Thoughts of death, one after another,
mourning a loss. They fall like hailstones
cracking tiles, waking the night
—its perceived substance—
things not seen but feared. I could care less.
It's the longest night of my years
caught in the toils of doubts, of despair
of the noise of falling ice that reverberates inside
my faith in sudden slices. Impotent to
kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience
and tithes at all costs. Impotent to
listen to duty of silken stole
that pulls creaking faith into its coils. Impotent to
accept sacred writings chosen by lot. Impotent of
praying more and thinking less. Impotent
to breathe, to see
to walk through wind-blown salt and s i l t
measuring a time dark and lost. A ruptured soul
over versions of interpretations of
oral traditions already translated into lies: Greeks, Romans,
monarchs, despots, rulers, reformists, stoics...
Thoughts of death like tears of ice
Where will be the lice that sucks my sins and tics
that coughs and gags and vomits my unfulfilled temptations into a cist?
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles.
It's tonight, at its farthest point from my Sun—still so close.
I need to believe it—God—you need to believe it:
You'll die as soon as my faith is lost
Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012
A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes
His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed
Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind
When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home
You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut
Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
You loved the universe
Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.
Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.
No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.
Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.
Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.
Thank you, for helping building a better world!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Outside, a table awaits idle: I join as though it was my companion
Pondering about life as if it were water appeasable to the deepest canyon
Trees and scattered leaves waving alongside the lake facing the north; sighing
Opportunity after opportunity, oh how Ungrateful I am as I whisper to him crying
" A work in progress I am Lord, assist as I sprinkle the ground below with my tears
Lead me and guide me for I shall follow you through out my years
Let your word be used as a sword to fight against my enemy peers
Unseal your lips Father for your words of wisdom are therapeutic to my ears"
A canvas set aside of unfading colors; a mirror painting of the Lord above
My knees gently caress the pavement thanking him for his everlasting love
Caterpillars gather around to celebrate and form to butterflies within my chest
Thanking the Lord once again, for I know with Faith he will conquer the rest
Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012
I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
or we can’t come in.
My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.
Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.
I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013
Wearing invisible halos they come,
Serene and smiling faces like none.
They kindly condescend and say:
“This ain’t life kid, here’s the right way.”
Problematic pompous pedants!
Can’t your suit stain?
Why talk to me like that
As if your words were to my gain?
They beckon the loss,
They call on the random passerby
And when the stranger approaches
“Get rid of those things you own and say.
This ain’t life kid, here’s the right way.”
There is no crack on their mask.
One appearance, saturated.
Give me word and let me ask
Is my life that devastated?
They scrutinize as they say: “judge not”.
They frighten as they say: “fear not”.
Impassive, they command to love.
Adamant, they order to repent:
“What you watch and hear is from the devil,
Throw it far and there let it stay.
This ain’t life kid, here’s the right way.”
Truth emptied by vice.
A sole thing I hear from you:
Do as I say, not as I do.
Copyright © Timoteo Neves | Year Posted 2016
Does the past really matter?
Does it set you free?
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me.
Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch.
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.
Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night.
I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.
Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone.
My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time.
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided.
My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.
Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree.
Copyright © Alyssa Waters | Year Posted 2013
Wrapped in the arms of nature, a breath and breast to rest upon,
I am one with the energy flowing from the male and female elements.
I do not fear my creation, my parent bore not a sinner into this world,
They bore a life to tend to the harmony of nature, not a destruction of it.
From my hands became the power to manipulate my world, it is mine,
To do no harm, to use these hands to heal, to help, to empower others.
My voice does not sing in chapels, it speaks to the particles of life, energy.
Institutions have no place for me, for I am among the trees, swaying in leaves.
I harvest the energies of objects, drawing in the positive nutrients they deliver.
There is history to the craft that I have not put to memory, my body knows,
It is in my blood, the connection between me and the moon,
no bookstore self help nor religious books could ever explain the belief.
Would a witch by any other name be feared or respected, I seek not that label.
Pagan, history thrives on bare bones that brought magic into this world,
The roots of witchcraft, smothered by invading investments of other religions.
I do not know the teaching of such, but I know the Earth and she speaks.
I create my universe from the powers she allows me to have, I earn my life.
Love, that is what makes religion, love for self and for others, true love,
And with the rituals I respect that harmonious flow, from the love of me outwards,
With this hands speaking in rhythm with my heart, I evoke the powers,
Inside the energy of my aura as I stand beside you, you will know, you are loved.
