Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope.
That hope scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
Time and time again, her spouse complained or failed to do small things
essential to cementing the marriage bond.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue, forgave. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth, she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head upon the chest
of the one she called her husband (when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
In those moments, she felt the beat of that heart he never showed to her.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .if thoughts, invisible,
which were transmitted to the Lord, were able to be recieved by Him,
why could not her words, directly spoken to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially with a faith most extraordinary. . .
and wisdom came. Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted took root too and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a graying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband (not just in word only);
a someone who now watched HER as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you” as he kissed her cheek goodnight.
For Audrey Carey's "To Err Is Human to Forgive Divine"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
I washed my white lace tablecloth and hung it out to dry
The bleach did the best it could-it was worth the try
'Though no one else can see, the stain still remains
As old as time itself
Stubborn as mildew rot
One false step, one careless word forever etched in time
Travels the universe, endlessly
In search of a place to rest
What would I not give to reverse that step
To retrieve that hateful word
Tread lightly in your daily walk, o'er hills and valleys in between
Plot well your steps and weigh your words
So you'll have nothing to regret, like the
Unkind words carved deeply upon your heart
I wash my white lace tablecloth again, again and again!
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2007
His family had lived here all their lives untold and he had too.
His father had died when he was young and he vaguely remembered him.
Mom tried to cross the busy street which she had been warned.
She had instantly been killed as her family watched with horror and fascination.
No funeral just sadness as the machines whizzed by but the last of his kind remembers.
As a youth, he had run and played in these fields but steered away from the machines
as he had been warned.
The machines are fast and you must always watch for them and be clear.
The woods were loved as he chased the young females until they let him catch.
He had two of his own children but they had died at very young age.
And soon after, the big trucks came with the men that would be vilified.
They uprooted one hundred year old oak and built twenty homes.
Across the road where the field was, forty more were taken from his youth.
The last of his family had all been married out or were dead until he was alone.
And as he walked and looked, he was frightened and filled with grief.
He saw his mother standing gracefully at the top of the house filled field.
His brother and sister played until dusk when his mother would call and recall.
He ached where he ran and still he searched.
As the tear rolled away with those distant memories and the pain.
Slowed by the ache he laid his final time with grief.
And he knew he was the last and his youth died with him.
The last deer
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
the day the doctor told me you were dying
mother, I was so afraid, unsure and frightened
unclear of what to do and so I listened to others
I should have brought you home to die
but I did not do that, no I didn't
you could have been at home with me at your side
in your own bed with your purring sweet cat
and soothing music and a view of azure blue sky
that cat waited and searched for you, mom
for months and months and months
when you got sick I did not hesitate to move home
we were like happy roommates in the beginning
then ever so slowly I was doing all the banking
the groceries, the cooking, while still working
I became your mother over time
but I did not mind one moment of that journey
we talked and talked and buried all the anger
I would have done anything for you, even given my life
because you were the one person who loved
me, without reserve, totally and completely
and when the end came, mom, I failed you bitterly
I should have brought you home to die, I know now
so I am begging for 'forgiveness' from you and from God
this pain, a knife in my heart every day, I breathe
but my forgiveness will never come, never ever
"oh, the tears, the tears . . . "
February 16, 2015
For the contest, Forgiveness, sponsor, Rob Carmack
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
My favorite of songs is The Old Rugged Cross.
The most tragic of days was the worlds’ greatest loss.
For sinners that day were all given their chance.
His Father in heaven could not even bear to look not even one glance.
Forgive them He prayed as His life’s blood ran down to the ground.
Can you picture Him there wearing that thorny old crown?
On that hill so far away, sad but precious memories were made.
Born of a virgin mother in the tomb He was laid.
Death could not hold Him, death would not last.
Three days in that tomb, so long ago, death too it would pass.
He arose and was seen by many it was said.
Our Savior arose from the grave and no longer was dead.
As He gave His final words to His apostles and friends.
He ascended to the clouds but they knew they would see Him again.
He made us a promise He would rule once again.
I feel that day is coming we’re reaching the end.
The prophecies that abound.
With each new day they seem to be coming unwound.
Are you ready my friend for the Millennium Reign?
Are have you sunk to wearing the mark worn by Cain?
Sacrifices my friend we all have to do.
Just look at Jesus and the sacrifice He made, was made just for you .
So on that hill so far away I kneel at the thought.
With His precious blood my cleansing was bought.
And what have we learned, or did He die just for nought?
I look to Jesus and His love I have sought.
He must come first in all that we do.
And when the day comes you’ll see I speak true.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007
He glances out the window,
And watches the sunset,
But he doesn’t see the beauty,
Nor the warm rays which,
Pierces through the glass,
Only the anticipation and,
Anxiety of a long night,
Carefully, he watches,
The colors change,
First the bright orange,
"God I pray this never ends…"
Filling with a deep red,
"Just a little while longer…"
Slowly softening to the,
Deceptive pinks and purples,
"Please, one more minute…"
Fading into the crimson black,
Which only night can bring,
Reluctantly, he gets ready for sleep,
Yet, knows it will never come,
He tossed and turns,
Half praying, half waiting,
Knowing what will happen,
In the way only a child can,
A light! It peeks through a crack,
In the door as a shadow floods the opening,
Quickly, the figure slips through the door,
And shuts it softly, but not without the,
Empty creak which has become so familiar,
The shadow climbs in beside him,
Touching his trembling leg, whispering,
“Hush little brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”
He struggles and writhes,
Sadly knowing he will never,
Break the grip and prays to faint,
To loss all consciousness and,
Memory of that horrible night,
Just for one night without the pain,
Just for one night without,
The cold empty feeling,
Several years pass, too many to count,
A single call, one he had never expected,
He rushes to the hospital to find,
His tormentor for so many years,
Lying on a cold, hard bed,
Able to move, but only by pushing a button,
Able to speak, but only with a whisper,
He stays by him for weeks, caring for him,
Reading to him, watching over him,
Still suffering, still unable to move,
He takes his brother home,
The day goes on, moving slow as all,
The evening comes and he,
Watches once more as the sun sets,
Carefully watching, Orange to red,
Red to purple, and as the purple turns to black,
He walks into the room where his brother lies,
Slowly, he sits next to him, holding a pillow,
Stroking his head whispering,
“Hush big brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”
The difference between right and wrong,
Can be hard to find,
But who’s there to see you,
When justice is blind?
Copyright © Ian Sylvester | Year Posted 2006
The church we sought to find a home in no longer exist.
Our courage is strong, our future belongs to temptation consisting sin.
Woods cut and gathered with selfless labor shall provide us a ship.
This is where I realized that Noah was wrong let the story begin....
The bible has been written by other humans and not by god himself,
If that were the case this place we call earth would surely be squashed by his thumb:
If Noah was chosen by the lord himself why wasn't there taken a vote.
Only those true to the cause, who never broken a law are the only ones who can travel afloat.
If you ask me workers with skills, hunters, doctors, and authors had to be put on the boat.
Waves. collided with storm, some fell overboard, and disease killing the most.
This was not a story written down in the bible, it was clearly a religious joke.
Finally a sigh, purely blue sky. God questioned himself an said this must be why.
After the glory of Independence wore off,
cold came with hunger, sickness with coughs.
Prolonged by sinister thoughts.
Tundra frozen softened, by mayflower drops.
Searching for freedom of religion has fueled actions of the devil himself.
Natives survived years beyond measure and offered to help.
Simple measures of using world greatest treasures,
are kind to share if all is replenished.
Rivers provide water to fish, drink, and refresh.
All mother earth asks is to be shared and respected.
In the name of any religion, sins are forgiven
mothers love fathers, and together form children.
God is good, life can be better.
jesus sacrificed his life for happiness of others.
Where did it all go wrong?
Copyright © Gerald Moise | Year Posted 2016
Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight!
My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.
A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.
Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer,
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
A calm fell over me as I arose from my birth,
A hush falls over the Earth,
As if God had, once more given birth to a new Universe.
I looked up and thought I saw,
His bright smile reflected in the sun,
His angels were all dancing in glee,
Smiling and singing for you and for me.
I felt His Presence, oh! so near,
As if He was saying, "Oh my dears,
I love you so much I had to make,
New worlds for you to take".
And I thought, as His new day greeted me,
"What a kind and loving Father is He,
He greets us with a new World made from above,
and all He wants in return, is our Love."
