Long Idols Poems
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We added to our concrete
And made life more abstract
We added to our substance
But life had no impact
We scraped the very sky
And built our progress tall, but-
What we fashioned with our minds
Was no progress at all
A rift in Saga City
A fault - unstable ground
We clung with all our might
But now it can't be found
We reduced ourselves to nothing
We built upon the sand
Our handiwork was tested
Our idols could not stand
Blame it on our skill
We rationalized our wrongs
Wisdom could not be fashioned
To God it still belongs
A rift in Saga City
A fault - unstable ground
Our world has split apart
And wisdom can't be found
Wisdon had called out to us
And sought to increase our power
Rejected by our prideful ways
It departed in that hour
Our ways were open unto Him
His justice - it came due
Saga City is now meaningless
Our worst fears have come true
A rift in Saga City
A fault - unstable ground
Abandoned by the lie
Excuses can't be found
Jesus would you walk with me
To find the true pure Easter egg
12 hours of daylight so we must start early.
For, there are many dropping them.
On every open corner, one seems to be placed.
Not even in hiding but trying to be viewed.
Some appear to have been missed many years.
With grass and weeds covering.
Ruined to its core from deception.
While, some have created their own eggs in labs.
From the wisdom of science and scholars.
We know these by the scent to bypass
Then, we have many that have decorated.
So ,elegantly to catch the eyes of idols.
Beautiful in appearance but rotten within.
Guide and direct thy feet Lord.
For, this world has created so much division.
In competition to build the greatest egg.
While, leaving out the true manna meaning of God.
Pure as honey off an untouched beehive.
Not corrupted by the hands of man.
For we have been given the true gift of the Holy Spirit, but as then ,many still seeking their own glory and praise of man. On Easter this is the Day Jesus raised from death and has given one's access to die to the sinful nature of death and raised up a new spiritual living being to be purified into the likeness of Christ, A Child of the Living God. That God's Spirit might dwell and reign within.
In, writing this is not to judge Easter egg huntings but to find the true gospel from the ones that were killed that you might inherit true wealth eternal life , not from ones seeking to profit. This, earthly world spirit is still in feud of all outwardly traditions of man, instead of inwardly of the Living Spirit to renew the mind to conform to things above. Not of the seen but unseen hidden mysteries and treasures to be as pure gold going through the furnace burning out impurities to shine as a gem of God's assembly line.
> There is a new world rising,
Not in thunder, not in fire—
But in a silence so deep,
It echoes across the galaxies.
181 nations, long forgotten by history’s biased pen,
Have gathered—not in conflict, but in covenant.
From the ruins of colonial greed,
A golden phoenix stirs.
The old gods of currency—Dollar, Euro, Pound—
Fall like crumbling idols.
In their place, a New Tender rises,
Digital, decentralized, rooted in equity.
No more IMF.
No more World Bank puppeteering the poor.
No more UN charades.
These houses of power dissolve,
As the Global South becomes the Sun that never sets.
Asia leads—not with conquest, but with consciousness.
Their minds merged with machines,
Yet their hearts remain deeply human.
Africa, awakened,
Not the dark continent, but the cradle of light,
An industrial colossus with rivers of AI,
Solar cities rising from the red dust of the Sahel,
Robotic farms blooming in the Congo.
No more borders—only bridges.
From Dar es Salaam to Dhaka,
From São Paulo to Shanghai,
A single government rises—not to control, but to harmonize.
Europe...
Once the iron-fisted ruler of centuries,
Now reduced to scattered provinces,
Its castles turned to factories,
Its people, wandering for work—
The way others once wandered into Europe.
Its population?
6% and falling.
Its pride?
A ghost in the winds of progress.
But there is no revenge.
Only balance.
The great seesaw of time has swung.
And in its justice, peace has finally arrived.
For the first time in a thousand years,
No wars rage.
No child sleeps beneath drones.
No color defines your worth.