For contest: religious poetry non christian
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014
One day there was an accident, and to heavens gate I was called.
As an angel sat down beside me, upon the bed I had been put upon.
Such a shining warmth ensued as it held me in its thrall.
A thought from God proclaimed, “What with your life have you done?”
Then all of life fled past me, but not as I did expect to see it done.
For all I saw and felt were things I hadn’t known I had done, and yet…
So much pain inflicted to each, with such little words and thoughts.
I never would have known such power, by one person, could be wrought.
I bowed my head in shame at the pain I knew I could not undo, yet…
Suddenly, I found myself forgiven. Yes, TRULY it was true!
Hallelujah became my amazed and impassioned cry before him, that night!
His warmth had never wavered, nor even his illustrious, wonderful light.
How could he forgive me, someone as wretched and lowly as I?
And yet, he did… and so he changed my life from then on out.
But low and behold he wasn’t yet done with me, or so my story goes…
He sent me back to my home again… it in comparison brought me low.
But he said my work lay uncompleted, so now I must go back…
He said to stay clean and I would blossom… What do you think of that?
A veil he placed upon my eyes to remove me from the knowledge of all I’d known.
Then he sent me from his side, where I could not see him but knew he was.
Now, here I stand before you, a totally changed and humbled one.
Still, I have found I have sinned again… I know he must have known.
Perhaps some day, as I patiently wait… I’ll be allowed once more within his gate.
Only time will tell, as again I’ll feel every ones pain…
All I can say is: God Forgive Me… as I continue to wait…
(This Near Death experience really happened and changed my life.)
Written 5-25-12 By Carol Eastman
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
i put my hands together
confessing the days mistakes
and to wipe the slate clean
its by my faith you say im forgiven
i continue to be a sinning machine
I keep you locked up deep inside
so i dont give myself away
to blend in
i hide you from everyone i know
they have no clue i pray
but why am i afraid to show my true self
forced into playing their games
is it because of the ridicule that would follow
would they even call me names?
the transformation that takes hold
when my sinners "gameface" goes on
the lying and profanity gently flows
from the river of my mouth
but deep down
it's really just a con
i try hard to do and say the right things
so you wont be disapointed in me
but its so difficult for me to say " Darn-it "
rather than another word i could pick
from my vocabulary!
but thats what makes you all loving and true
you understand that we are not without sin
your love for mankind has always been there
we just have to let you in
i put my hands together
and ask for the courage
to unlock you
from a place deep within
Copyright © Kurt Kohls | Year Posted 2010
Jerusalem, in the white of night,
with all the ages steeped upon your shoulders,
and the tombs of fading kings;
history has been unkind to thee,
and the desert sea laden with endless enemies ----
thou shooting star who shawn too bright! ----
how wan the dying rose with Mecca roaring in the wind!
how it whispers a new witchcraft....
A new shackle the zealots bring, on hallowed ground....
where angels fear to tread, lest they spill blood,
like the lot of man, the rockets shall bring peace, they say!
and from the east the Palestian, crushed like grapes in a winepress,
betwixt Hebrew and madmen;
'O Jerusalem, how the Lillie's lilt in thy wan shadow,
how the purge of men shudders to hear your final breath....
no sun shines on thee like a risen Christ;
no banner he bears but love,
no weapon formed but wisdom to silence paranoia;
lay down your swords, and he shall rebuild thee in three days
you old arrid hero,
who needs but the nectar of peace to heal thy ancient bones,
an old name whispers on the wind.....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2016
Good Friday, is the day Jesus was crucified on the cross.
Jesus was willing to give His life for ours in order to give
us eternal life.
Easter Sunday, is the day Jesus rose from his tomb.
This is a joyous day and reminds us of His love for all
This is why I celebrate Easter, because I love Jesus for
all he did for you and for me.
He has prepared us a home in heaven and filled it with
his everlasting love for us.
