1. The Scriptures shine, God-breathed and pure,
2. One triune God, eternal and sure.
3. The Father reigns, Creator above,
4. The Son, our Savior, full of grace and love.
5. The Spirit proceeds, giving life and light,
6. Humankind fallen, lost from God’s sight.
7. Salvation is grace, through faith alone,
8. Faith, Spirit-given, makes Christ our own.
9. Children of God, by blood justified,
10. Baptism and Supper, Christ’s love supplied.
11. The Church, His body, with Christ as the head,
12. Awaiting His coming, just as He said.
13. Resurrection awaits—joy or judgment ahead.
© 2025 Pastor Emmanuel Serto
"Whose discernment is correct?!"
"They read but don't watch for Me,
So simple truth turns knotty:
Captives in a doctrinal fence,
Their interpretations lack sense,
Their expertise a mere pretense.
The truth originates with Me,
My illumination lets you see:
Your eyes see what I've planned,
Your ears obey My command,
Your mind will then understand.
My people will be purified,
My enemies will be petrified:
My plans - fully carried out,
Erudite prowess - a cop-out,
Dogma of men - a sellout.
The Scriptures are all about Me,
So seeking Me first sets you free:
The arbiter of truth is not man,
You must trust Me and My plan,
I will finish what I began.
My answer to you, 'Just watch Me!'"
Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour
and the imprimatur of the gods
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age.
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic,
even now into Prime Ministers,
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.
I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world.
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums
for opposing forces,
doctrinal battlegrounds
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there,
transcending the reign
of emperors, wealth, privilege
and the power of the State.
And so it is, I hold to my chest
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.
Not so TREU, will monopolise through and though
It will be better, if you could forget about your
And the long two weeks' that broke who..?
Maybe me? Or you? What can people do?
Well Gandi did peaceful non compliance i'll bet
That reality is not being taught to children today
By sociialist teaching and their doctrinal apprentice's
Or you can choose to euthanise, its a slanted word
Situation that echoes a term known as genocide
There is also the word infantacide, there are phobias
And misnomers so theres plenty coming right at
You.' (Reality tv should amuse) anethesise you mind
In a world that were'e told is kind? And be sure to say
Take care ' Treat others with respect, let the authoritys
Break their necks; or pepper spray any 75 year olds in
Their way.!
Its only double standards if you don't look the other
Way... Deau.)
Religious dogma, be it any faith,
any handed down belief,
any once sincere doctrine
now has but one purpose
and that is to
hide God from yourself.
By doing so
it controls your freedom
of self-inquiry,
demands that your blind faith
is better than seeing, than knowing.
Religion wants you to seek
but never find,
to follow a ritualistic way
and be awed by the path ahead
but never take that path.
All religions have great truths in them,
but the greatest truths are deliberately buried
too deep for the faithful to find.
until they come to see
that crumbling wall around their own power of knowing,
That those notions of hell and sin
are a religiosity created only by fear.
If you have to,
respectfully, reverentially,
break that doctrinal wall down,
and not one ancient brick at a time
but in one hammer blow
of adamantine of insight.
They were accounted for,
they were officially dead,
but the alarming fact was
that large numbers of the dead
had gone missing.
Occasionally, still pinging cellphones
were found in Hades, Purgatory, and
other Bardo states.
Olympus was drunkenly silent,
as were almost all of the seven heavens.
In nirvana,
the footwear of some of the deceased,
had been left in a pile awaiting a divine fire,
footprints were seen
as if waiting for a cooling wash
in the fountain of everlasting life.
The missing had presumably
transported themselves
to some less boneheaded ideas
of the life after, one not yet imagined
by any dogmatic priesthood.
God was accused of not packaging
the deceased properly.
However the missing were never found
having discovered their own way out
of all that doctrinal,
inconsequential madness.
Justin Matryr in AD43
wrote his first apology*
Having no problem with biblical rewards
helped we millennials to be in doctrinal accord
*https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justin_Martyr
In the light she died,
although it was I that faded to blindness.
The Beloved
ransacked me, She was ungentle.
Years past, empty nights, grey hours
in the harsh light of anger.
I held my grudge against Her
like a hot iron.
Then She died for me.
I awoke remembering what I had done
and was distraught.
None can kill God,
all death is a lie
told to the back of your eyes,
yet slowly killing myself killed Her also.