Racism becomes a fossil, buried with the empires that fed on it.
The air is clean.
The waters heal.
The forests rise like emerald fortresses.
Genetic mastery allows disease to be undone.
Human intelligence—no longer bound by biology—
Expands a millionfold.
We speak in silence.
We move in light.
We live in balance with the Earth.
And for 100 years,
Humanity dances with peace.
This is not a dream.
This is a revelation.
And the prophets smile from beyond the veil:
> *"At last," they whisper,
"The Earth has remembered herself."
Wearing ragged and untidy clothes at night,
There was no make-up but a little dust on our faces,
With improvised instruments made by little hands
We let people felt the spirit of Christmas
Our voices, our innocence, our sincerity!
Heard us singing old songs of Christmas.
As we walked along the street filled with glow,
Lanterns were shining on each home.
Vendors were selling Christmas goodies.
Couples shared sweet nothings watching fireworks.
Every family happily walked to the park
Watching Santa Claus giving gifts to young children.
Just to celebrate and cherish the time of Christmas
Which made the moment bright and meaningful.
But I made a Christmas memory on my own,
With my friends visiting astounding houses.
Started to make a concert on our own,
Pretending we were pop idols singing Christmas carols.
As they started to wear grin on their cheeks,
Listened to us closely if we uttered the correct lyrics of songs.
But everything went well as what we planned.
People liked how we sang and danced.
Christmas is a time for joy, a time for everyone!
But the impact we gave I’d say…
Incredibly unforgettable for them
They laughed and enjoyed our grooves
They prettily liked how we moved.
The whole night was too short to visit people’s homes
But our Christmas carol memory lasted long
I couldn’t quite forget the memories that Christmas gave
I just smile on my seat watching little stars watching over me
I keep on thinking where my old friends now
Are they still pondering the songs of Christmas we used to sing?
Because as of this moment, I’m singing alone
Reminiscing childhood memories of yesterday’s Christmas
Look but don't see! a new World is being made
its fabric is interwoven with a strength of inconsistency
It teaches in pre-schools that
Run from 9 am until 6 with
The children of other lost children who are
Called parents. 'Parents’. It’s a useful
Word!! in this useless world.
That has re-modelled and fetes the
Carnal old realities of blood
Lusting empires of Olympian
Depths.! Trans-ported to Roman orgies to be impressed upon its young captives as their elders run the gamut of ‘endless hours in a
A bean counters paradise.'
Dealing with the cobbled together mantra of consumer ideologies as false idols strut across energy
Wasting screens there are wars, wars on waste wars on want, on pollution, on many many things. These are the
Rumours! also there are real wars
There are earthquakes famines but the end is not yet! viruses in the computers
A virus on the flesh, upon the
Men, who have become lovers of themselves.
©Joe Maverick 31-3-2020
Mornings nail me to the chair of the clocks of my penance,
Minutes pierce me like poisoned needles.
I devour luminous mirrors
That regurgitate falsified truths.
I feed on bitterness and devastating pains,
To endure the dictatorship of suffering and indelible scars.
My lugubrious laughter has fossilized,
My wounded heart has turned into a granary of grudges.
My demons and ghosts knock at the door of my fate
Like soldiers demanding their tribute.
I sign contracts with my own perdition,
I rent my youth for a few bills tarnished by my cowardice.
Outside, crowds kneel before the showcases of misery,
Praying to plastic idols.
They sell their time at the market of sterile chimeras,
They call freedom this cannibal chain.
I would like to scream until the dungeon of my existence shatters,
But my throat is clogged with dust.
I would like to break this glass ceiling
That separates me from a life I have never tasted.
I am a voluntary slave in this morbid century,
A spectator forced to contemplate his own decomposition.
I cling to notebooks scribbled with the blood of my sacrifices
Like a castaway on a raft of ink.
If one day my melancholic monologues escape their bars,
May they become a fire in your veins dilated by fear.