Copyright © Patricia Leonaitis | Year Posted 2006
From my heart to yours,
you are a precious man,
from the very first time,
I read your work,
it was not hard to understand.
The trials you endured,
the pain, and the tears,
you found your Saviour so near.
Let no man or woman,
who dwells on this earth,
spit on a heart so sweet,
all I can say,
is they have the nerve.
Walk tall my friend,
may the wind,
always push you forward,
and pray for the lost,
and the foolish cowards.
I don't know what was said,
or who is to blame,
forgive them dear friend,
and ask for the same.
We as a people,
have a journey of our own,
each, and everyone,
should know right from wrong.
Continue on your path,
you have much to do,
and remember the devil,
will use a few.
I call you friend,
as many here do,
and from my heart to yours,
I wish only the best for you.
Michael Jordan, you are a special kind of man.
One that I am proud to call my friend.......
One if ever needed would not turn his back...
I have never met you, but I can say,
actions speak very strong...for you are willing
to reach out, and help...to me, you have what it takes
to be a lighthouse for others....
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2008
I whisked the heavens for a soothing sign
Swirled moonlight of Luna’s crescent smile
Searching for redemption's last sinew
That a wounded love faithfully clings to
I asked the stars for strength of sterling sight
To illuminate the missteps of a fractured mind
Trapped in a glass garden of Eden’s broken heart
Fragrant pieces of her sorrow carved into mine
I tasted the poison of regurgitated resolve
Memories marinating on the tip of my teething tongue
But forgiveness does not dangle on unspoken words
Which need not be poetic, but merely heard
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain
Me, Myself, and I... (continued)
“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”
Then “I” had an idea so grand
To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis
So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run
With fingers fiercely fumbling
Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun
And now my life, though ill-fated
Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same
Would be no myself or me
No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame
It took me a moment to figure
Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed
Then the barrel found my temple
And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed
Hence a moment of clarity
Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind
“Can’t we all find a way
To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”
And then deep within my soul
I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided
And with my mind now as one
I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided
And tis now true of fact
That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
And here now as it ends
I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”
Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts
or comments here on this page.
J. Scott Burns...
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
Copyright © B S Sky | Year Posted 2013
I see you looking at me
There is an old pang in my chest
there where your hands used to caress
where your lips loved to roam
there were you called your home
There is an old flutter now
What is that in your eyes?
Is it real or just a disguise
I see you looking at me
No, it can’t be
And in that instant your memory consumes me
A roaring fire lighting the room
Shadows dancing on the walls
We are drunk on desire
……caressing your breasts
……kissing your body
…... tasting your love upon my tongue
Unbelievable . . . panic sizes me
Don’t look at her -- flee
But in that moment my shattered heart
Leaps with joy
I see your eyes
…. and I feel the earth
…. moan with delight
I wish the world would go away
I turn away from your stare
Look down at my shaking hands
I need to think....
Why now? Why here?
Out of nowhere…you appear
Oh, but....I want you
I sneak another peak
As my mind brings to my eyes the memories
It seems just yesterday
you looked at me that way
….when you undressed me
….when you caressed me
….when you made me understand
how a body can speak
the language of love
has my body spoken
with the same eloquence
That language I first learned with you
I want you
But....the pain won't go away
you were too proud to say
Oh....but my lips are getting moist
hungering for your kiss
I look your way
And…nothing matters but those eyes
My heart will give me away
Thundering in joy
It won’t be still!
….. Let me think
….. Let me think
Oh...Oh...but....I want you
Here you are….
You’ve made it over to me
Here you stand
Looking down at me…
Reaching for me….
Taking you into my arms – lifting
Your eyes -- dark pools of honey
Your lips – full . . . moist . . . inviting
Our bodies embrace – I am home
My prayers for another chance – answered by your kiss
Our words tumble over each other
Tears, laughter, kisses . . . relief
My beautiful darling – I’ve missed you
…. Your smile
…. your touch
…. the way you look at me
Making love until the dawn
Our bodies intertwined
My head resting upon your breasts
Listing to the rhythm of your heart – my heart
How beautiful you are my darling –
Your love is fragrant and radiant
Filling my heart with light . . .
Look – I am glowing from within . . .
I feel a stiffness creeping into your body
WHAT – fear seizes me – I can’t breath
My darling – abandon the hurt, the pain I have caused . .
I am on my knees begging
How can I prove my love –
earn your trust?
I won’t leave – never again!
I love you
you . . .
What if you hurt me again?
This time....I won't recover
This time….I won’t survive
It has taken so long
for this heart to mend
Down on your knees
Your eyes plead
I see the tears gather
Can I risk it?
But then again
Can I risk going back to the emptiness
that you left behind
A life without you
was days and nights
of longing...for you
My fingers reach
For those unruly strands of hair
You turn your face into my palm
Planting a kiss
Your arms go around my waist
as you rest your head against my body
We're lost to the world
You're finally home
I bend down to whisper
"Stand up and walk me home
There is language….I want to hear
I want to hear your body speak to me.”
And that night
In our hungry bed
The eloquence of our shared language
The body syllables of desire
The sound units of passion
The language of our love
Was heard by the world
The story of a chance encounter between two old lovers
*********** Love lost and love found **************
A Collaboration by Eileen Manassian and David Meade
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015
Forgive and forget is what we hear all the time.
How can someone even say that when they don’t know me or this pain?
They expect me to forgive when someone has ripped a hole in my heart.
What gives, forgiving would just validate the wrong.
I will be damned if I going to let that happen.
NO…there was not one thought of my feelings, not one.
Yet the feelings I carry have so much power over me.
I don’t want to erase the wrong that has been done,
but having peace inside,,,would feel good right now.
This place I am at right now is not good for me and I know that.
There is beauty, happiness, and kindness around—I can see it.
I need to break free, this cannot have this much power over me.
Sigh, forgiveness is so hard when you hurt so much.
Keep walking, take control—happy thoughts I was taught.
There was more to that, I was also taught to whistle a happy tune, funny.
Pondering that I need to look up and look, really look at kindness and love.
Smiling about this prospect seems to make me happy; a little glow inside.
Remembering the feelings at a time when I was in a better place is healing.
Its time to move on, life will be better.
Hey you, you’re still a you because that has not changed, but I forgive you, truly.
Laughing at who would have thought, I'm walking, smiling and whistling a happy tune.
Edward J Ebbs - Feburary 14, 2015
Copyright © Edward Ebbs | Year Posted 2015
If i have ever hurt anyone in any way I'm sorry, cause I learned in the last two days that everybody has something wrong in their lives everybody has troubles in some way and one word u say could hurt them badly ... And one good thing u say could make their day so everybody I'm sorry if I ever hurt u in anyway.. And I hope everyone has a good day. No one deserves to be treated how u treat people, we all have feelings... And we all have made mistakes, and we all have issues but that's no reason to treat someone like u do Imam pray u get a heart and learn what you are doing is wrong. And I hope u stop. You say u hate drama? But girl u r drama! Just saying so from now on I am going to be me, I'm going to be myself not who everyone else wants me to be... (: cause being someone your not isn't right u shouldn't have to change for anyone..
Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2012
He woke and he got down on the creaking knees
He didn't know if God listened but tried
His grandson was in a coma and God was asleep
But he said the prayer but was afraid of the silence
God was the great politician in the sky
And his son Jesus would listen to the poll
When there was trouble God was the first name
Grabbing his coffee he humbly turned to God
In his eyes it was humbly but he loved the sugar
As he sat stirring and sweetened thoughts
The prayers flowed with his coffee
"Maybe God only listens to the regulars"
And he definitely wasn't one
It was years and God was famished
The whispered prayer ended with death and the anger
"Why did you not take me"
"I have lived and gladly would take the grandson's place"
The pastor warmed up and the sisters hummed
The cup spilled over as the prayer of the faithful
He became a hugger and he covered each drink
And the Irish believed in wake and liquor
He hugged the people tight and the salt became a scab
And God left him there with his drink
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
Abusive and African-American, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist,
an army sergeant, a Vietnam vet and a backhand,
I used to bemoan that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse
I rebelled under my breath
by calling him the "n" word (and he
nearly beat me to death).
Beaten, I never uttered that word again.
Then Mom and he divorced
as I got older (which made things only worse);
free at last, I felt no remorse.
