The church without walls, but a sheltor from the rain

the people sing and cry out to be touched
God answers and touches the willing
The willing?
the outcasts and margin walkers
they feel the presence of Jesus
and the hair on the back of their neck stand up
they shiver as if they are cold
but inside feel warm like an embraceable new born
no walls but still a shield from evil
people outside question but cannot shut their ears
they inquire
how can the members be satisfied without fiances
"We feel humbled"
songs create an atomic boom
washing the surrounding communities
feeling only two words
"God's Love"
the invitations are infinite
and the services don't have
a beginning or ending
sin evaporates and disappears
sin falls beneath their feet as they all stand to rejoice
never growing tired
the spirit is nutrients
the spirit has no boundaries
and the church grows up and out

My Friend the Painter

I would ask my friend how would your capture thunder and lightening
the sky has sploches of battleship grey and white
mixing and covering the sun
thunder explodes halting your thoughts
like a surprise tap to the shoulder
rain descend splattering the page
shelter can only cover so much
so I go inside where the ink doesn't smear
the storm is filtered on a page of lines and on the canvas
I don't have the mind to capture thunder
the thunder like roaring ships
on a sea of storms
lightening like shots from the massive guns
rain falling like water from fountains in the sky
while the scuptures are the clouds
as the ship goes away at sea