Set me free Lord set me free,
Take this evil I lay with away.
Take this torture turn it astray.
Walk with me just let me be.
Look inside my heart to see,
Erase my mind as I do pray.
Renew my spirit all in a day.
Sign me up for a high decree.
Leave all this as dust in the wind,
Scatter past present and future,
I will not falter nor will I bend,
Send it all away with no suture.
Set me free Lord, take this madness and put it in its place.
I must warn you it wears a mask to cover up its ugly face.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
The two kinds of sins are Original and Actual Sins
Original Sin is what we inherit our first parents, Mama Eve, Papa Adam
We are brought into the world with guilt on our soul
Original Sin was transmitted by natural generation to all his descendants
We are cleansed only through Baptism
The other kind is Actual sin
Actual sin is any willful thought, desire, word action or omission forbidden by the law of Eternal God
Chief sources of actual sin are Pride, Covetousness, Lust, Anger, Gluttony, Avarice, Sloth or Laziness
Actual sin or Daily Sin
We are cleansed only by the Sacrament of Reconciliation, Confession or Penance
We must first have the 3 initial sacraments
The 3 sacraments are Baptism, Confirmation, Holy Eucharist
Before the other 4 sacraments
To live in heaven with our Lord
God never turns his back on you,
Even during your darkest hour,
When things may get the toughest in life,
Which make you question,
Whether He really exsist ot not,
But He has never left your side,
And He watches over you always,
During your good times and bad,
For you need to believe in Christ,
To see the light of the gates of heaven,
Which will brighten your everyday,
For you will feel his presence in your life,
Cause He is there to guide you,
All along your way...
Crown of Sonnets
Plus 59 Mysteries
5 beads in 1 Mystery
3rd Joyful Mystery, the Birth of Jesus
1st Luminous Mystery, Baptism of Jesus to Christ
5th Sorrowful Mystery, the Crucifixion
1st Glorious Mystery, The resurrection
CIL MAOLCHEADAIR (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;
she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;
and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;
and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
The generous seas do roam vividly,
And sacred words spoken earnestly.
People suffer and people go to war,
I just hope these words will go afar.
Yesterday I published a FREE book,
Indeed a feat of altruism, no crook!
I suffer in silence in every moment.
I have no money to publish a stunt.
I was just hoping for word-of-mouth
And email propagation as loudmouth.
Book is at: http://bookbooster.com/newage.htm
I accept feedback just at: firstname.lastname@example.org
OFFICIALLY THE MOST ELOQUENT STORY TELLING POETRY BOOK EVER WRITTEN
-ALL NON FICTION- (This spiel typed in the spur of the moment - God Bless you)
Gathered, to mourn in one deathless hour
Fragile, a test to faith's consummate power
Grief, which is stone cast, among five stricken faces
Softened by reverence, and mute, anguished traces
Weightless in her arms, but heavy for the eyes
Devotion anchors deep, painting tears that will not dry
Each pulse that pounds, each gasp one takes,
will rise, then, with awe, as the brush strokes create......
Lost, the desperate world, which honed new beginnings
Shattered, by the cost, as their world had stop spinning
The few souls, who cradle, unable to speak
would renew from a tomb, He would defy and retreat
For those who altered history, Sofonisba paints with eye and ear
Will they stutter, will they falter, or still deny that He appeared?
Submitted for Cyndi's Contest: A Painting....Sofonisba Anguissola, Pieta
In the repository of unlived things,
I find unquenched love,
A tarnished wedding ring,
An old baseball glove,
A half-sketched dream.
The sore sight fills my eye,
An oil-soaked cloth of faith,
Restraint against sin piled high,
A picture of Jesus laid to waste,
So much regret, I begin to cry.
Behold, I see a new start,
An infant’s wiggling toes,
A chest of breath and beating heart,
Courage clamors and fresh breath bellows.
O God, the pangs are crushing body, soul
And spirit—working deaths where sunlight fades—
My arms are trunks of pain and taking toll,
While tortures, stings, and sickness hauntly raids
To close the Gates of Hell to shut me in,
And heaven bows to greet while Hades seeks
To send The Reaper with his failing grin.
And illness ruins lives while havoc wreaks
The squalored throes of daily living on—
While body wastes away and breath remains
To sing your dirge while I still carry on…
Like trampling cattle trodding broken frame,
I live between the sunshine and the grave—
Like flowers cut and dying in the vase