Suicide is the ultimate sin,
not a crazy doctrinal unfeeling edict,
but a warning.
If you try to kill God,
the Beloved will find you
and Her love will not be gentle.
How it mocks your mind to think
a thing your faith affirms as tenet.
You tussle with the doctrinal ink:
was there an inaugural minute?
"Always existed," can that be right?
The thought swevels all your senses.
Saints with you do mull and marvel
trapped in past and present tenses.
The picture will clear on a day hence
when puzzles will be pieced complete.
They will make heaven-sent sense
as in tears we kneel at Jesus' feet.
People keep telling me
What I am supposed to be
But what I want to be
But what I want to be
Not what you tell me
So
I rely on
The Father whose the author
And finisher of our faith
So I go on
Don't tell me that I'm not worth it
Because I am more Worthy
Cuz I am here people keep telling me
That I am not saved
Because of the way I behave
And I am not doing like you do
Your doctrinal views
Get a clue
People keep telling me
What I am supposed to be
But what I want to be
But what I want to be
Not what you tell me
So I rely
On the Father who's the author
And finisher of my faith
so I go on I rely on my God
1/7/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr 2019©
Blind from birth she saw the light,
but no darkness in her soul,
broken, guided, hands outstretched
but her faith had made her whole.
Self taught and skilled with hook and thread
her handicap no bind,
plus literate, she learned by rote, and knew
her worth, her mind.
Child of parents Protestant, eagerly took the word,
paid pennies to the readers of her Bible, gladly heard.
At odds with the high Church on points doctrinal
she was tried, sentenced to hang over the flames
rope maker's daughter died.
Thus cruelly taken in her prime, her age just twenty two,
her Martyr's grave unknown, but place of death
now given to a Church of the religion that
she'd found herself at odds
in a time when gross intolerance blocked
so many paths to God.
R.I.P Joan Waste of Derby, 1534-1556
W as it just yesterday when
I found a vestibule
R ight next to my goals
E lse something is wrong, which brings
D elineation of a moral code!
I would set the world afire with political desire to achieve and to aspire.
I am going to be a political activist on women rights.
I have step-to-the-cause to claim ownership of my rights.
I am a political powerhouse not to deny.
I have Thunderclap and no response transgress.
Now the world I am within is in a doctrinal arrest.
Transmutation has taken place to transpire social injustice.
Transformation becomes work ethics.
The solidification of a soul is a sensation inner cored
Underlying posture of strength positioned to win.
Bearing the cargoes of a ship those encumbrances of conspiracy,
Insofar, I am the scent of my soul.
Therefore, I am a cannon passing through time not afraid to live for what is right.
____________________________________|
Penned on October 12, 2014 @ 12:11 AM EST!
Humanity has no support to duty
Both contrary in dealing and punctuality:
Non-the-less deny each claims still their validity
Former needs emotional skip where later regularity!
Humanity is a thing roundly soul concern
Fancies of many idles, despotic and obligates.
Estimate not to beautify active approach return;
Deserve aid remarkable quiet pleasing black arts.
Duty declares the deed must accomplish statutable,
Gratitude, greed and gratification are sub-judice here-of:
A crazy caution compel to foil inapplicable
Yonker's pride, old hand cultivated doctrinal of.
Certain condition humanity plays role of pre-eminence
Duty looks wanting help out of heels.
Depending on probation of sincerity convince,
Rejecting deep binder satisfactorily set aside exceeds.
If stands duty and humanity both together.
Glorifies the spirit immortal as His name
And also deal showing clean impersonality further,
None appeal to mercy could not dare blame.
OSAMA
Obdurate Sadistic abductor as Machiavellian now abashed
Senseless Saboteur with Sabre sword,
Ablutions of wickedness as apology from vagrant
Mercy and peace mixed fleetingly against unprovoked America and the innocents
Abomination of true God explained as religion, hatred, wickedness, murders, and Jihad
Bin
Bigots brewing bestial behaviors before innocent kids,
Inoculated ideas of incorrigible iconoclast and unlettered extremist
Namby-pamby in acts of cruelty, yet, not man enough to face the consequence
Laden
Laden, lackluster, laggard, languid, despising better option
Abnormal spiritual schizophrenia and hallucination
Doctrinal heresies and contradictions shaming Islamic scholars
Exposing the fallibility of the questionable renown “Sacred book of blood and wars”
Now convince us again, that you bring Peace, Love or seek the Prince of Peace