May my pain turn into a banner,
And at last may this ordeal implode beneath your wounds.
How Do I stop my insanity
All my books were stolen from me
And when my mind escaped me
And my shell was empty
poetry Was what came back to me
This is brand new as are all you read
On my post every minute of life
I see a thousand lies but the motives
Are clear to me
and that is why I'm always ahead of me
All I need is a word a feeling a titles
And I can pull together a parable
I fear no man and have no idols
I'm just the one who carries the unbearable
And I shoulld been dead
But fate has a plan that's subject to audible
These words are not mine
They stay updated and consumes
My boundaries of complaisant
Traditional living and asking
how has reason allowed this
Old and creators of institution
Can't admit fault they took life
And set a plan. United syllabus
Among public schools, second rate out the gate
And since we start early they not teaching
They showing us how to understand
They got us down to 12 ways you can be
And you can be positive or negative in each One
them a failed mind control weapon
Is launched as television
With a channel for all 12 and new population
Get a channel so they guided in their transition
Their all yall's left unsaid
Biting the righteous tongue
And speaking useless wisdom's
To achieve what we covet
When before we assigned it value
It was worthless.
Don't just know were you stand
Know who and what you are
And know how the common man
plows still the rich mans land
Form:
Does life seem to you,
as love does to we,
that virtuous circles
engage healing intent
While viscious squares
of bad-tempered stomping
marches much less gayly
toward escalating drama
with harmful trauma
and persistent
discontent
Positive engagement
does not engage negative performers
as if some lives
are divinely entitled
to redemptively matter more,
and thereby attract glowing floodlights
Upstaging those worshipping lesser
unstraight
unmale
unwhite gods
and goddesses of trust
and compassion
without boundaries
Backstage,
opening opaque
and closing vulnerable curtains
breathes diverse gender icons,
sexualized idols
Muses
recomposing noted feelings
from inside out,
hard erect warriors
embracing soft receptive catchers,
absorbent empathizers
Integrity's copassionate healers,
pulling and pushing together
1 way
with 0 means.
Where does it begin?
Is it in the DNA?
Is it in the foundational structure?
Is it through skin conformity families?
Is it through children's cartoons?
Is it through confirmation bias?
Is it through popular music?
Is it through the foods we eat?
Is it through the idols we idolize?
Is it through the complex nature of our history?
Is it emblematic in our very flag?
Is it through statues glorifying the past?
Am I damned to hate my brother because his skin doesn't match mine?
Or am I free to love my brother despite our difference in pigmentation?
Everybody always asks
Where does it begin?
But nobody asks...
Where does it end?
The truth is simple
It ends when we do not deny our differences
But when we accept and celebrate them
While also rejoicing over commonalities
And recognizing our shared destiny
On this blue planet in space
Where does it end?
It ends with you
It ends with me
It ends with us
Prince you are and master who traffics merchandise
your ships o're seas do travel market paradise
trade you do in human souls commodity and ware
buy and sell your targets exchange material for our care
You have numbered mankind like slaughter for the sheep
branded their mind and hands your ideology they keep
hazy is the outline your doctrine of their need
veiled by the costume concealment of greed
How many become lost in the glitter of your store
never satisfied with plenty but always wanting more
like idols you make them cannot see nor hear nor speak
boldly feed their vanity corrupt the very weak
Your stock and trade the trap you've laid
you do counterfeit what's True
with commerce shade a new religion made
skilled entrapments pervade the view
Just like the old religions their lusts do you restore
with craftiness you perpetuate avocation of the Whore
Costly is her clothing embroidered veil upon her head
outside painted beautiful but inside is dead
You've sold them an ideal and into they've bought
so many think they're nothing unless they have alot
the emptiness interior with diversion seek to fill
subtle its inception nearly painless way to kill
sources Ezekiel chapters 27-28
Apocalypse chapters 13 and 18
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC