why do some seek the honest to god truth ~ is the plain truth different
By David Kavanagh
There is no match for the little things
Honest to God
Nothing can bring me more joy
Than those little things
A whiff of a scent I knew years ago
Just for a second
Takes me back to that exact moment
With vivid surroundings and sights to reckon
The way my grandfather looks
At his world, as she speaks
His eyes attached to hers
Hers don't even notice
Coffee in a tiny glass
Just like in a restaurant I had forgotten about
Made me smile
Made me happy
Days are long, yet so very short
And these little things remind me to go on
That there is more
That I need to work hard to keep these little things
You can put your trust in Man
to protect you,
if you want to ...
But my mama didn’t raise
no fool
Daddy didn’t raise
no dummy too
I hid my precious, sparrow life
in the secret pavilion
of God’s refuge
I placed my bosom trust
completely in the LORD
That’s the honest to God truth —
Unwise bullets
can’t harm an armored soul,
whose infant cries are prayer foolproof
need to go back
return to winnie the pooh,
cinderella, hide and go seek
at dusk screaming, giggling
beneath the sun’s ruddy demise
Marshall, laying in the ditch.
out of sight I run right over him
trying to reach home,
home where there was safety,
when I believed in the magic of god
because in my understanding
he was the magic one a magician
like the wizard of oz
jumping from the hay loft
almost convinced you could,
honest to god, fly away from
fear if you were only able to just …….
I want the truth.
The whole truth, not your spin
doctor, sound bite version of
the truth, but the real deal,
honest to God
Baptist preacher on Easter
Sunday morning truth.
The kind of truth you only tell
your mama, because she’s psychic,
and it’s a waste of time trying to
tell her anything else anyway.
Okay, let’s have it.
I’m a big girl and I can take it,
I won’t cry.
I want the truth.
The whole truth.
Did you eat the last
damn slice of pizza?
I look for a sign.
If I could see His footprints,
or some honest to God relics,
like a lock of His hair
or the ring He wore.
If the LaBrae Tar pit were filled
with haloes and harps
perhaps,
I could believe.
If there was a place like Graceland
where I could
touch His bathrobe and bedroom slippers,
Then,
my faith
wouldn’t have to be
so blind.
why cant the pain
burst in the release of anguish
threw my ears
threw the eyes
down the road
of so many lies
so many tears
wasted time
hours in the dark looking to see
crying to feel something that isnt there
to feel alive
cold tears down my neck
warm blood down my wrist
dead inside
nothing's okay
its not alright
this addiction called suffering
the agony the smile behind this pain
agony and suffering
a twisted grin as you scream my name
down the dark abise threw the gates of my judgement
your dead to me
it dosent matter your here alone
down on your knees
something gone
it was never missing
because it was never there
my words
the truth
a care in the world
and my sanity
I cannot settle for less
With passion and drive
ambition and brains
I say, that he is best
We laugh, we play
We fight, we mend
The left, the right
The top, the bottom
I feel, tis meant to be
Honest to God
Tis answers I seek
My mind made up
For sure tis not
So help me God
I need your grace.
In the fifties, my sister and I would play store;
selling ice cream and candy just like our grandpaw.
Granny let us delve into her spare button box
where we found the coins for our special cash drawer.
We sorted them all out by size and by color
marking some as quarters, nickels, pennies or dimes.
Imagination was the best of our playmates;
we even had half-dollars, the rarest of finds.
Last year we two met to go shopping just for fun;
can you guess what awaited me and my sister?
Brand-new buttons made of honest-to-God live coins.
We found all the reg’lar ones, but no half-dollar.
We giggled as we shopped, pretending like old times.
Strangest thing we discovered along with this find -
the penny buttons? no cheaper than the quarters.
The cost of the buttons did not match with their kind!
Generations of warmongers spew their lies
outward into the waiting abyss of greed
as the adult throng of drones
buzz the factories and the farmlands,
carpenter ants wasting the bounty of mother earth.
And we ..children of the flower children screamed
“Hell NO we won’t go!”
We burnt draft cards and bra’s
freed from the tit by the acid dreams of Leary
we rose, ran, flew, with flags on our arses.
On campus’s we marched
bandana’ed brethren, fuzz busters
picket carrying freedom fighters, a blaze
with a hatred for everything and every one
establishment…
and the establishment killed.
Killed its own children
at Kent State and got away with it.
As napalm dropped over naked children
in Vietnam, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius
rang from the rafters of Broadway.
Naked as the day we were born
coated in the honest to God mud of
a farmer’s field in Woodstock, we danced.
And we still marvel that Nero fiddled
while Rome burned.
Where are our children now?
Still fighting ..still drones, still bombing
Still ‘liberating’ the oil fields around the world.
Still raping mother earth.
And the beat drones on…………..
What i feel inside for you is unexplainable,
you are just that type of angel that can turn my life around.
When i met you, and looked into your green eyes,
I knew that i would fall in love with you and be the best of friends.
Talking to you every night and seeing your smile, brings a joy to my heart,
I have never been so happy in my whole life as i am when i am with you.
Every morning i wake and see your text in my phone i smile,
than wen i hear your voice, my soul begins to sing.
You are just the most best friend i can ever ask for,
I love you so much that i feel like i am about to explode.
Honest to God i have never felt this way before,
I don't ever want to lose my angel named Esther.
The rage I feel now is boiling inside, pressure in my head
I have never liked this feeling when I’ve felt it before, too close to being dead
I am tormented between jealousy and guilt, not sure how to deal
If I could figure it all out and make it all right, to tell only which is real
My head is throbbing hard, my eyes real sore, something’s gotta break
I lie in my bed and think it all through, not sure how much more I can take
No one on the phone, no knock at the door, no answer to my call
If it does not change soon, honest to God, I fear I am going to fall
With one final thought, I head for the door, a crime I am to commit
Rage filling me now, unable to stop, damned, this I will admit
For about a million mile time
this heart that ache
A broken some year back
Enemy men
flirty women
would tease and ridicule
and call me some rude
to get this egg to finally crack
The pain of being lonely boy
sitting on the grass
writing his rhyme between sadness joy
Mother still coddled
I never took from the whiskey bottle
Reeling with a bump
too bit of a pokey to actually run,high and jump
laughter was their pain
to inflict as such and cause forever misery
Being alone is that ache in me
honest to God if he will set me free
good luck of life I had never really seen
to say goodbye and begin to go blind now
it will always be a cursed foe
no matter where or how I will go
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