A sorry young man seeking advice
stopped for answers at a house of christ.
No..god doesnt see me anymore
frozen in fear …his hand on the door.

He turned on his heel and started walking away
the pastor stopped him and to him did say
” dont be afraid brother…in faith you can depend”
God has your answer and he is your friend.

The pastor I followed into this place
hoping for answers, seeking his grace.
he lead me to the back and offered a seat
your answers are here son…what do you seek?

“Pastor” I told him, ” I no longer believe”
“No worries my son, Faith can still be achieved”
“Does god still see me? Am i still loved?”
” Your father still loves you…believe in above”

“My life is so empty…I feel alone”
“God is the way…the path will be shown”
“Can this be true…can this be right?”
“Believe in our father…look to his light”

I fell to my knees and started to pray,
Looking for the answers to show me the way…
“God please forgive me, My faith it was shaken”
“Set me on the right way…on this path i have taken”

Now i am waiting…the results of my fate…
The lord whispered back..” You are forgiven…I’ve wiped clean your slate.”
I started to sob…I started to cry.
The lord has forgiven me and I still dont know why.

He whispered again ” Dont fear son ,I know you are lost”
“But to save you my child, my son died on a cross.”
Thank you my lord…for healing my soul,
My spirit was empty, my heart took the toll.

Gone now are all of my sorrows of late…
“My son you are welcome…I wiped clean your slate.”

Mike Laures…2007

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

When I leave the world, behind!

I’ll leave the moonlight, for the dreamers,
I’ll leave the great ships for the seas-
And for the “Old Folks” I’ll leave the memory
Of a baby upon their knees!

Ill leave the grainfields for the harvest-
ill leave the rows of russeling corn!
ill leave the skies of drifting rain-
ill leave the old daus for your memories,
When I leave the world behind!

Ill leave a path for you to follow,
In these little songs of mine-
Ill leave the golden leaves of autumn-
When I leave the world behind!

Ohmother laughs an mother chaffs, but mother dont know thin-
How aweful dirty Fritize was when he began to sing!

Ill leave the sunshine for the flowers-
Ill leave the roses for the dew-
Ill leave the moonlight on the water-
When I leave the world to you!

Ill leave thses songs, Ill leave my fiddles,
Ill leave the old magnolia tree-
Ill leave the sighing winds of summer
When I leave the world to thee!

When I leave the world behind!

When the summer days are fading
And the gold hangs in the tree
When the prairie sunsets gleaming-
And the wind sings, longingly-
When the work is finally over-
And happy days are gone-
And you look across the grainfields-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the shades of twilight linger-
And the evening shadows long-
When the heart sings of the summer
When the golden years are gone-
When there can be no more dreaming-
And the golden years are gone-
In the last long days of summer-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the evening twilight lingers-
And the far off cattle bawl-
When its night time in Dakota-
In a dreary moonlit sky-
hen you sing the old songs over
From days that used to be-
When its nighttime on the prairie-
Then youll remember me!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at When I Leave This World Behind.

We saw again the river flow,
WHERE THE LINCOLN GUNBOATS LAY!
WE HEARD THE DRUMS THAT LED THE BOYS
FROM ‘LANTA TO THE BAY.

We saw Old Lincoln, on his knees,
All quiet like….to pray…..
THAT THEY COULD CUT ACROSS THE SOUTH-
A THOUSAND MILES AWAY!

Old Lincoln was so much like me-
I know his spirit cried,
For all the sarrows in this world-
And……the young BOYS that died!

WE HEARD AGAIN, THE ROLLING DRUM-
We heard the Bugal BLOW-
Tho all these VISIONS, drifted by
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

Every trial you threw I tried to pass,
But you did never stop Alas!
Now I am done and you can take the spoils,
Basking in glory of breaking thy believer’s pleas.

The lips that breathed thy name with every breath,
Is now sealed in a hopeless dearth.
The gleam of faith that floated in my eyes
Has been darkened by the unravelling of thy lies.

Did i ask for a gold mound?
Or was it to have me crowned?
A little peace was all I sought,
Which you denied with your diabolic plot.
Drops of happiness you did shower,
With the curse that they’ll reappear never.
Burying all beliefs of wrong and right,
You tormented me along my pathetic plight.

But I have no complaints
For It was My mistake to believe
Ignorant of the tricks you had up your sleeves.

Hey God! You are slick and smart.
But I know now that you exist not.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Death of Faith.

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.

The gates were swung open, and that which I saw,
Both kept me in silence, and left me in awe,
The City of God, with its streets of pure gold,
The Lord’s Holy City, as scripture foretold.

Another voice spoke, saying, “This is God’s home,
You’ll live here forever, no longer to roam,
For God’s with His people, and with them He’ll dwell,
You made it to Heaven, while Satan’s in Hell.”

I saw a great river, like crystal so clear,
I walked to the river, and as I got near,
I saw that it flowed from the throne-room of God,
I looked on His face, and again I was awed.

“Welcome, my child, I’m glad you are here,
Where there is no sorrow, worry or fear,
You’ll have no more sickness, crying or pain,
Your sins have been washed by my Son’s crimson stain.”

I fell on my knees and cried like a child,
He lifted me up as He gave me a smile,
I knew I was loved and no longer alone,
For I was in Heaven; I found my way home.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Welcome Home.

His skin is wrinkled and his bones are frail,
but the ‘small boy’ in him still lives with the same wonders,
fears and insecurities,
that age alone will never erase.

He picks himself up off the floor and stumbles to his easy-chair,
nursing a bruised arm and scraped knees,
then, closing his eyes,
he dreams of simpler times.

Through teen-aged eyes,
he watches the young girls walk down the street,
talking and giggling,
with their long hair swaying,
and their hips swinging,
causing the swirling of their skirts
to show off their tanned, trimmed legs.

He remembers the days when he loved to keep their company,
and flirt with them as they teased in return.
He found them to be fascinating,
exciting,
more interesting than being with the guys,
who only knew how to discuss cars, sports,
and, of course, girls,
but mostly in an unflattering and disrespectful way.

He had never had any trouble speaking with these lovely creatures,
until the day when a very special one caught his attention,
and he knew he was in love.
He remembers suddenly becoming speechless,
flinching when she glanced his way,
unable to look in her eyes,
and feeling a hot flush when she caught him staring.

He remembers shyly approaching her,
and the relief and excitement he felt when she responded.
Then there were the long walks,
and even longer talks,
as they held hands,
and were eventually entwined in passion.

He is old now,
and can only admire these angels from afar,
through eyes that never age.
He is a harmless old man,
but he can no longer approach them,
nor listen to their cheerful banter,
or admire their beauty up close,
or smell the fragrance of their perfume,
as it drifts through the air.

He sees himself through eyes of reason,
with trembling hands and shuffling feet,
isolated from his surroundings,
as people pass by,
unaware of his presence.

Yet, while his mind retraces the past,
remembering skinned knees and pretty girls,
a smile passes his lips.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Boy Within.