shoving it up…

shoving it

now
if
the promised heaven
is
important to you
you
may want
to
follow
the prescription
of
gospel doctors
those
folks
occupying
pulpits
on
fridays
saturdays
or
sundays
and
increase
your
contributions
to
their
more than worthy cause
hell
you may even
elect to
help paint
the
preacher’s manse
but
i’ll assure
even before
the
paint
begins
to
dry
you’ll start
to
wonder
perhaps
because
of
the paint fumes
why you’re spending
so
much time
doing
what could be
contracted out
if
other
parishioners
would
or
could
feel
the spirit
of
god
in their souls
you know
the ones
who claim
to
be moved
to
be disciples
as
long as
it
doesn’t cost
them
any money
just
words
it’s at that point
you consider
putting
the paintbrush down
and
stuffing it up
someplace
else

 

 

the promise of eternity…

the promise of eternity

please stay
in
your
designated line
divine blessings
on
earth
are allotted
according to
your position
in line
but
rest assured
that
you’ll
be
given
a fair share
of
life’s bounty
upon
your souls passing
into
the chimeric promised land
a sure guarantee
from those
who
oppressed you
during
your time
on
earth

but one voice…

but one voice...

can’t hear
own
thoughts
too much noise
trafficking
from
lies and hate
masking out
voices
in
pain
homeless dreams
some
wrapped
in
the currency
of
war
but
what
can
one voice
do
to rise
above
war’s cacophony
of
misery
though
a simple solution
one
could join
the choir
of
hope
sending forth
words
of
unwavering
belief
in tomorrow
that
grasps
the minds
of
social sinners
like
an old gospel hymn
swaying
the coldest heart
towards
redemption
or
offer up
such a sweet solo
of
truth
so
powerful
that
the walls
of
deception
crumble
into dust
revealing
all
that was hidden
that
my friend
is
what
one voice
can
do
so
rejoice

 

 

the search…

which star
holds
life like ours
out of
the 10 billion galaxies
each
with
10 billion stars
how
does one
find
the one
with
life
and
how does one
find
a lost love
to say
i’m sorry
in
a city
with
so many
souls

 

small seeds of life’s fortune…

penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside

 

the library…

one life to a book
collections of short stories
all first editions
once a book has been removed
just a few are remembered
most are forgotten
their spaces are soon refilled
with newer copies
dusty historical books
the only remnants of souls

 

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