To him who passed through fire and death
The strain of nails and lashes
The bruises in the heart
The neglect and gloom
The shattered spirit
The thorns and thistles
To him who went down the hade and hell
To remove the venom of death and hell
To break the captor’s head asunder
With mattock of authority
And held captive hell and its host
The captor
Infected the victim with disobedience
And a bite of death of sorrow and pains
Sharing death among helpless children
As the fear of death gripped my sinful soul
I lost my light, I lost my freedom,
I lost my all
To him
Who in humility borne my transgression
Who in obedience borne my disobedience
My shame, my pain, my suffering, my death
And won for me, victory
With his costly blood
Declaring me a winner
In the fight I couldn’t have won
To him be glory and honour
Forever and ever, amen
Categories:
mattock, christian, easter,
Form: Free verse
They told us to dream,
but there is this brand of dream
that is hard to imagine ... So, I'm picturing ...
and in this will-o'-the-wisp, I become
Desmodus Rotundus,
Vampiro en el grottos;
a travel pig for the mattock
pruning the roots of the people.
First off, I did not open up like eateries
... but I've watched senseless thoughts
eating what they should never eat,
rubbing their bellies to go home and discontinue,
but this was just the first wave.
At nightfalls, I scour the darkness
in the forbidden of Wuhan, sucking everything disagreeable.
I am saturated with wicked warranties,
nothing outrageously seducing, but brutally illogical.
I was horrified when society looked me dead in the eyes
before bringing down the meat cleavers.
They display me as Paniki to plan their murders,
they open up and invite me in, flesh into flesh ...
and flesh to flesh I swear to share
what I've buried in me as disasters.
There are souls more neighborly,
I hid what I portioned quiescent in their organs.
Only a mucous analysis notices it ... waiting ...
to strangulate the defenseless.
Life is brittle; it often falls and smashes the big noise.
Categories:
mattock, analogy, dream, food,
Form: Free verse
Someday this vanity will cease,
these futile struggles will bend and like wind, it will pass,
then the shrouds, the mattock and the grave,
will be the visible sights of all conceit
the ardour of covetousness,
the fever of avarice and the longing for accumulating is but a journey,
and like a fool all that we can ever inherit for our body in the end
is one six feet of earth, and a mouthful of clay.
Oh, Fool! this life is but a dream a shadow and a mirage,
But there is but one gain before the grave
The Way through the door into His bliss, few finds it,
Or the path into dreary gloom,
Sadly, there are many there,
You cannot sit on the Fence
Categories:
mattock, age, christian, death, earth,
Form: Dramatic Verse