Christ was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
To make me, a born sinner, His daughter,
His death on the Cross, the best love story,
That washed my sins and clothed me with glory;
The Maker of the universe stayed dumb,
So that we, His creation, could now come
Into His presence and call God, Abba,
The only One who is the true Rabba;
Like a lamb to the slaughter, Christ was led,
A sacrifice for us, His blood was shed,
He's the Lamb who took away the world sins,
Everyone who receives Him, by grace, wins;
Christ ~ both the Shepherd and the Lamb of God,
Oppressed and afflicted for us, who're flawed,
The LORD laid on Him all our sinfulness,
For us, Jesus died with full wilfulness;
He opened not His mouth when He was killed,
In His death, the law of God was fulfilled,
A Lamb to the slaughter was Jesus Christ,
For me, for us, for the world, sacrificed.
Categories:
wilfulness, animal, bible, jesus,
Form: Rhyme
So God said, “Listen-up you people down there,
I needed to give you this necessary scare,
You seem not to listen in your consummate greed
Your self-centered ways need alter indeed.
Enough of not caring for forests and plains,
Of polluting the air with evermore planes,
Trashing the oceans with plastics galore,
Do you all think I won’t keep a score?
Animals dying their habitats gone,
Farmlands ripped up to turn into lawn,
Construction unending knowing no bounds,
Your ignorant wilfulness truly astounds.
Time to consider, to value this pause,
Open your minds to the source of the cause,
Let the experience be forever your beacon,
A lesson this hard was sent for a reason”.
Categories:
wilfulness, emotions, fear, god, hurt,
Form: Rhyme
The dead flowers in the vase have their own charm
They have their form, their shape, their wistfulness
What is dead no longer does us harm
Thus being dead is no cause for alarm
There is no need to suffer loneliness
The dead flowers in the vase have their own charm
As they age, they look like a dead palm
The sort we got in church had comeliness
What is dead no longer does us harm
The secret of long life is loving calm
And looking at the world with gratefulness
The dead flowers in the vase have wistful charms
Meditation on dead flowers is balm
We fear no longer our own death’s fullness
What is dead no longer does us harm
Waste not time in hateful wilfulness
We sing with love our own dawn choruses
The dead flowers in the vase have certain charms
What is dead no longer may alarm
Categories:
wilfulness, absence, allegory, art, courage,
Form: Villanelle
There's a spot in my life that's
been void filled and I cry with
a morbid intensity when I think of
him as I do now. He's healed
something baggage born so I can
leave it in a waste basket. I can
stare at his innocence for hours and
plead for his happiness in all that I
dosay--I double dare to be all he
sees and desires not to dread. Swim
pool water eyes glimpse his face, his
manner mighty in cause and jolly at
what his fantasies are. I've not missed
anything so like this moment that I
carry his picture, his soul, his incarnate
within me---at all times. Worthy worry
span my capabilities to challenge me for the
"mirror mirror" my reflection is his
reality; am I ready for/to be the casual
task bearer for him to model to be
himself and unlinked to the scattered
Sociopotpourri he's likely to ever encounter.
Not to shield or shell his karma
Not to woe in his wilfulness
Not to denegrate a copious freedom format
for fatherson ambigupatriarchophobia decline
but to hold him to my dear heart chest
to die for him in allways to make him
at no cost in allways a human being.
a Bull for all seasons. I love you my sons.
Categories:
wilfulness, baby, birth, character, father,
Form: Free verse