Am I Still Human?

Bombs pounded the underground base; their explosions echoing inside like the drums of war.
He sat on the old worn sofa with cold concrete walls on all sides. Everywhere he looked he saw death. His recently deceased wife lay next to him as his now frail hands hovered over the pistol.
In a few short years he had managed to perpetuate human suffering to unhealthy extremes. But they deserved it. Didn't they.
Eugenics had failed him. His plans for a Super Race lay in ashes like this tomb he was forced to inhabit.
He looked to the portrait of his mother. The one person who might still believe in him.
What was it worth? What was anything worth?
He clenched his sweaty palms and cried into the stale air;
"God, if you're out there, help me."
The stark German syllables echoed off those walls.
He was insane, he saw that now, his meddling and personal vendettas had scared many. Even now he thought of all those nameless faceless people, not just the Jews, who he had personally affected in the most negative of ways.
"I can't live like this anymore." He said into the air. If anyone heard him they wouldn't think anything of it. And they shouldn't.
Outside the bombs pounded faster and harder.
He was the Germany's savior. The one who would make everything right with the world. Now he saw the insanity of what was his and his nation's goal. What was he thinking?
"I am just a man." He admitted as the once charismatic man broke down in tears.
There came the vibration of an explosion followed by the sound of clattering boots.
"If there is a savior out there, a true savior, accept me." He cried.
The inevitable was coming. A choice. His choice.
As the world climaxed around him it all stood still as he felt a rush of adrenaline with an odd sense of hope. And then he heard it. The whisper of a whisper.
"It is finished." It said, like the voice of summer itself.
He saw the gun. He heard the soldiers.

The French soldiers barged into the heart of the bunker where two bodies laid limp on that old sofa. Quite possibly the most sinister pair in history.
"They're dead. The war is over." Someone remarked in the silence.
"What's this?" The platoon leader said as he picked a crumbled piece of paper off of Hitler's body.
On it was a crudely drawn cross, and under it, written in German, were the words;
It is finished.
"What does it mean?" The same man asked.
"I don't know." His commander remarked discarding the artifact.

He must be dreaming. This must be a dream. Adolf stood in the brilliant light, it was greater then the sun.
Guilt and joy warred inside him as a brilliant white figure emerged from the billowing forms.
Adolf knew him.
The two joined hands as he looked upon the True Savior of the World.
Adolf's gaze fell onto those cold hands of his. So inferior.
"Your scars are washed clean. Now come. There's a party waiting for you."
Jesus's word's were perfect German.
Tears of joy welled in Adolf's eyes. He was finally home and the weight of a lifetime washed off as a party like no other ensued.

Imperfect Perfection

So you'll have me? Scars and all? I can live in Your presence despite my transgressions?
You won't shun me for those things I did? I am still Your child?

Stay with me, Child, your past is behind you. I can see it no more; for Blood has cleansed your actions.

Why would You, in all Your greatness accept me? A lowly servant, surely the flies are above me.
Your courts are so regal, so pure, surely my presence would go unwelcome.

I don't care. It doesn't matter. You are not the former person you loath. Rest in my arms Child and let your anguishes wash away.

I crawl into his lap, so tender and warm, I feel His heartbeat as its rhythm correlates to a celestial body, so close yet so far, I rest knowing He has me. The worries and pain melt like wax as I feel his form pulsate with the warmth of a thousand suns.
I rest. Good night Father. Good night Daddy.

Freedom's Call

Michigan's kin and Hawaii's child. Two faces pitted against each other; a national game afoot.
As brothers they have asked us to pick a side, Red or Blue. One a short sighted pachyderm and the other a lazy beast of burden.
To play the game, to hear them babble.
But what do they stand for?
With charismatic grins and flashy slogans they vi for our support, appealing to the masses as they flash their pearly white smiles. Demeaning the other as vile.
But behind the curtain what do they say?
Meanwhile chaos ensues separating families while Michigan's kin and Hawaii's child argue over petty matters.
We, brothers, need a true leader. One who will save a nation and heal the land. None of these petty games.
One drop can raise the ocean. One filled circle can change the course of a nation.
Will you play the game or look beyond the curtain.
As winter sets in choose wisely.

DeviantArt

Hello everyone. Just letting you all know you can find me on DeviantArt. I've already uploaded some pictures there. I haven't yet but I will post some more poetry and short stories there as well. So if you're interested please check it out.
To get to my home screen just follow the link below.

Agracora.

