As the skies were turning hazy,
With the smoke of blast and fire,
They were scared and feeling hopeless, with their situation dire,
And they knew there was no answer,
And they knew there was no end
To the hell that formed around them; nothing left for to defend.

Even men, once strong and daring,
Now retreated from the sight,
For they felt so very helpless and incapable of fight,
But while they were lost and drowning
In the terror of the day,
There was one small boy among them who decided he would pray.

First his prayer was spoken softly,
Barely audible at all,
Then he started praying louder as he stood up straight and tall,
And he shouted to the heavens,
To the God upon His throne,
And the people stared in wonder, as he stood there all alone.

He was just a boy so tiny,
But he had a faith so large,
He believed that in this darkness his great God was still in charge,
So the people gathered closer,
And it bolstered their belief,
And they knew that if they joined him, they were sure to find relief.

Now they knew that God was with them,
Yes, they knew that He was there,
And they knew that He would answer ev’ry fear and ev’ry prayer,
Their distress would be abated,
Like the storms on Galilee,
So they prayed to God in Heaven on each humble, bended knee.

No more bombs fall from the heavens,
No more people have to die,
No more fearful women screaming; no more children have to cry,
God has calmed the storms around them,
And their fears so deep within,
And they know that it is over and a new day will begin.

Still, the little boy keeps praying,
Not from fear or urgent need,
He no longer prays for safety or for fighting to recede,
He has found a friend who’s closer
Than a brother or his kin,
And he’s found a joy so lasting, and a peace that dwells within.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at God Was With Them.

Many plans were in his future,
Many things that he would do,
Now he has a wife and baby,
And he feels his life is through.

Though he tried to be courageous,
Though he tried to be a man,
He soon found he couldn’t do it,
So he packed his things and ran.

“Curse the man who leaves his woman,
When she needs her man the most,
May he live his life in torment,
And in Hell forever roast.”

He went looking for his future,
Never thinking of his past,
And he found a little solace,
But the solace didn’t last.

For his future wasn’t out there,
He had left it back at home,
When he left the ones who loved him,
And decided he would roam.

Now he’s sitting in a tavern,
Where he’s getting rather drunk,
And he’s buried in depression,
For he’s feeling like a skunk.

“Curse the man who leaves his woman,
When she needs her man the most,
May he live his life in torment,
And in Hell forever roast.”

And the mother of the baby,
Sits at home, and all alone,
And she prays that he will call her,
As she waits there by the phone.

But the phone is sitting silent,
And her dreams are up in smoke,
And this thing she knew as marriage,
Has become a lousy joke.

Now she worries for her future,
As she thinks about the past,
And she worries for her baby,
For it seems the die is cast.

“Curse the man who leaves his woman,
When she needs her man the most,
May he live his life in torment,
And in Hell forever roast.”

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Curse The Man.

My head’s in the sand,
And my butt’s in the air,
I’m hiding from trouble,
Not saying a prayer.

I think no one sees me,
I’m far out of sight,
Now all’s back to normal,
And everything’s right.

If I can’t see hunger,
It doesn’t exist,
If nations are fighting,
I can’t see their fist.

I live in my darkness,
And all is so fine,
The world is not ending,
I can’t see the sign.

But while I am living,
Down here in my rut,
The real world is out there,
Attacking my butt.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Head In The Sand.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at What A Girl With PMS Can Do.

Had leathery skin from head to toe,
But way back then I didn’t know,
That horses had a thing called hair,
Like puppies, cats and also bears.

And then there were those big wide teeth,
And scales like armour underneath,
A tail as long as seven feet,
And why’s my pony eating meat?

It looked more like a dinosaur,
As there it crawled upon the floor,
Or floated quiet on the pond,
And when I called, would not respond.

But still I love my little horse,
Though now and then I feel remorse,
I introduced it to my cat,
And now my horse is getting fat.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Daddy Bought A Little Horse.

I had a dream the other day,
Its vision will not go away,
About some people dressed in gowns,
(I know how strange this story sounds.)

Each gown was separate from the rest,
With different colours they were blest,
And everyone had points of view,
And revelations that were new.

They studied scripture, ancient books,
And gave each other dirty looks,
As back and forth they argued so,
As if to let each other know,

That they were blessed with knowledge, dear,
And their great wisdom would appear,
For they could point the way to God,
But all their knowledge was a fraud.

And then another happened by,
Who was alone and very shy,
And on an altar placed a gown,
And then upon it he laid down.

It was a gown so pure and white,
Yet more than white, for it was bright,
And as he laid there peacefully,
I knew at once that he was free.

And still the others held their glare,
So full of hate and unaware,
That one among them was at peace,
And so their conflict didn’t cease.

Another cried in solemn prayer,
And hoped that God was there somewhere,
As to the Virgin Mary called,
And on his knees he knelt and crawled.

Still on that altar in the room,
There laid a man, as in the womb,
So peaceful and so satisfied,
While those around both cursed and cried.

As quick as that I was awake,
And wondered what of it to make,
Yet as I thought upon the scene,
I knew the meaning of the dream.

The ones in gowns, religious folk,
Both pulled and strained within the yolk,
While trying to find the God above,
They weren’t aware of His great love.

But on that altar silence reigned,
He didn’t fight and wasn’t strained,
For he had met with Jesus there,
While they were lost, he was in prayer.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I Had A Dream.

To try to live on lettuce would leave me feeling weak,
To have a little protein, is what I really seek,
A little calamari, a little shrimp and prawn,
Without those things I may as well just graze upon the lawn.

Now, you may like your veggies, and think they’re really fine,
But I would rather have a steak, and with some red, red wine,
I also love my veggies, but have them on the side,
For when it comes to getting fed, my meat is baked or fried.

Don’t criticize my eating; it’s not the job for you,
For even in the Holy Book, it tells me what to do,
“Let others not condemn you for what you eat or drink”,
And that is what I plan to do, no matter what you think.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I Want To Eat A Pork Chop.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Digital Music.

Was late in the evening, and chores had been done,
He’d gone to the bedroom to tuck in his son,
His father was sitting there, out on the porch,
When Klansmen came ’round with a cross and a torch.

Without any feelings, they shot the man dead,
They lit up the cross and then watched as he bled,
A small band of cowards, they started to run,
When out of the door came the shots of a gun.

He rode into town in the back of a truck,
To look for those Klansmen, who, running amuck,
Had caused so much heartache and caused so much pain,
The ones who found pleasure when someone was slain.

He found them encamped on the side of a hill,
The look on their faces, it gave him a chill,
The sight of pure evil is all he could see,
There, hid in the bushes behind a large tree.

He cried to the wind and to God up above,
Who spoke to the mountain and gave it a shove,
As boulders rained down like a God-given sign,
He heard a loud voice, saying “VENGEANCE IS MINE!”

Now all is so quiet, and all is so still,
No more will those Klansmen be able to kill,
The only voice now is the sound of the wind,
Like tormented souls of the ones who had sinned.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Vengeance Is Mine.

And Satan greeted me with glee,
He said, “How are you, can’t you see,
That you are in my world to stay?
I own your soul and you will pay.”

And voices taunted, visions swelled,
In total darkness, in this Hell,
I begged and begged for sweet release,
A little hope, a little peace.

And then a ‘savior’ came to me,
With powder white, “I’ll set you free,
If in your veins you take me in,
You’ll feel alive, like you can win.”

I tried to fight against this foe,
To turn from what he would bestow,
But in the end surrendered all,
And set myself up for a fall.

The powder melted in the spoon,
I felt the rush and very soon,
Was walking on the razor’s edge,
With bloody feet upon this ledge.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Razor’s Edge.