Mom,
Wife
PCA,
are any of these Titles worth anything to GOD? I show up at church, same as everyone else, yet I’m UNseen by many, what do I have to give?
Who am I, born on the wrong side of the tracks, no church going family were we… I didn’t see or feel GOD until years after..
Who am I? I come to church empty handed, no lost soul to bring to the altar, I’m no HOLY disciple, am I welcome here still?…no crowds gather around me, just an invisible soul. ….
God help me see my worth.. I’m that lost woman at the well, many years ago, with whom you sat down with, asking for water..
Who am I to everyone, my body weak, no soul to save, why am I here…. God help me, my time on earth is fading in my soul.. my mom is gone.
Who am I……….. anymore? I’ve lost my love for life, a stranger in the darkness, the cold winter wind blowing in my hair, the one nobody sees anymore, I’ve used up all my worth in mindless heartless words to those who were trying to help,..
Who am I anymore…. ..
I was raised, like many others, on the wrong side of the tracks.
Parents poor, thru generations, hopelessly, broke their backs.
The holes in our walls, patched, with mud and road kill skins.
Our roof made up from cardboard boxes and corrugated tins.
We ate old, ice cold, cockroach stew, tho pigged out on toad.
The rusty bucket, we used out back, lovingly called commode.
As a young lad, I went bad, ran with wild gangs in the streets.
But soon, found myself running, with drunks, liars, and cheats.
In time, untrusted, got busted, cuz I was the one who went in.
The Judge, graveled, quickly gaveled, got five years in the pen.
In one cage, pent up rage, every day had to fight for my life.
Dreading showers, rival powers, and a toothbrush for a knife.
Made up my mind, when I got out, to fly straight as an arrow.
Like a fool, was hard to get by, on just the straight and narrow.
My life's been no picnic, it's true, but I won't sing a sad song.
Now busted again, back in the pen, I'm sure I probably belong.
She had a face, a beautiful face,
With eyes as bright as the moonlight,
Ultimately leading her to a new light.
Her face grew hideous and weak,
Her attitude becoming dull, old, and bleak.
Her mere existence feeling like a bomb,
Her demeanor no longer old and calm.
Her echoes grew distant, foggy, and measly,
Her disconnection shattered me deeply.
He was a good, hardworking man,
Who ran the wrong side of the tracks.
The pain inside attacks,
Setting him toward a dark and twisted path.
Of blind confusion and conformity,
Becoming his ultimate deformity.
His blind disconnection,
Making my soul feel abnormally.
The two pass each other on the street,
Just a glare, they both let out a small flare.
The two walked on past each other,
Both completely unrecognizable.
My soul collapsed, praying for the new dawn,
Hoping this one would soon be gone.
The wrong side of the tracks
Where poverty is a fact
We're poor to say the least
Cannot afford to eat
Second hand clothes to wear
Full of holes and threadbare
Imaginations a power for me
Where everything is free
I can be rich and powerful
All around sparkles and glow
A new car with a big house
Jewels and treasure all around
To wake back to reality
Is a real sting for me
Sat in shared accommodation
Needing more imagination
Looking at my loving family
I realise im as rich as can be
I've got 99 Dalmatians
99 problems
But a b###h ain't 1
Are simply Black or White
99 shade's of grey
Luckily I can't count to over a 100
Otherwise id have 101
Come from 8 miles away
Wrong side of the tracks
No street cred
Get stage fright
Battle getting it up
Can only spit while flipping burgers
Got 99 dog's but not a single G
calling me dog back
Tried 99 times but still no b###h
hollering back at me neither
Got no litter , got no glitter ,
got no bling , got not paper
Self proclaimed
Fresh Prince of Dead-Air
Cnr 99th street 101
And if 1 of you wants to buy a puppy
forward me your digits after the show
And I'll have 98 problems
But 99 ain't 1
A petrified conjunction(?)
what a strange day...
for a martyr of missing time
born in the urn grove
among the burning embers
born on the wrong side of the tracks
what a strange day...
for an unknown hero
living in his restless chamber
his head like an ice-breaker
his uniform of ivory tears
what a strange day...
for a night in a boiler room
mais la nuit est mon amie
so let's talk about the lousy
plane crash avalanche
what a strange day...
for this nightmare paradise
la princesse est très curieuse
and her calculated motifs
like a transcription factor
what a strange day...
