A poem exploring the moment someone finds faith in any religion.
A moment from seeking to knowing, from external pursuit to internal acceptance, and from loneliness to spiritual belonging.
Love is revealed not as something missing but as something forgotten—rediscovered through faith and self-recognition.
As they find themselves included in divine joy, celebration, or grace.
Jubilee implies forgiveness, restoration, and release—suggesting that love is not earned, but granted through existence itself. Salute.
Title.
Have you been reborn?
(A lone voice whispers)
I once searched for love over land and sea.
Looked deep into all of life's many mysteries.
Only to find it lives within me: when I finally realized—I'm part of God's own jubilee.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
It's rather strange where creative writing can lead you.
Have you tried automatic writing where you just write what comes through?
One of my explorations is below.
The Atlantean
(A lone voice whispers)
I am the tip of the divine spear when it comes to facing fear.
For I abide under the shadows and protections of the Most High.
So heed me, creatures of the night.
Abandon any means to attack my soul, for I am already on patrol.
So be it.
Amen.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
Do you live consciously—or does the world live through you?
A piece about reclaiming your spiritual agency in a digitized, engineered reality before life ends.
Not with fear, but with awareness, responsibility, and honesty.
A whisper, not a sermon.
A mirror, not an accusation.
(A lone voice whispers)
Have you ever wondered if your soul is just mirrored reflections?
Fragmented shards of an augmented reality.
A divine kaleidoscope of your own perceived ideas.
Of what to do to get to your version of heaven and how to avoid hell?
Overlaid onto a real-world environment.
Are you too logical to ever really understand, but just bravely parading around like another human being?
Locked into a social engineer's dream.
Trying to live within and under its dark, magical, mesmerizing spell.
Hypnotized by whatever is subliminally repeated on your handheld screens.
Slowly waiting unconsciously, before it's too late for spiritual understanding.
To return to just you.
To truly see there's more to life than chasing paper dreams.
Before you catch the last bus to take you home to atone.
In The Great In-Between, where you'll be asked,'
Did you live a clean life, or did something happen that was unforeseen?
That caused you to live temporarily unclean?
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
Title.
The Southern Belle.
(A lone voice whispers)
There's a room inside my head all white. The purest color you've ever seen.
All white walls and ceilings—with fields of never-ending green.
Playing on loop is some deep southern blues.
While I wait for you.
The firewoman who once said, “Well, bless your heart.”
Whenever we fell apart.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
It may change everything—but in a corrupt world, may it also leave you standing alone once it does?
Is that why modern whistleblowers choose anonymity?
Truth.
(A lone voice whispers)
Everything changes, and seeing you just brings it home.
But once the sword of Damocles falls, you could forever be left standing all alone.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
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A poem exploring love magic—does the power lie in some ritual ceremonial candles or the heart lighting them?
Answers after reading, if you choose. Salute
Title.
New Orleans Dreams.
(A lone voice whispers as the speaker writes in his journal.)
I went to see the Bayou Queen yesterday.
Deep in the Louisiana Mississippi Delta.
She bade me sit and began to say as nearby drums played.
“Boy, you got it in a bad way. These cards say that even the world's against your love this time around.
But I feel your special one you've already found. So take these candles and just light one each day.
And its smoke will carry your aura her way, so she can know and feel you when the nighttime crickets sing and the nighttime bats play.”
That was three weeks ago.
Each night after 9 pm, before I light a candle, I smell such a scent it drives my senses wild, and even my dog, Billy, barks.
Could it be her attracted to my aura through the Bayou Queens candles?
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
An original symbolic and experimental piece that reads as a ritual invitation—part manifesto, part incantation.
Exploring the theme that words thrive on the subconscious or spiritual level—felt more than understood.
Where some poetry lives.
Not in heaven or hell but the human condition when stripped bare.
Title.
Concilium (L)
(A lone voice whispers)
You do know these low whispers of mine, which I channel to flow through inquisitive eyes—like yours.
Carry a deep glow and hum within them. Now that you've begun reading.
Invisible frequencies to light up the deepest recesses of your very soul like a bright new Star of Bethlehem.
To open Seen and Unseen doors.
With golden spiritual keys to enter the sweet center of my Great In-Between.
Using secret olde spells rearranged as simple stanzas > To enter some of the deepest, oldest, and newest mythical wells.
Knee-deep as time slowly dances and advances.
With some cleverly smiling or some chillingly rhyming.
Created just so through the light and dark caverns of my soul—you can perambulate.
Whenever I write > inviting you to open their luminous gates.
To just read on and be illuminated before the world burns, and it's too late to be recalibrated.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Concilium > Public meeting.
