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Poems

Precious Guest
The Call
A New Creation
Fear of Man
The Unsearchable Ways of God
The Desert
Humility
War Games
Grabbing
City Dwellers
Evolution – A Poem of Tact, Diplomacy, and Gentle Persuasion
Abortion
The Specter of Fear
Atheists Cry
Judging
The Rest of God
We Are Branches, We Are One
The Wild
Have You Any Idea?
Desolation
Uncertainty
Resilience
Eggs
Money
All You Religious
The Sword
Delay
Bellyache, Bellyache
Friend, Are You?
Pioneers
Ode to a Harlot
The Higher Plane
Water Does Not Always Find the Lowest Level
The Chameleon
The Frenzy of Life
The Twice Dead
The Child of Evil
Terrible Good
Truth
The Vices’ Voices
A Sunset Seen
Help in Disguise
Help
Rools Four Inglish Spelling
I See a Boy
The Fire of God
Mystery
Immaturity
Periphery
God Reigns Supreme
Alone
Emptiness Within
I, The Wealthy Outcast
Day of Jubilee
My Boy
Come with Me
Two Adams
Bitterness
Stoning the Mirror

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War Games
The incomprehensible frivolity of those who deem it enjoyable and sporting to make a game of killing and suffering! Such acts and attitudes are symptoms of a horridly sick society indeed. To make a sport of the tragedies of mankind is to demonstrate a madness of the vilest kind on earth, worse than that which we find in asylums because those out and about, free to do as they please, are pleased to mimic the worst there is, though they are judged by the rest of society to be sane and responsible. The judges are as ill as the judged, if they find no fault or harm in such behavior. War games? War games? War games! Play, everybody, play! And play the dreaded things that one never plays again When the real appears. In all its horror and confusion, The incredible, the imagined takes its form from nowhere, But not from nothing. Frolicking souls, restless souls, selfish souls, Dull, simple, foolish and ghoulish; Shoot and kill! Play the game without the blood in sight, Though the blood already gushes forth With its life spilled to the ground.   While they play and rejoice in mock victories, Storm clouds swiftly creep. Even the rain spatters to warn but none take care And none suspect that the rain is red. Now they say, “Better red than dead” until they say “I wish I were dead.” Now they only pretend, like children, Running and laughing, not watching, Until they fall into the strong hands of a stranger, One of whom they have heard, One of whom they have t...
Terrible Good
It is supposed by the lovers and inhabitants of this world that Christ came to make their existence in this world a pleasurable one by following His teachings and "principles of success." They fail to realize that His purpose was to deliver us from the tantalizings of earth and prepare us for another world by overcoming and forsaking this one. The cross of Christ represents death, not life to the flesh, and life, not death to the spirit, by the subsequent resurrection. Only a heart after God will perceive the reality of things and pursue at all costs.   Righteousness is a dungeon To the son of iniquity. Truth is a stench to his nostrils; It cause his eyes to tear, His nose to wrinkle, His throat to choke. Laws are as chains to him With rough-edged shackles That tear his flesh And bind him down to Hell. Those who speak the truth Are as cruel tormentors, Dictators, fascists, despots To be despised and shunned. Fanatics they are, Upsetting the world, A blotch and a disgrace To a free thinking society, To the modern man, To the age of emancipation.   Lawlessness is a palace To the son of iniquity. His pleasure is to sniff the aroma of lies. His eyes light up with delight; He swallows the darkness with zest And never has enough. Unrighteousness is as fine clothing, With lace and frill and charm. Those who speak the lie Are received as saints and kings, Friends, bosom companions To be loved and revered. Sensible they are, And level...
Come with Me
Called on a ten day fast from all things dietary (but water) and social, the Lord was drawing me aside to spend time with Him and His saints and to prepare me for the future. The Lord has given me instruction To wait and fast and pray, To submit to this preparation, To accept all, come what may.   Come, My darling, come away To a land where there is only day; Loving hearts await you there Where you will rest, free from all care.   Come, My friend, why hesitate? I know, you're thinking of your mate. She'll be okay, I promise you, I have yet more for her to do.   The time will come to meet again, Not in a bog but pleasant glen, Where you will meet with warm embrace, With joy and gladness, face to face.   Your son, Jonathan, I gave to you; I'll make sure his heart is true And when their time is finally through I'll restore them both to you.   Moon River Estates, Jan. 29, 1998

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