The habits of the righteous servant reflect
a certain posture of pleasing The Master.
Walking in Love is evident, when we recognize
what the heart of Christ is truly after.
Bearing fruit, living lives in desperate times,
becomes much easier when we share our burdens.
Let’s practice living harmoniously each day,
before joining together in Heaven’s garden.
Real Love, always requires acts of action;
Even Christ washed the feet of the Apostles
to demonstrate that all forms of compassion
can vary from the smallest act to miracles.
Societal importance is an artificial construct,
that demonstrates a poor example of attitude.
Christ’s example has been set eternally before us,
shining before Man with the mindset of servitude.
Loosely based on:
Matt 20:25-26; Acts 10:38
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
She sees you
as greater than what you really are
She sacrifices herself
for your name
She is entirely
He doesn't wish to hear her name
He cares not about what She does
He is past the embraces they shared
for every moment of intimacy
She tries to make him see
that She is his potential everything
He, however, is so lost in his image
the only thing He wishes to see is
in all his greatness
She sees it too
in her own self
yet chooses to ignore it
in favor of wasting her greatness
grovelling at his feet
and begging for forgiveness
She never did
I offered you? all that is of my being
I never met you!
but now you know my every desire
You have the power to indulge my every thought!
I wait... knowing you are watching my every move
you intoxicate the air that I need-
the nourishment I crave-
the love I require!
Your command is my eternal pleasure
I await the miracle of your vision
I am, and always will be your
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Connection involves a reciprocal flow where being detaches from nothingness into an inseparable unity.
So, let us acknowledge the colours and feel the vibrations as they transcend the parameters of compartmentalism, into an infinite and unified whole.
Attempts continue to socialise us into the abyss of perceptual bankruptcy with materialistic carrots where the fabric is truly frayed despite plausible and intellectual argument.
So, I want to talk with you as we swim in deep rivers of generational statements, which are released from the conglomerate of necrotic unions. I raise my glass to realms which lie beyond tangible and finite chords.
Dress in saris, wear ornaments in gold
Around your neck and on the breasts;
Be a girl; be shy; be womanish bold;
Be a wife; be a cook; be spiritually good;
Adore men, especially your husband;
Be submissive; be polite; be loyal;
Be the servant of goddess lotus!
Dwell in clay; live under the water;
Show light to sun; moon and stars!
Be soft; embrace in love; fade into water!
One year from the day
In the sweltering heat of Spring
Sprang forth the violets writ'
By a fatherly hand in blood and ink
The castle stood like a grey giant
Behind the light blue of the skies cream.
A forgotten soul hocked their wears
As a king wept hearing of her daughters schemes.
She walked through the violets, her hair
In a bun, and her hands by her side.
The sun wailed its rays down on her,
Not feeling any urge to run and hide.
"You've ruined me!" the king screamed,
"Like a ball of yarn, you've undone me!"
His face was ruby red as sweat poured
From every pore of his shaking misery.
"Father," the girl consoled, "My love has no limits.
I am not a bird, so the sky is not my cage.
Or am I a fish, where the ocean has its walls.
She smiled at the sky, seeing natures stage.
The kings servant, a crooked piece of meat,
With gold around his neck and silk around his feet,
Scampered up beside the king like a toad and whispered,
"Dear King," he said, "Let me have a little speak."
Startled, the king kicked up his robes
And slapped him hard for acting so.
The bloodline was thick with violence,
So any family member was up for a row.
"Come over here pony!" beckoned the king to his stead,
"I've got something that I need of you."
The servant handed the horse to the high king
Pondering in the back of his bent mind if he should sing...
The king burst forth from the stable
And left his daughter staring at the days sky
The servant, trailing on the kings tail with a mule,
Was slowly turning the truth into a lie.
Nostalgia crawls up my door,
So I hide behind the entrance and
Slit her throat with my dire retention.
O, Sweet Liberty,
Can I really be free?
Now a buzzing in my ear,
A perpetual ringing in my ear,
Is that smirking ridicule I hear?
I’m not permitted sovereignty ‘cause
Cruel slavery ceaselessly quiets me –
Always scoffing, forever mocking,
Autonomy swallows my fuming misery
And spikes it with bittersweet Reality.
O, Sweet Liberty,
I’ll never get to dance with thee!
You love her.
Do anything in the world for her?
You admire her.
Constantly not afraid to even tell her.
You feel blessed.
To know that her heart is sincere.
You're a woman's servant.
There's not nothing you won't do to please her.
You're her doctor.
When she's sick.
You her cook.
When she is hungry.
You her lover.
When she needs pleasing.
You're a woman servant.
And not afraid to admit it.
Oh, you're no slave.
Or her master.
And neither is she yours.
But you a different breed of man that cherish what you have?
What's God given?
In your mind means to treasure forever.
Which you do loving her.
He worked at the immigration office,
About 65, soon to retire,
Though not quite willing: a vast world
Of golden and silver fish like necklaces
Flashing underwater, dreams and dreams muted,
Barely recognized, barely sensed, pushed down
By experience upon experience; a space
Of potential neglected by poor education;
A network of memories, images of a wife
Loved, a son loved, friends loved (all lost)...
And he was soon to retire... His computer
Would need to be replaced, the chairs in his section
Would need to be replaced; people would be wearing
New uniforms next year, and he'd be receiving
A meagre pension... No one would miss him really,
And when his replacement goes,
No one would miss him or her either...
Maybe a few would wonder about them
For a couple of weeks, but no more probably...
And the papers of people would continue being reviewed,
And the people would continue being reduced...
this is a queue of epic proportions
put the army on standby as an extra precaution
thousands stand waiting and growing quite restless
getting soaked by the rain, the image is priceless
All for the love a little machine
wave it in public and make your friends green!
survival of the fittest, only the strong will survive
and make it to the counter with their new iPhone 5