golden sun,
descending on the horizon,
it turned into a spinning pearl
before changing and becoming
an incredibly tall bronze block
like some towering skyscraper.

While I was watching it,
amazing and stunned,
a voice boomed in ominous tone,
“its shadow stretches from the sea,
all the way to Chicago.”

After that waking up,
feeling confused,
yet oddly having a sense
there was more to this swimmer’s vision
than I could imagine.

Dial Tones

Voices sung into my heart
a music they vowed would never stop,
push button mercy
by the arms of their cell,
my life at peace
knowing there was always an ear
just a call away.

During times my words hummed in calm
oh the conversations we would share,
of life and love and every dream,
their devotion a blanket I wore
so sure it would hold me
through any crisis or calamity.

When unemployed came as a shocking broom
the phones rang more without getting answers,
messages left returned so seldom,
still friends to the end,
sadly way too busy,
apologies and silence
lasting till new job was found.

Our reunion came once my pocketbook was secure,
affections flowing during our heart felt lunches,
so convinced that distance had been a fluke.

Then my world was shattered by a life threatening illness,
all the numbers I tried to call,
once they learn of my condition,
stopped being able to be reached.

Told myself while in that intensive care bed
must be the lack of dial tones.

UPWARDS

Ascension is never as easy as some claim. They make it sound like it can be obtained without much effort.

Which is naturally something other than the truth. Reaching a more spiritual plain in thought isn’t what some assume.

For they will base it on some interpretation they want it be. Normally related to things such as not sinning.

Or they will refer to it as avoiding whatever they secretly fear. Then there is the other side of this thinking.

The ones that make arriving based on blessings. They will tout it as prove they have grown in the Lord.

And they will point to all the material things they have as prove they are better than you or more in touch with God’s spirit. Always such a sad point of view.

Of course nobody ever talks about the kinds of spiritual growth that results in one being more filled with the gifts of the Spirit. Such as love, joy, peace and all the rest.

Those are real forms of growth as is wisdom. And if it only translated into the types of understanding that reflected the Lord’s glory.

I’m always said when this isn’t the case. When some blessing comes and people treat is as a reward.

Because in their view they are so deserving. And that is always where pride dominates the mind in a sad way.

Such will naturally disregard all the things they did wrong. And only concentrate on what they did right.

Just a case of selective reasoning. Deciding they are so obedient they deserved what was a blessing of grace.

How sad it is when we lose our sense of being a sinner. And instead of heading upwards slowly decline.

And the whole time convince that it is a flight. Instead it is a fall. And one that is so often missed.

I am grateful that God helped me to appreciate the dangers of pride in that regard. I’m no perfect, but am grateful.

For that I will always celebrate His longsuffering nature.