Jesus sounds Speak Lord Speak
Jesus sounds
Speak Lord Speak
God my Father He does;
Surrounds me with His love;
Jesus
He whispers in my ear;
Love;
Jesus
His sounds is His voice
The passing winds;
The sparrow sings
Jesus
I hear Him when I speak
I hear Him when I wake
And as I sleep
He speaks
Awakening in His arms
His arousal ever presence is my alarm
Sweet sound Jesus raindrops fall
Butterflies wings
Tall Kentucky Blue-Fine Fescues
The Father’s love for me speaks
So inclusive Jesus in the beatings of my heart
In the light in the dark
Sounds Jesus the sounds of my Father
Jesus He’s the God that I hear Jesus sounds
SLS Elohim Jesus Speaks Lord Speak sounds like Jesus
Jesus sounds Speak Lord Speak
3/8/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Categories:
fescues, analogy, appreciation, engagement, god,
Form: Dramatic Verse
God my Father He does;
Surrounds me with His love;
Jesus
He whispers in my ear;
Love
Jesus
His sounds is His voice;
I hear Him when I speak;
I hear Him when I wake;
And as I sleep, He speaks;
Awakening in His arms;
His arousal ever presence is my alarm;
Sweet sound Jesus
Raindrops fall, butterflies wings
Tall Kentucky Blue-Fine Fescues;
The Father's Love for me, speaks so inclusive;
Jesus
In the beatings of my heart;
In the light in the dark;
sounds Jesus
The sounds of my Father;
Jesus
He's the God that I hear;
JESUS
Sounds...
SLS
Elohim
Jesus
Speak Lord Speak
Sounds like Jesus
Jesus sounds
Speak Lord Speak
2/22/23
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2023
Categories:
fescues, analogy, appreciation, god, jesus,
Form: Classicism
South of Heaven
In shadow of the crimson moon admits the devil’s hordes
Eternal death descends decreed by the oblivious overlords
The forgotten of the ignescent inferno raise their swords
Dexterous demons devour and yell as they march towards
Enter Satan’s shore serving despondent deviant destruction
Where grace of love is liquefiable within deluded deduction
Thoughts of freedom fermented with fear in their abduction
Abandoned anguish roams rampant after incursive induction
The harvest of heinous horrors throughout the wasteland
Souls of yesterday yield their yearning in demonic demand
Souls of morrow tormented and tangled where they stand
For Lucifer’s legions laughing have the ulterior upper hand
Now lie misty meadows of a dark daunting decadent dwell
The forests fertile with fescues a feculent foreboding smell
Tempestuous tempest of sorrows surround the satanic swell
We dine & dance in a degenerative dominion of earthly hell.
April.11.2018
Ten Words
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Categories:
fescues, conflict, death, humanity,
Form: Rhyme
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.
Categories:
fescues, nature, yellow,
Form: Prose Poetry
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.
Categories:
fescues, nature, yellow,
Form: Prose Poetry