Suddenly, I was the man of the house and life
for us seemed less stormy;
for the first time in years we lived in happiness.
At last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God
and gave my life to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did:
I was born again, and it sufficed.
My anger, pain and bitterness which
I had for years repressed
began to slowly disappear; and so I became
less and less depressed.
By now, my former step-dad had grown old
and had swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet back when
I was still angry and young.
I could not forgive him for the abuse that
made my life so utterly grim;
but I realized that the weight and burdens
of not forgiving him
would be worse than what I've endured. I know
in life we all sin and transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
God's grace and forgiveness
I made up my mind to forgive him.
A daily, ongoing process,
I was able to finally begin to let go of the anger
and truly begin to forgive the mess
that I had inherited from him. And I was
able to begin forgiving God;
He was not to blame for my step-dad (who was also
beaten by his parents' lash and rod).
Though I was forgiving him and letting go, he was
unmoved and unchanged as ever;
I had realized that what mattered was that my forgiveness
had been changing me forever.
When he finally died, I had already completely
let go and he was forgiven;
Now I can only wonder to God whether he had
been changed by his view of heaven.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
Outside, there is a small trail
and six steps
separating me from those that pass on by,
Impossible, to hide, behind my ruby house coat
and synthetic flavoured...
bitterly savoured, morning coffee
An old man walks by,
paced, in slow - rhythmic strides
in order to balance three bags
his aluminum collection
Toes, emerging from the tips of his tattered shoes,
As he spies me
we engage in observations
He is courteous, as he desists,
lowers, his head in his travels,
continues to descend down the hill
around the corner of my house,
all I can hope for
Is that he does not rip my garbage apart.
Copyright © Angie Mae | Year Posted 2006
JUST BEING NICE
It is not that you were lying
Something I do realize now
That you were simply trying
To just be nice, some ole how
Let me point out here what I see
I mistook your words of promise
As something that might actually be
Not a pile of dreams I hold as fondest
Those things you say right to my face
Like really dancing with me someday
Or taking me out to eat at a fancy place
It’s like you lead me on and that’s okay
Because your thoughts are meant for good
Saying what will keep me happy to be suffice
Not to intentionally hurt me, you never would
I understand now that you were just being nice
I bet you wish I could find something else to do
Like getting someone else to share my life with
I can only apologize for wanting to be with you
For my happiness with others was truly a myth
I appreciate and enjoy your company each day
I know your time given is at a very high price
As time is more valuable than money they say
So thanks for the time and for just being nice
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2014
America the Worlds Hope for Peace and Prosperity Has Become A Culture of Death
How did this happen? America, how did you become a culture of death? You were
founded upon the Word of God and Jesus, the Savior of the World. The Bible says in Him we live, and move and have our being. Jesus said, “I have come to give you life and that more abundantly”! He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father but by Him.
I realize that many bad moves and changes have taken place to bring about such
a shift of principals, morals and beliefs that have caused the fall of our society. Many things are attributed to it including, the Church in America moving away from the central theme of the Gospel, the Cross of Jesus Christ. We have moved away from the Lord, Himself, and we have placed man on the throne of our hearts instead of Christ! We have taken God out of the classrooms in our schools, and when we removed God, Satan then had the inroad to these young and tender minds and hearts of our children.
Our country has become so “self centered” that we have been touting the ideology that man is a god unto himself, and this has spread the self-centered lifestyle and has taken hold across our land. We look out for #1, what is best for you, the most convenient for you, if it feels good, do it.
Wanting to become like “Twiggy” the concentration camp model that caused many women to die trying to get their emaciated bodies to look like her and developing anorexia in the process. And in the 70’s, if being pregnant was inconvenient for the mother, go get an abortion, who cares, it is “my body”, no madam, it isn’t your body that you are killing, you are killing an innocent human being, instead, you said, it is my figure, my fun, my time, my party and you become a “god” in your own eyes and you took the life away from your own baby, and now, we have as a nation, I believe killed well over 100 million babies, I say that many because, the killing keeps taking place but the numbers have not been increasing! Also, the babies that these babies would have had… no one is counting the whole generation that was slaughtered.
Now we are a nation where our youth is dressing in black clothing participating in the “walking dead”, killing each other at schools and on the street, watching “Zombies”, playing violent electronic games feeding on death continually!