for this residue of a pattern
rarely essential by your knowledge
beyond the nucleotide sacrifice
of all the negated literals
there's nothing to think about
– let's eliminate the principle!
inside an empty hillside manor
of the cosmos Demiurge
in the name of all rhetoric solutions
Life wasn’t that pretty
When she was a little girl
The wrong side of the tracks
In this hard hearted world
But when she grew older
The men gave her the stare
A very curvy figure
And Monroe blonde hair
Working at the café
Till nine at night
Sweet smelling perfume
And jeans that fit tight
Cat whistles and jeers
And mouthwatering tongues
It could have been a circus
With these monkeys on the rungs
There’s a path to her doorway
These men make all the time
And the money they threw her
Should have been a crime
After four years of pimping
On the wrong side of the track
And making a fortune
While resting on her back
It’s a pity they all cried
When she left them alone
She’s somewhere with those riches
Probably high on some throne
But once she was a poor girl
From the wrong side of the track
That finally took that ride
And she never looked back
Against a rafter,
the forlorn curtain sways reversed -
the wrong side of the tracks;
awoken in a death-dream state
and it sighs. A sigh so shallow, so depressing
that the window with the eye impressions groans
and creaks open to the winter air of summer,
then forgets why it opened
and returns to its place in the cracked frame,
only to drift ajar again
and watch the rain fall indoors.
I walk down memory lane.
It was just as I had left it.
Garbage here and there.
The smell of alchol,
Mixed with the ever slighest bit of rotten garbage.
It was utterly disgusting.
But this is where I had grown up,
On the wrong side of the tracks.
No matter how hard I tried to get away from it,
It followed.
The homeless still sleep behind my old house,
And pick out of the same old garbage can.
The buildings are falling apart,
And the only thing that seems to grow in this area,
Is a few patches of grass, and a few trees.
Nothing about this area is eye appealing,
But this is where I grew up,
And no matter ifI walk by with my nose turned up,
Or my head hung low,
This place will always be a part of me.
Why Do We “Choose” Whom We Love… And Ignore Others?
Why do we often “choose” those we love…
And ignore those we don’t?
It’s a good thing that Christ doesn’t do this! He won’t!
Far too often,… People attending church today…
Will many times “choose” whom they’ll love…
And turn others away?
I’ve heard sermons preached
on how we must love others too...
For many, It’s too “inconvenient,”
to love others like we should do!
What about the “undesirables?”
Those who fall through the cracks?
It doesn’t matter if someone is from
“the wrong side of the tracks!”
I pray that God will stir in all of us
a deep compassion within!
Perhaps, by our example…
Others will be born again!
May our life be one that is filled
with sacrifice and giving!
May it be an expression of Christ!
And his power of forgiving!
May we strive to treat others and love them all the same!
If we don’t follow Christ’ example…
We have ourselves to blame!
Christ’ word has laid the foundation
for loving every soul!
The mission field is all around us!
Let’s get up and GO!
By Jim Pemberton 04/13/12
Have we fallen through the cracks
coming from the wrong side of the tracks
Rather living somewhere inside the divide
for no physical locality do we reside
If you could cup my passionate spirit inside your hand
Perhaps my ambitious tenacity you'd understand
And with that same hand write our fate in stone
but I know we are atleast safe and not alone
If you could live inside my heart
Perhaps you'd know my spirit isn't a la carte'
For inside I'm whole in this broken world
Our special song sings prayers to the lord
It sings praises of glory for God's metaphor
Is this world civil? I think not, I implore
Realize now his plans our bigger than mine
We plan a house, and He plans our eternal design
If you could listen to my song never sung
Perhaps my heart would never again get rung
We all come from somewhere they say
But it is only with Jesus we find our way
And they say all who wander are not lost
But at what price and what the cost?
By Susan Mills
a stones throw from hell
around the corner from jail
big city of dreams
and small schemes for mail
we touch and go in the 'hood
and it don't look good
young brotha at the park
the little engine that could
the wrong side of the tracks
ya little puffs of smoke
aint from the weed
it's 'cause you don't got a coat
a lifetime of abuse
the nieghborhood is a noose
gettin' tighter everyday so
what the hell is the use
they might call it the game
but to me it's insane
can't deal with the pain
i pray to God for a change
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