Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.17.176.160
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Lust of the flesh is sin.
Sin is lust of the flesh.
Try repeating this one once.
What word was miss-pronounced?
Hearing is believing.
With fellowship and greeting.
Duffing our sacred billow caps.
To gifts of public speaking.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Let the bongo and snare drums play.
Till bandaged skins wear all away.
Don't nod the other way.
There is no other way.
No need to even quiz-it.
As I plot out my exit.
An out.
Knowing to pretend.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Outside Shara parks.
Eagerly I mount her.
Oh, How I still love her.
Her long-sleeved pointed ears.
On four legs she steers.
A steady course, slightly up hill.
Away from the Sunday fast-lane.
I so much disdain.  Such pagans.
Away some distance, her peg hoofs clear.
Where no-ones ears can hear.
My boisterous thoughts giggle.
Off Shara's back I wiggle.
"I'll partake your cookies."
" If you embrace my poem."
"How I disdain begging."
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our Covetousness protects our purity.
I re-mount Shara, looking back.
My eyes see cautious female flirts.
All dressed up in pilgrim skirts.
Watch them nod, Godly men,
Way, way up the tall steeple.
To mount our lightning-rods.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
A couple A' blocks A' yonder.
My eyes see a ghastly host.
Unshaven Greeks N' Romans,
Unwilling to yield their posts.
"Howdy", I babble.
" Would you like a poem, or almanac, or Bible?"
"To embrace".
" Not really," They stubbornly reply.
"If we encounter ill will."
"We'll visit Dr. Phil."
"His pill helps us feel better."
As they march unforgiven letters.
To grave sites.
Where they'll recite.
To dead folks.
That didn't treat them right.
" I see," I gently mutter.
Why renounce their sorry fate?
By now it seems too late.
Before I get away tho.
They bark back.
With tongues N' cheeks.
" Hand over your donkey"
" Else we'll call you a honky."
"We will."
I capitulate the leash.
No will.
Before I walk a step.
My eyes see,
Thru my yellow blind fold blanket,
Covering my snow white pirates patch.
The real world.
A world on no conscience.
Our conscience being.
Of Jesus :  Our loving savior.
Or Satan : The claw plucking-up vulture.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required