For Linda-Marie's "Easter Inspirations" Contest
Written by: Carol Brown
4th Place Winner
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012
For several thousands of years
you upheld the sacredness of Nature
avoiding wanton destruction
of plant and animal life
taking only what you needed
since their sacredness was
just as important to you
as the sacredness of humanity
When harvesting wild rice for food
you let some fall into the water
to produce crops for the future
Surrounding a pack of wild sheep
while hunting in the mountains
you let a male and female escape
so by their reproductive process
they would ensure the
continuation of their species
You saw yourself as part of Nature
living in harmony with it
and not plundering it with greed
Your religion was to respect Nature
viewing all plants and animals
as parts of its magnificent fabric
Abuse of a part of it was
an abuse of the whole
Your way of life
provides valuable lessons
that can teach mankind how
to deal with today's ecological crisis
that threatens the survival
of all life on the planet
You were the genuine
Guardian of the Environment
I have always admired the way of life of the Native American Indians living in harmony with Nature before the advent of the Europeans. By extension, this applies to all indigenous peoples including the Amerindians and Polynesians. This piece is dedicated to them.
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
She silently prays as she reaches for the chord
Wonder why the Iman didn't do this
I wanted paradise here and the quiet is deafening
Tick tock tick tock and her heart.......
She hasn't tried makeup as she keeps step to her thoughts
Outside of the mosque she awaits her destiny and strangers
They are mine enemy and thirteen hundred and eighty years
Young Mohammed and his brown eyes with smiles
Tick tock and the tick tock
When will that bell toll and the brown eyes that smile
The men get seven virgins and I am one
United States soldiers on patrol march by and the prayer
" Allah Akbar,"
She is torn and the mosque crumbles
A child screams as he holds a hand with no arm
And a car silently burns as people bleed
The mothers last thought is no pain and the hand
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
I am Reality’s angel
resting on the broad shoulders of discovery
the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target
ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you
there is a creator of all things
He is just and patient
many still have fallen into the masses of shadow
wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy
I have seen grown men fall like rose petals
and weaklings rise into unjust leaders
forever the follower of furtive evil
dominating only to remain inferior
the most important answers lie in the unseen regions
where no sense can fully give assurance
the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn
grows weary because of the distance it must take
and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates
it is knowing we are seeking something far
that could very possibly not exist,
that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense
it is knowing all we really think we know
and yes—even a lie
all that has been written thus far rests under my wings
under the warmth in which you refuse to feel
can you believe in me—
though I am completely unseen?
how much more difficult would it be to see
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
In the mirror on Vishu morning I see an Indian woman
whose Brooklyn mouth can't form Hindu prayers.
Should I bleach my skin to match my voice?
Should I scrape my tongue to match my face?
I've resigned myself to my fate--
forever asking the sky
In a language my children will never recognize;
with an accent my grandparents will never understand.
I am what my parents feared I may become;
a child whose soul has turned Westward;
a woman whose only memories of Diwali are the flickering lights.
Copyright © Anamika Nair | Year Posted 2013
As I lay me
down to sleep
I pray the lord
my soul to take
if I shall die
before I wake
please watch me God
all through the night
and wake me and my loved
at morning light
please help me
with the endeavors I seek
please send me a soul mate
in which I can keep
please grant me the serenity
to know right from wrong
and be able to lead
strive to overcome
please keep my spirit strong
through the issues
that toil in my soul
I aspire for diamonds in life lord
and all around me
I see coal
I aspire to turn things around
for I feel my wishes have fallen
upon deaf ground
my heart has no voice
they struggle to hear my sound
I pray to be taken
away from my daily
battles, that humble
although compared to others
in the world
its not much trouble
to me, I feel
my spirit is caged
and yearns to be free
King of all Kings
in your image, you
you already know
each single step
my individual thought
you divinely bound me
in mothers womb
my existence you sought
bless me with the
chance to be
the person in which
you hoped for me
to soar like an eagle
dipping my talons of success
in life's sea
grant me an optimistic attitude
for that is the key
Amen to Thee
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
Let its light of peace
Not be shaded by
The bullets and bombs.
Let the wounds cut and shot
By some senseless
Not scatter terror around it.
Let a few blind
Not choke it, locking it
In private drawers.
Let its words, ’’To slay one innocent
Is like slaying all the humans.’’
Put your guns down.
Let its fields, where
The truths and miracles ripened,
Be reaped by all.
Let this holy bloom,
Bloomed in the boundless desert,
Fill its fragrance in the rotten valleys.
FABIYAS M V
(Dedicated to Mr.Abdurab,a social worker at Maranchery,Kerala ,India who requested me to write on this theme.)
Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2011
On the Passover Lord
In our salvation
four back To back
Bleeding in the Heaven's
Eclipsed in blood
Sea waves roar
Upon your throne
On the Passover
Hailing from the clouds
On the feast of the tabernacle
I bow to you my king
The moon bleeds
Forgive us our sins
Eclipses the new year
A sign of great glory
From the eclipsed moon
On the feast of the trumpets
Falling to the last moon
Feast of the tabernacle
Salvation his Holy name
He who believes
shall not perish
from the chalice
of everlasting Life
Pray It comes
in the end
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015
The plains people such as Lakota, Crow and Ojibwa
Spread throughout the Native American world
Who believe that the sickness is borne out of
The individual’s being out of harmony in life.
Witchery, sorcery, wizardry ways they heal it
Out of the three they prefer the witchery way
Corn pollen is said to be pure and immaculate
Sprinkling with corn pollen helps to cure disharmony
In fact corn pollen so powerful and trusted
That people carry it simply for good luck.
Navajo shamans confirms it as the most powerful
It’s a healing bridge between humans and spirits
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest: Native American people by Shanity Rain
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2013
GOD’S SHADOW/for contest
There were prayers – hollow, empty – prayers.
Oh, the hands were folded, heads bowed,
voices muffled in saint-like submission,
reverberating the words – following
as children do - just a little behind.
Prayers of supplication, beseeching forgiveness
for the unimaginable sin of being born – in sin.
Humble prayers of thanks that “we” were not like “them”,
that “we” would be saved by this God of unconditional
and unreciprocated love.
We prayed “in the shadow of the church”, literally
its twin spires towering above us, we prayed in
the “belly of the beast” – bright, shiny, gold, frankincense,
and murmurs of a past. Silenced before the idled saints
frozen in eternal heavenward gestures.
I hid the child, protected him, allowed him time
to find peace with himself, to learn to trust
in the beauty of a flower, touch the truth in
solemn strength of twisted Elm, hear the
near soundless song of the flowing river.
Upon awakening, we joined souls and prayed.
Giving thanks for the strength that held us as one,
the tenacity to continue to live, courage to know
there is a “god” and we are one.
I am the shadow of that “god”.
John G. Lawless
submitted to – Prayertime Memories – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Isaiah Zerbst
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015
All you need is one word,
Erase just one word
from the minds of the people,
Rout out just one idea, one concept,
Eliminate 'Religion' from
the dictionary of mankind--
Man's stupendous and
gravest faux pas!
And, you'll see peace,
There won't then be any infidels,
No gentiles, no heathens,
No pagans, no idol worshipers;
No racism, no hatred, no jihad,
No crusades, no inquisition,
No persecution, no repercussion.
No church, no mosque,
No temple, no synagogue,
No holy scriptures,
No words of God,
No places of pilgrimage,
No holy sites, no holy icons;
There won't be a pope or a priest,
Nor any saint or a swami,
No mullah, no imam,
No pundit or any rabbi.
No one to dupe you,
No one to lure you,
No Satan, no sin,
No guilty conscience,
No need for confession
No need for salvation;
And, what the hell,
There won't be any hell!
"I Can't Breathe" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2014
my heart breathes its last breath
Embraces its own death
Ready to be reborn
and made anew
Can’t live a lie
Refuse to “do”
and I’ll DIE....
Focus now on why I’ll live
And never touch the sky.
I have to forget you
I have to reject you
But I will never love anyone
like I loved you.....
I heard you whisper
and you never knew it
I wiped the tears from your eyes
But you couldn’t feel it
You’re lost and you’ll never find you
And neither will I
And I’m so sorry--
but I’m NOT.
I'll attempt to reset
Try to forget
But you know, I never will.
Be my dirty little secret
My very worst-kept secret
Sweet, smooth, beautiful poison
My infernal and endless attraction
towards complete and utter self-destruction
I fell in love with the devil
And it will take one heck of an angel
To save me from the likes of you....
my dream never to come true
Oh, I’ll never forget the times
we never shared
I’ll never forget
how you were never there
Always me, the stars, and tears
And I ask you,
what kind of life is THAT?
I have to face the facts
I don’t know what happens now
but it happens without you.
The stains will always be there
the scars will never fade
But the memory of you----
it HAS to.