Dance of Creation

Silence. A black pool of nothingness encompasses everything in a celestial pool of endless night. The canvas is set and the artist's brush is ready.
A breath. A thought. A spark.
Light bursts forth from a single point followed by a string of entrancing melodies all climaxing from a baritone octave.
Matter. Energy. Gravity.
Vibrant reds and blues pierce the darkness transforming it. Molding it.
The colors interact and collide in ambient dances of abstract beauty.
A high vocal melody resonates through the primal soup.
A dance of a different kind begins.
The reds, blues, and now greens swirl in on each other; a whirlpool of energy and potential.
A light pierces the darkness. Than another and another. All singing an echo of the original note that called them into existence.

Spinning. Everything is spinning. Like clockwork the new stars dash past each other.
Primal rocks form around the dots of light until they are hulking masses each more bizarre then the last.
Silence. Energy. Ambient energy permeates the universe as it now can be called something.
A single star in a small corner of creation sit snugly as its array of planets makes their rounds around its hulking radiant mass.
A cozy planet, not to hot, and not to cold, enjoys its energy on one side as a man and his daughter enjoy a summer night waltz of elegant beauty.
It's a big world out there. And it's Creator is even bigger.

Affluent Sparks

A thought, a spark, the start of something beautiful. My mind drifts to far away places as the world becomes a desaturated empty shell.
I think, I dream, nothing is impossible now.

As I immerse myself in this fantastic place as my senses become intertwined. I am able to contemplate and think in abstract ways now.
I'm excited, I don't why, but I am. This world of possibilities is incredible.

I dream, I think, I feel, I am.

I awake at my desk, papers of assorted kinds clog my desk. My coffee mug drained of its contents.
The wonders of that little bean.

Final Reckoning

His eyes stung as tears and sweat dripped into them. Every fiber of his being cried out for mercy as he lugged the heavy wooden beams of his cross.
He looked a frail excuse for a human being; his back scarred beyond recognition and wounds and gashes in every imaginable place.
"How dare you call yourself the Son of God!" A man detested spitting at him.
He stopped for a moment and gave the man a compassionate look before the Roman guards on either side egged him on.

The priest entered the Temple adorned in his best robes. It was that time of year again to atone for humanity's sins in the form of lamb's blood which he held in a golden boll.
There was a cord attached his ankle should the presence of The most Holy One overwhelm his physical body to its breaking point.
Taking a deep breath his walked in and stood before the veil that separated him from the closest earthly thing to Heaven itself.
The veil was thick and wide supported by golden brackets to the door frame.
The fabric rippled with a low steady rhythmic beat from beyond it.
Something was different. He could feel it.

"Crucify him!"
"Who do you think you are Jesus!"
The crowds intensifying shouts came. The verbal assaults bashed Jesus's morale as much as the wounds bashed his body.
Finally they came to a small hill where two other crosses with victims hanging in misery waited for him.
He was stripped of his clothes, fully exposed, and then the guards had the crossbeam nailed to his wrists. Each stroke of the hammers bringing a new meaning to the word pain.
Attached to this he was then attached to the rest of the cross with the crowd jeering at him from his exposed position. Even now he could feel their worries, doubts, hidden pains, rushing at him. His breath grew short.

The priest entered past the curtain and passed through the fist chamber. The air grew thicker and his heart started to race.

Jesus gasped for breath. For a split second he was able to see through everyone in the crowd and see the depth of corruption.
He could do that already; but this time it was involuntary. This world was becoming a blur as the sun slowly cooked him alive.

The priest passed through into the second chamber. His heart racing, his hands trembling, his senses on high alert.

The pain shuddered through his body as he began to loose his perception of time. Splinters dug into his back. The pain almost numbing.
It couldn't get worst.
And then his legs were broken. If there was any pain his body didn't care to tell him.
He breathed heavy breaths as he saw a dark shadow in the corner of his eye.

Finally the priest entered the third and final chamber. The air was heaviest here and before him stood that sacred object the Ark of the Covenant. He felt as if he should say sometime but he didn't know what.
He just kneeled and poured the blood on the Ark. As he did so it boiled and hissed as the Law was appeased until the blood evaporated into the air.

"Father. Forgive them. For they know not what they do." Jesus said as all of human history, every sin, every wrong doing against God and Man flashed before him. He tried to breath as the scope of it all overwhelmed him and he released his final breath.

The priest rose in the heavy presence. The deed done.

Riding the currents of His Father's love He ascended through the First Heaven, the Second Heaven, and the Third Heaven until he awoke before his Father the Creator of All.
"It is finished." He said with the utmost respect.
"Well done My Son." Came the Father's voice carrying a deep mellow tone.
"I must return and tell Them of Our victory. They must hear the good news."
Jesus felt his Father smile upon him and then came the whisper of a whisper; "Go." it said. And He smiled a white smile before vanishing in a burst of white light.

The priest sat on the steps outside the Temple as he watched the first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon which had three crosses from yesterday's capital punishment starkly outlined.
As he sat there a new hope arose in him. This was a good day to be alive.