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Phillip Knox

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My Dearly Beloved Child

by

Phillip Knox


My Dearly Beloved Child,

Since the day I chose you, I have not cease to call

you mine. Last night as you lay in bed I saw the tears

streaming down your face, and you wondered if I had

abandoned you. In the weariness of your trials you faltered

and in the dark gloom you doubted me, yet I remained near

to you. There in your most intense agony you said I had

forgotten about you, but it was in your most trying time I

was closest to you. As the moonlight fell through your room

window, I was there by your bedside, bending over you. How

I yearned to stroke softly your sad brow with confort, but

you took no notice of me because your eyes were blind with

tears. I understand the hurt you feel, the grief that

you cannot breath upon one chord of human emotion, the deep

cries never man has known, I know it all. Don't you

remember the cords that burned open my back with stripes?

It was then I was thinking of you; and when the crown of

thorns pierced my temples causing the blood to flow down

my face, my mind was on you. Do you recall when I

stretched out my hands as large spikes were hammered

through my flesh, not once were you absent from my

thoughts. There raised and hung between heaven and earth

on a tree, no clothing, humiliated, I saw you. In my last

hour when I hung suffocating, pulling myself up to speak

my final words, and the weight widening the holes in my

hand flesh, I whispered a prayer for you. At last my

heart burst within while the cold spear was plunged in my

side, the blood mingled with water gushed out on those

lifeless rocks of Calvary; in that selfsame day all of my

sentiments were spilled out for you my child, and all of

this was from Love to thee.

Truely Your Friend Jesus


The Silent Years

by

Phillip Knox


It was at the tender age of sixteen I had plans

I wanted to become a minister and be God's man.

In the Senventh-day- Adventist Church I daily worked

participating in many activities with close support.

I was as a rose blossoming under heaven's sunlight

in favor with God and men I labored for the right

soul after soul I brought in to my Lordly Savior,

and without shame I freely spoke of the sacred.

Although at times I immersed myself in some forbidden act

following a youth's curiosity in the perfection I lacked,

yet never did I renounce my desire that burned within

as I was more determined to achieve my goal to the end.

From high school I graduated with my mind on college,

but due to my daughter I entered the Navy for knowledge

with bright prospects I pursued an illusion

little thinking that all would come to confusion.

I was planning for marriage to a girl I dearly loved

beautiful as the lily, fair white as the dove

she seemed to be my soul-mate from heaven

for I had a crush on her since I was seven.

But after nine months of active duty I was finally discharge

and later developed a sickness that plagued deeply my heart

a stench, my curse for some sin of the far past,

and then the silent years began, the days were black.

The women whom I wanted for my beloved bride

did not want me in return for my misfortunate and lied

I could dee her intentions were not for precious love,

but to live well without working for a home thereof.

In addition to this pain, I came to live a life of shame

the object of ridicule, the stranger most blamed.

I began to be alienated from the company of many

because of the loud smell I was now an enemy.

The sneers ran course, the mean looks on each face

cut mind,

and every fiber in my being shook more than twice.

How they spoke words of the most bitter kind,

and looked down on me with disgust and frowns

misinterpreting my every action that was good

laughing at a situation that was hardly understood.

Even those closest to me reviled me one time or another,

and as the world they only praised me if I was honored

jealousy beclouded the reason of others,

and they often exulted at every failure.

I again decided I wanted to attend Oakwood College,

and my major in Theology I wanted to make final,

but being shunned by the majority of students

I became discouraged at the all too lucid.

So I dropped out of school in the depths of uncertainty

hoping death would fly upon me quite early,

but I lived to meet the taunts from demon borne souls,

and the critical are the very ones who made my nights cold.

Now steeped in solitude, I cannot know what is true

I am lost in a cycle, singing a soft lonely tune

the people's hate I continue to bear on my shoulders,

and God's anger towards me is in the face of others.

I am now thirty years of age,

feeling forsaken,

sometimes in a rage,

and trapped in my own private dark mental cage;

all these years I've cried,

so many tears until almost blind,

and still there remains from God no comforting sign.

Through it all however, there burns one simple question

why am I suffering all this free of mercy?

but still there comes no answer from His Majesty

and I suffer on waiting my final tragedy.

May it come with swift speed tothe frail and tortured

for how can God look upon this hurt unbothered?

Sometimes I think all I was taught to believe was a lie

for the greatest mystery is the ones who pain me

always in the end rise.

In the Sad Slow Hours

by

Phillip Knox



Here I sit in these sad slow hours

behind shades of night towers

staring at eyes with scorn that blaze,

and there upon me stains.

As a captive of uncertain chances

in the land of the lonely intrepid

subtle times comes with lies,

and I am sold of my true essence;

and the rain won't seem to go

and the tears won't cease to flow,

all the hurt my soul has borne

tares, flares this heart among thorns.

Sweet windstorms roar

Oh how I am torn,

and no one knows what's deep within

the fire sinking needles that scorch

the depths of my sin.

In the darkness with a shaft of sunlight

and tantalizing thoughts of mind

hopes fading as shadows fall gently

on dreams abandoned quickly.

But I was more hated than the rest

and controversal no less

I walked in the midst of enemies

like the martyrs of ancient history.

There I have nothing for tomorrow

but more stymied by sorrow

in visions of cool silver streams

I think of a place for me.

My heart never dies for sweet joy

in the place I most enjoy

for aspirations no less soars eternity

and in such flights forever free.

Untitled

by

Phillip Knox

Many conflicting thoughts clouds my mind

as I sit here in anticipation of the

rising sun.

I ponder upon the past with no expectation

of the future,

for it is bleak, and my life has made

a terrible turn.

What was a dream became hope,

then in the prime of it all

in one hour was crushed before my eyes.

Now I am invaded by mixed confusion,

errors of truth, and misled by lies.

Visions of love still has its seal on my heart;

how can I give up without an answer to my pain?

Or how can I live with the mistake that was made

as a result of these dark clouds and rain?

Where the wind blows I don't know,

but where a curse resides

there it is waiting for me,

until it bites me with fangs inflicting

on me mental hurt

so that it would be impossible from

becoming free.

I am sin in all of its hideouness

not to mention the one who suffers

from all of these dregs and woes.

I have any wounds that bleed hurt,

my heart is constantly attacked by a nauseating pain

that nobody feel or even know.

I am the inside sufferer, I have many enemies

of every kind, my eyes are filled with rejection

nd disappointment of every kind;

but still I look for hope or maybe I will never

receive from God a sign.

I am beyond my time, in the distance there is

nothing to gain,

but only anguish and death

with every hand upon my torn soul.

I feel the gloom pressing on me

the mysteries of the unknown besides me,

as I look ahead of me my body shakes

and I grow cold.

I am the inside sufferer Behold! My agony that cannot

be described, picture it in all of its horror

for it soon will be no more.

The day slowly sets, the night will come soon

the bell will ring

I will then be released on that very hour.