I could carry the torch forever
But it would only consume me
I can’t cry another tear for you
Or I’ll dry up completely
It doesn’t affect you
and you never deserved me
You’ll go on with your life, too
All, all alone
Because you’ll only ever be in love
Copyright © SLS It Is Rife With Ambiguity | Year Posted 2011
When lives are broken and worlds fall apart,
there is a healer and restorer of the wounded heart.
When you carry your burdens well into the night,
his yoke is easy and his burden is light.
If you call on his name, he will be there,
he will lighten the load if your willing to share.
It is not by power, it not by might..
it is by his spirit you will win this fight.
The battle is his, he knows what to do,
and Love is his banner over you.
Copyright © Crista Gorman | Year Posted 2011
On the day your eyes open
to the prism of the sun
On that day, silent Winter
would be gone
The avalanche of differences
will melt into nothingness
Through the same breath
through our shared blood
We would live again as one
No matter who we are
No matter the colour of the skin
Rich or poor,innocent or guilty
a lawyer,a prisoner,a doctor or a farmer
a catholic,a muslim,a buddhist,or a jew
On that day we would all wear identical dresses
We would all be the significant other
Because Jesus had died for all
Jesus had died for Peter,John and Judah
for Lazarus and Maria Magdalene
Jesus has died for you,for me
Jesus has died for every name
engraved upon God's palm
and through each and every one of us
He will be born to rise again
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012
God sometimes does pray to man;
Quite often we hear him not.
But once above the din of earthly prayer
I did hear his voice;
Through the dizzying whir of angels' wings
His prayer came loud and clear;
A prayer in a tongue I can scarce recall
But which I did to English render.
Priests of the faiths, shepherds of my flock:
Shall you like the devil not hear my prayer?
My words find room in your ears but none
in your hearts,
And so the faithful wander astray from holy
to hollow creed—
The hollow creed of pissful religion.
I can nowhere look and not meet their flights
And nowhere go and not leave un-torn by
their evil ways:
From crimes against humanity,
To drives against womanity--
All wrought in the name of Heaven.
In prayer I now command:
Reach out your staff each day and by its crook
draw the flock near.
Teach them that to answer my prayers is the
highest form of worship
And that man is borne to me not by the things
he drives but by the things that drive him.
Hand them the one compass of golden truth
Whose artless needle ever swings with passion
away from their crooked altars
To point fixedly at my eternal word as to
If these words still shall not bend them to the
Then, perhaps, my wrath will
When upon their heads it descends
Like a whip of lightning cracking on earth's
Copyright © Agona Apell | Year Posted 2015
I shall live and die
By my own accord
Only my God may judge me
To him I've proved my worth
I am still here fighting
It matters not what for
On my ship of righteousness
Headed for waters unexplored
The clear night sky will darken
And the clouds seem ominous
I take heed to the sure signs
From them I won't digress
They are in the way of my dreams
And hopes that fill my sails
Like the wind from my heaven
Keeps my skin tough as nails
Evil comes to tempt me
I am not immune
Sometimes I play the hero
Other times I'm just a fool
Either way the choice is mine
I make it with my free will
For that's the gift he gave me
And for what I fight for still
The government is coming
To bring a chaos they call order
The line has been drawn
Between two sides there is a border
I feel myself being torn
To choose a fate in stone
Let this be a lesson
Why I wander on my own
Minds can be controlled
I see it every day
The weak wills fall like dominos
That lie littering my way
An obstacle before me
I iron will it to the end
And when the devil comes
to dance with me
I have already started to transcend
into everything around
I am the universal man
my true form I shall disguise
I am hiding it from this great Satan
they say will come for my demise
I know he will find me
maybe he already has
in a long gone nightmare
that my soul he stole at last
if I remember correctly
I can't say I recall
ever escaping his grip
or did it ever touch me
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2012
Good it is if unanswered,
Some questions on man's mind.
Better it is if to some,
Answers are given.
Disastrous it is if to one- just one-
Wrong answers are provided.
To many, the whole of life
Is a product of chance:
The work of mere luck.
To others, out of nothing it came.
But this I will ask:
Is there no sense of purpose in the universe?
With consistency the sun rises and goes down,
And in the dark, the moon soars high;
Suitable for habitation is the planet Earth,
And over it, with his powers, man rules.
Are all these phenomena products of chance?
No! From a self-existent God they are!
Copyright © John Adelakun | Year Posted 2011