Where are the real ones?
Stripped of their fancy robes, and precious stones,
unaltered expressions, and unedited speech?
Where are the Real ones...
Were they left behind in the Garden you walked,
where we learned to sew fine linens to cover our shame?
When we chose knowledge over life and masks over truth...
Where are the real ones!
My heart longs for the day where nudity is not a perversion,
yet an expression of beauty and truth.
This day, where all can bear all for the one who bore it all.
To be free; uncovered in paradise.
Where are the real ones?
Why do we insist on adorning ourselves with stick on smiles and witty welcomes,
numbing the sting of pain and blocking passionate love!
We spend our days with heads held high,
and our nights low,
stiffening our necks.
We pretend to bear weight we can not bear,
and share hearts we do not own.
Like children we fantasize and dream dreams,
telling them until they become our reality.
We build lies around lives that were never ours to have.
We seek an escape from our mistake in the garden.
Only to find that our covering...
is not so covering.
Instead, an arrangement of twigs and leaves that the Son shines easily through.
Where are the real ones?
The ones who have experienced the warmth of the Suns rays
that bring warmth to cold hearts.
Those who've began to unravel the twigs,
and search for truth.
Where are they that have lived in the dark
and have come to understand the freedom
of dancing in the Son.
WHO EXISTS
that understands their heart's aches and longings.
WHO has become naked again?
Released from man-made robes
to be undressed by the hands of creation.
No longer hidden.
Like a diamond,
they sparkle in the light and truth of the Son.
Are there any!
Is there one?
Still...
my heart searches.
Where are they real?
Where are they free?
Where they are real, there, they are free!
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