This poem is based on an actual dream that I had.

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.

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History was written topsy- turvy.
Myths adapted as corner stones
On the edifice of faith.
Religion fostered myths as scriptures.
Rationale is hired by religions and churches.
God is created in their fancy, and fantasies.
Intellect of humans, are governed by legislation.
Imagination imprisoned by imbeciles.
Power politics sway at the controls.
Human rights are stampeded by cattle,
In the guise, of jurists.
Freedom of thinking is in shackles.
God men/women are amassing and hoarding
Wealth, directing and producing blue films;
Dealing in arms and narcotics,
Exploiting the faithful, through magic,
Miracle healing touch and prayers.

Multitudes are under sedation of scriptures,
Translated, according to their whims.
Religion has truly become, the ‘opium of the people’.
And turned them into puppets; strings in the hands
Of marauders, behind the curtain.

The world is under siege by demons,
At the helm of all affairs; good and bad.
This is the Golden Era of Enlightenment!
Similar to French Revolution, Renaissance
And Second World War!
We talk of global warming, common market,
Ozone layer, nuclear power, and landing on Mars,
When people are leading strife strewn days,
Vitiated morals, and spewing violence;
And people are dying without food and shelter,
Of tsunamis, earth quakes, floods, and hurricanes.
We are progressing! But whither?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Enlightenment!.

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“Welcome, my child, I’m glad you are here,
Where there is no sorrow, worry or fear,
Now open the gift I have given to you,
A life of abundance, accepted by few.”

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.

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Until when, the woes?

Till our dreams in this world dries up?

I am cognizant of gloom and radiance, yet

Who can decide on shadows, which intervene?

It changes its shape and character, incessantly.

Why does the mind keep an umbrella above its thoughts,

When storms of dejection agitate the mind?

Let me bear the black coffin of frozen secrets

Of my mind, till I leave this mortal abode of my soul.

How many times God has incarnated here,

To correct the trajectory, of mankind?

In return we gave Him only, a wooden cross

And thorns for his pate, and stealthy arrows.

We split, share and segregate

The earth, and religion, coveting gold

And wealth, and treasures; and even

Our conscience, with that avarice.

We keep a wall amidst us, isolate even our

Affections of the heart, and congenial exuberances.

We may throw away the epics and scriptures

And even dare to try sharing the Creator.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Meanderingsโ€ฆ.

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