When will this stop??? It won’t without a blood bought, devil stomping, sin killing Holy Ghost revival! Without Christ in our lives, a personal relationship with our Creator, every soul in this world will either end up in Heaven if they choose to accept what the Lord Jesus Christ has done for mankind through His own blood, or will end up in Hell burning in the Lake of Fire for an eternity! They will literally breathe fire forever! Wouldn’t that be enough to convince you to choose life? Death is not pretty, it is horrible, messy, ugly, and putrid but life in Christ is beautiful and abundant. It is fulfilling, lovely, pure but, only if you know Jesus personally. It is really up to us, and I pray that as you read this narrative poem that you will choose life, life in Christ, ask Him today to come into your life and forgive your sins!
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
August 8, 2015
Copyright © Marilyn Jennings | Year Posted 2015
The day of Pentecost, Church celebrated
Administered Holy Baptism
St. Peter declares
“Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit”
The apostles offer baptism to anyone who believed in Fr. Christ Jesus
You will be saved
You and your household
St. Paul declared to his baptized and with all his family
Baptism is birth into the new life in Fr. Christ Jesus
In accordance with Lord God’s will
It is necessary for salvation
As the Church herself, we enter by Baptism
Baptismal grace includes forgiveness of original sin
Birth to a new life by man becomes an adopted son of the Father
A member of Fr. Christ
A temple of the Holy Spirit
Those who die for faith
All those without knowing the Church under the inspiration of grace
Seek God sincerely, strive to fulfill his will
Can be saved even if they have not been baptize
With respect to children who have died without baptism
The Church invites us to trust in God’s mercy
The angel of Lord God said
The babies are safe in heaven
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012
Actions Speak Louder Than Words Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Why can't I sleep tonight?
I can not stop thinking about our last fervid conversation.
Broken promises of a long lost love affair between the cores of two fleshly desires.
The nature of the problem resides within your poor mentality.
You think you speak of righteousness and I listen with hopelessness.
You think you speak of virtuousness and I listen with nauseousness.
The podium you built from scratch reminds me of unshakable
memories of my childhood days in school. Annoyed at what I was being taught
and waiting for the bell to ring.
When will your bell ring?
When will your presentation fail?
I'm pretty sure you have already failed at loving me right and sharing good character of tender moments I deserve..
Up to my doorstep you walked. I saw the look on your face. The look
of regret and sorrow. How can you have sorrow? My self-pity is so comfortable
and it lays me down at ease with my decisions. I already closed the door, but
this time I must open it with caution...
My discretion melted as I saw your face. Tears were being shed, as my fears
stopped and bled. Bleeding into the hole of nothingness I thought
I only reserved for your poor intentions. I anticipated provoking words
dripping out of my lips, but all I could do was look in your eyes and feel your remorse
dig deeper into my oblivion.
Apologies were said and the begging occurred during the time I felt
forgiveness seep through my essence. Was your essence truly remorseful? Was my wall falling down enough to let you back into my world? Maybe it was...
...falling...falling..falling into your arms of warmth...
You held confessions of why you were lost, and why you couldn't lose me. “For without you, there is no me”, you whispered while we shared a moment of peace. You came in and there you sat in silence. Contemplating on what words you thought would change my point of view.
Don't you know your actions caused a chain reaction that
dripped beneath my self-worth? Don't you know any sort of discourse you
were trying to address would mean nothing? Good deeds with good intentions
can slowly wash away the pain of loss. Loss is not an action. It is an occurrence
one's true love being swept away without reasons or time to prepare.
Your demeanor must change. The sky must reflect your light into my soul once again. Your conduct needs to carry respect and honor in the name of my love.
If one is dealing with inner consequences, behavior must alter itself to conform
into self respect and true manners. “It is only through direct transformation that I will
pardon you...for you have always been my constant companion, and now I vow
to remain in your arms under the condition knowing that your endeavors will always speak louder than words. No words in the world can reprieve wrong doings, but I have faith in you..and...
...faith in us...”
~Date Written: March 24, 2016~
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car,
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.
This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.
