All the minor faults of Christians, while I miss the love of God.

I defend my rights to swindle you, as long as I can pick

One cathedral in a hundred, where the dead have caught the quick.

So I shun the men, who promulgate and serve communion bread,

As I justify the heartless things I’ve done with life instead.

I’ll attack the credibility of all religious creeds,

To procrastinate the chances of the pastor sewing seeds.

I’ll ignore the fact that Jesus came to die upon the cross

To redeem the sins that brought my soul near such a tragic loss;

As I focus on the things that drag the Lord’s name through the mud,

Never mindful of the way He offered up his precious blood.

I’ll enjoy the jokes that paint the Bible’s narrative with smut,

While I overdose on drugs to dull the anguish in my gut.

I’ve no time for church on Sunday, since I’ll spend the day in bed,

With a hangover of damage to my liver, lungs and head.

But this doesn’t really matter, once my high tech microscope

Helps me spot the spec in your eye; so that I won’t need to cope

With the knowledge that my vision’s been distorted by a plank.

When I’m barred from Heaven later, I’ll just have myself to thank.

I will question those afflictions that a God of love permits,

While I bless the world with dodgy deals, to prove the slipper fits;

So that God becomes a scapegoat for discomforts men have made,

Like depletion of the ozone; though God’s trees have yielded shade.

I blame God for child abuse by men who infiltrated deep

Into youth groups; as it won’t occur to me that God will weep

So much harder than the rest of us, when children bear a scar

Put there by someone without the gospel in his repertoire.

I can take the wide and easy road, with words to please the crowd,

Who will never know the secrets I’m afraid to voice aloud,

Of my private insecurities, which God would love to heal,

If my sour grapes gave way to humble pie for my next meal.

I’ll forever point the finger at the preachers on TV

Taking tithes, because I’ve missed the point that my salvation’s free;

If I’d make a true repentance and accept God’s greatest gift

Of the sacrifice He made to fix a most expansive rift.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Oculist was a Carpenter.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Oh My Children.

Could you for once, listen to my beckoning you?
I am sinuous like an empty sound,
With sobs, sighs and signs flowing towards you.
In the wilderness of anguish, I was wondering
And probing my mirage, of my passions.
The dreams I beheld has corroded
By the storm generated by, endless time.
Blossomed sweetness of frangipani, in the garden,
Has disappeared from the decrepit life.
Have you forgotten me altogether?

You are sleeping on a bed spread out
With innumerable memories, of our togetherness;
Titillating the emotions, every day,
Permeating the aroma of a forest of sandalwood.
My distress turned to hymns, smothering
Your tender limbs and cuddling you in your slumber.

Did you drift away from me, sharing all your
Love and tenderness, in compassion, leaving
Me abandoned and despondent and in deep anguish?
Deserting me and taking away your alluring adoration.
Can’t you for once attend my call just to
Understand my plight and how I feel about it?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at FOR ONCE….

September 11, 2001,
The day the world stopped.

I sat watching the pictures in disbelief,
Knowing in my mind what was happening,
But in my heart, believing this could never be.

My plan that day was to buy a new computer,
But instead, I sat there watching the pictures,
My insides hollow,
My mind numb with disbelief,
Fear,
A sense of loss,
My innocence gone.

It seemed a sin to go out shopping,
While others were dying,
To be wanting something so material,
While others were losing everything.

So I just sat there,
No longer wanting to watch,
But unable to tear myself away,
Just watching and watching,
As the same images were played,
Over and over,
And over again.

I finally bought my computer that day,
My life would not stop.
I could not allow them to take it away.
My life would continue,
Though it would never be the same again.

The next day I went to work,
Taking the many phone calls
From those trying to leave the stricken city,
Or those trying to get home to families.

Every call was different,
Yet every call was the same.
Everyone was calm,
In an eerie sort of way.

No one wanted to talk about what happened,
I’m mean, what could they say?
Everyone had seen the pictures,
Everyone had felt the loss,
The sorrow,
The pain.

I took over a hundred phone calls,
One after another,
From every part of the planet,
From people just wanting to get home to loved ones,
Even if they already knew they were safe,
Just to hold them,
To tell them they were loved.
There would be no family quarrels today.

That evening I sat in front of the television
And hid myself in a bottle of wine.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Day The World Stopped (911).

The acquiescent delight in the heart meekly exhaled,

Is seeking you, as the stream, for the ocean;

Like the brook hugging the sandbank, meander

By kissing the shores, then swells into a river

In its thrust to reach the Ocean, finally

Become roaring waves, accosting you.

My dearest, I tender my veneration as tears…

My homage brimming from the heart as droplets

Of my blood, deliquescent with my love!

Tears, as flowers of spasm, of my pain.

From the forsaken life you have gifted me…

And sighs of the bleeding heart, in anguish.

I remember the day, when you came to me

With your amiable smirk, and entered

The depth of my soul, with a big bang.

Reminiscing those moments, I lie down,

Whimpering in solitude, on my bed.

Words stutter in the breast, eyes wandering

In the horizon, illegible mutterings;

Quivering lips, groans soaked in tender love;

Fizzy desires, flash floods in the eyes shedding

Remorseful rhapsodies, moments closing the eyelids;

Wavering emotions, asinine thoughts;

Pearls of sweat, sprouting on the fainting frame,

Embracing grief; rare moments of sweet tears of the psyche;

Rapture filled showers of raindrops

Causing magnificent rainbows in sentiments;

Passions immersing in wingless consciousness;

Radiant countenance filling with love from

The shedded leaves of memory, of life are throbbing;

Out flowing strains of pleasure from the flourishing love

Of the mind, inside a world of dreams,

Are fading away with the immobile ecstasy in my memory…..

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Lone Moments….

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at as the dust swirled.