You cannot read their minds.
They hide their true intentions,
Like hunters do in blinds,
Too late for circumventions.
Baited by their chumming,
They boast by saying this,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
Their assassins did not miss.
Cruel conquest brings them joy.
"Like a lion I raged!"
With their prey they will toy,
With sport they are engaged.
But lost in all this glory,
They fail to understand.
It's God who writes the story-
His responses are preplanned!
What you plot against Him,
While you celebrate your win,
Your win is just the prelim-
He will turn it into ruin!
Better consider the Cross!
Jesus died for gain, not loss.
He mocks their succumbing,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
They shoot, stab, and run,
some are caught and then released
showing no remorse.
They choose life this way
always taking from others.
A huge price awaits.
An atheist living soul was floating above on deathbed,
because if he touched it, he would leave this world.
He let the pain out and screamed through his dying soul.
A guy who was once drenched in every bit of gold
comes to him and says:
“I want to make a compromise with your soul and body—
I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to serve me.”
But then suddenly the man who created every bit of the universe
comes to him and says:
“I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to believe I am real.”
Then the living soul thought:
It’s no different. Both are slavery,
but in different ways.
But he thought,
since he questioned God in the life he lived before,
he would face judgment for that.
Either way, he was going to hell.
He was thinking of every possible possibility
that would grant him some life.
But he died in his imagination while sleeping.
– THEBLOODYPEN
I would see him die, rather than saving him.
I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.
If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.
But I will have the thought that he will have a better afterlife—what many people don't know about.
But if I save that person, I don't know what major change I will cause in his stormful presence.
He is looking dead into my eyes, like his eyes are telling me that I am the last living person who hasn't seen him with disgust.
I saw him jump over the bridge.
At first, I thought a thief or a burglar took his wallet and pushed him off.
But now I am questioning what I should believe—
The fake thought that I have created, or the reality that he wants to die in.
And at that point, I would let him die, rather than saving him.
I was looking at a dying man who was asking me for a stone I had in my pocket. He wanted it to survive, but he was a sinner—because a book said he made fun of people and abused them. I watched him grow pale and wondered: should I help him because of his situation, or let him die because of his deeds? Then I thought, why should I care? And I continued walking along the footpath.
They hunt for a name to trap your soul,
then twist the truth until it burns with reproach.
It drags the heart into its chilling, ruthless fire and spins lies that shadow a flawless glow.
Kindness cannot linger where judgment rules and only friends move through untouched by harm.
Within this shadow, quiet power rises...
a gentle light that passes every barrier.
Even as shadows gather and eyes glisten with tears and harsh words crash like a relentless tide,
the heart holds steady.
Defying all the pain,
unseen, it guards its sacred honesty.
Keep moving,
unbroken by their cruel claims for what is real outshines the toughest cries.
The world demands identity—
a name, a face, a history.
But in its grip, you lose your way,
and shame is what they make you pay.
They drag your truth into the light,
then twist it wrong and call it right.
They dress you up in guilt and fear,
then whisper lies for all to hear.
A coin of shadow tempts the soul,
Whispers bartered for control.
Peace, a dove, retreats in flight—
While angels weep beyond the night.
No love is free—not in this place.
No kindness shown to a stranger's face.
Sincerity is bought and sold,
for only friends within the fold.
But I’ll disappear—not out of shame,
not from guilt, nor playing a game.
I leave to guard what’s left of me,
from judgment’s gaze and cruelty.
For though they tell the world I lied,
they never saw the tears I cried.
And those who turned their hearts away—
they never knew what truth I’d say.
Just walk away with peace,
and never rethink
the cruelty
they say
And the Lord will say to them on Judgment Day,
“I was hungry, and you defunded my food aid programs.
I was thirsty, and you rolled back drinking water protections.
I was a stranger, and you snatched me and deported me.
I was naked, and you gave tax breaks to billionaires.
I was sick, and you cut Medicaid and Medicare.
I was in prison, and you gave me no due process.”
And the self-righteous will ask him,
“Lord, when did we do those things to you?”
The Lord will answer them,
“Whatever you did
to one of the least of these,
brothers and sisters of mine,
you did to me.”
(Paraphrased excerpt from Matthew 25:31-46.)
(First published in Substack, 21 May 2025. See also my poems “Bringing Heaven to Earth” and “Quantum Acts of Kindness.”)
Hello, my most esteemed poets,
I am trying an experiment that I believe has not been done here on the PS site. I have posted a new poetry contest called "The Prismatic Self: A Gauntlet of Mirrors within the Arena.".
The JUDGES have now been selected:
1. Lin Lane
2. Ink Empress
3. Duke Beaufort
4. Vanya Evangeline
5. Anne Winter
6. Hiya Sharma
7. Andrea Dietrich
8. Daniel Rodgers
Since only one person can view the contest, all contestants' submissions will be distributed between the group for input and ratings. When the contest is complete and we have the final list of winners, we will have personal insights from all the judges for each winner and all honorable mentions.
Thank you for your time and patience
Blessings,
Daniel
Jesus in toga or tunic
Wrote notes that use symbols runic
But Trump Musk and Vance
Don loose yoga pants
To hide now each is a eunuch
'Least likely' times three,
Putting me through difficulty
To persuade me to go away,
Axing with, "Have a nice day..."
So much for a 'Protection Plan'!
That maze through which no one can,
Defeat the 'Crooked Counterplan'!
The 'gods of profit' win again!
(sigh)
'Most likely' times three,
These "gods of profit' turn beastly,
And poison justice everywhere,
Until their profit becomes a snare!
Israel's leaders blind and dumb!
Their nation so far out of plumb.
God sent His prophet, Amos, to say,
Their 'profits' He would drain away!
Despising 'God's Truth' cannot win.
'His Truth' rises to win again.
Jesus Christ is His 'Point Man',
Look to His 'Protection Plan'!
Appearance
reality
their differences
hide
Within the
perception
that judgment
abides
If once
crossing over
there’s no
going back
The tradeoff
complete
their identity
— hacked
(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
The scene stopped me in my tracks,
Crimson bursting through darkly gray.
"Another cold, dark morning," I mused.
As I turned to walk away...
"Beware the Ires of March, Watchman!
Scoffers attack like mad hornets!
I AM stirring their secret hives,
Exposing their darkly terror.
They will reap what they have sown,
When I unleash My holy terror!"
"How do I confirm this, Lord?"
"Better than a sign to see
Are the direct words from Me.
So, beware the Ires of March!"
What I don’t display,
Is good that you don’t see.
The music moves as you play,
Spirals and fades away from thee.
The weeping willow tree,
Smiling before me.
Que sera, sera.
You can only see my every flaw.
Like those from our previous lives,
We march unto an ungodly death.
Not knowing for what we thrive,
With our cold and shallow breath.
Up the snowy mountains depth,
Dusty grounds the wind hath swept.
To the nest, the mother bird returns,
Only to discover that her eggs were burned.
No tree remains,
Because she only wanted more.
Let us sing woe, not praise,
For this has happened before.
Is a swelling crescendo in the score,
Truly what we are searching for?
A piece of information,
Used to make a whole new creation?
These Sunlit Signs,
Are leading us to the right story.
Read between the lines,
The empty void of purgatory,
The telltales of your own glory.
Just stop and listen for me,
To understand the meaning of you and I.
There may be signs reading,”The end is nigh”.
Related Poems