Copyright © Deeana Valencia | Year Posted 2012
These are my confessions
Secrets of my mind
Everything that mattered
Truth I can not hide
Nothing but a shadow
What I was, What I am
What I’m supposed to be
Forgive me, God, forgive me
For being so unkind
Cynical and blind
To those who thought they knew me
And those who never did
To those who hear my songs
In the places where they live
I offer my confessions
Honest to the core
Offer my confessions
There won’t be anymore
Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011
IM NEVER OVER
The fairytale’s ended,
The reasons have faded.
Friend is a stranger again,
And the promise?
Is washed away by the rain.
Relations are already ruined,
Smiles are blown far by the wind.
Maybe I was never the one,
That’s what the sea-shells learned.
I would never want it to end
No matter how much I had to correct and mend.
But I think I’m no more special
Neither my thoughts are anymore crucial.
Affection or inspiration? Don’t think any of it is left,
‘cause now, it’s all out of my conquest.
Though I hear people asking me, why do I still look so calmed sober?
And everytime I remember him saying,
That he might be gone, but I’m never over.
Copyright © Sweksha Karna | Year Posted 2015
Heart Of Stone
What a heart wrenching piece of news..
In today’s spread of daily news…
Boldly headlined ‘Mom: No Forgiveness”
It was about filial hurt and devastated dreams.
This news worthy piece of news was rather brief..
The reporter was probably trying hard to be objective..
This news begin with a factual statement of a 10 years’ ordeal..
A 63year-old woman looking for forgiveness, to make amends..
There were only two colored photos displayed,
The main one showing a unsmiling woman,
Bagged eyes, resolute and looking slightly defiant…
Her left hand across the bony shoulders of a skinny man.
They were enstranged siblings, getting back together after 30 years…
She is 63 while big brother is 65, the latter must have had tough years …
Gaunt and feeble looking, big brother has been more forgiving,
Brotherly love tirelessly scouring for 30 years for a sister missing…
The second picture, O how it speaks the depths of timeless hurt and despair..
When it caught and froze a 93 year old mother’s wave of rejection for reconciliation
There she was, a feeble bent over aged mother, an upraised left hand with open palm..
In her hardened heart, she was dismissing an intruder from revisiting old wounds…
Nothing was written, nothing was reported, the beseeches and pleadings to be heard..
This 63 year-old long lost daughter, unlike a biblical prodigal son, was not to heal a hurt…
A hurt so deep and forgotten, that must have devastated the family and the siblings that day…
When she chose to run away from her home, her parents and siblings on that fateful day..
A lot of water has flown under the family bridge and if you were to read between the lines..
Her unexplained and undoubtedly unforeseen rebellious act of abandoning her home that time..
Was a betrayal that destroyed and endangered all close family love, dreams and ties..
Even her elder brother too escaped the family nest and for 30 long years he looked for her…
O what a sad episode for a Malaysian family, the trauma and the hurt, the crushed dreams..
30 years of anguish and regrets supplanted by an armor of wilful memory loss and silent screams..
Even at 93, “You ran away all these years without thinking and caring about how we feel”..
A simple statement of truth, how it must have hurt, is there time enough for such wound to heal?
Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015
Oh how frail is the life of mortals
Look at how our tongue treasures the taste of food
Without oxygen we die
We sleep as though we're dead
I've seen demagogs rising and falling
History hasn't been fair to their very great powers
In our virtues, our pride lights our vice
Oh such hypocrites at heart
Oh how our desires hook us like fish bones
Into doom we gleam
Until we see our fragile weakness on Earth
True repentance is just a dream
I've seen the Light I believe
The truth of God who lived as man
His sacrifice made me free
Oh such a hope of eternity I share
Copyright © Jacob Owusu Sarfo | Year Posted 2013
Some folks always follow the winner
I didn't even have the courage
To tell you how you made me feel
Your body language
Way back then,
A wall flower.
you thought that I weren't good enough
I am blooming;
People always follow the winner
Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2012
Forgive me. I never knew You.
Placed into your womb, I grew to detest My Mother
as You never fit a mold as it is told to little girls or little boys
about Mother, so through great resentment,
I never really knew You, the Be-ing that was here.
You wait for me now.
Your spirit perhaps returned to live in this place
and plane on which to learn whatever our souls do desire.
But I know a part of your spirit waits to greet me.
When I come Home it is you I will see
to have a conversation and it is for I to say ...
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010