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***** Hands
Are they clean?

Pontius Pilate, washing those hands that night, now are the filthy deeds made white!

America, do tell about the politicians blind-eyed toward homeless people in the streets, tell me about children starving to death?

Does a wealthy man cleanse hiimself as the blood leaves his hands?

Banning guns & glocks, as girls
are sold into slavery, in the blocks.

A gift for kids to go to school
It's not a gift to get shot up.

From poverty to bullies to school shootings, Mrs. Liberty has lost her footing.

When we go home, locking doors and turning the noise up, is washing of the hands with soap, making us whole?
You can't just wash your hands as a symbol
of making yourself from sinful to cleansed. It's a cruel world so be kind. © 5 minutes ago, Venjencie Clifton Arnold   society • poverty • sad • pain • misc • love  
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I'm Free"
Such a con man convincing me that I was so beautiful, his saving grace,
With his hands, he painted my face,
With make-up I would have to retrace,
I would dress pretty just for him,
I kept my body fit and trim,
Though for real, I didn't know it was a messed up,
I tried to be his best partner, his loving wife.
Shocked and and scared every time,
like it was something new, that just began,
He'd beg my forgiveness again & again,
how I always forgave, forgetting all the prior distress,
just to continue day after day.

Pulling my hair, using your fist to paint my lips the color of crimson red, fearing each time I'd die.
It even happened when you weren't full of whiskey,
I'd have moments of reality,
knowing I had to get out for my babies,
You had everyone convinced you were innocent,
I was the one that suffered your vengeance,
like an illusion, everyone took your side,
they all believed every time you lied.

I have no more shame, no more fear,
Never again
I'm down on the floor,
beggin' You,
my True Faithful Amen,
because it's up to You.
not ending this with, 'amen' -
it's not done, it doesn't end,
not until I see,
my Amen face to face,
saved from this place.
@author_venjarnold
beggin', floor, face to face, part 3 of 3, Birds of December, a nobody, painfully written, writers write, poetry, writers of instagram
there's nothing left for me to do,
I'm just a nobody to everybody,
with me they are done & through, already gone & deleted
from their human minds,

like a recording that's gone before rewind,
nothing but their trash,
after it's burned down to ash,
like ashes to dust,
I'm still scattered here & there,
still just making a mess.
2 Corinthians 5:8
We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.
Romans 14:8
If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.
Birds of December,
carrying memories of you,
I don't need reminders,
instead send by wings, God's angels, so I can be there with you,
I'm a nobody to anybody,
I'm forgotten, already gone,
down on the floor, face down,
crying out to the Lord,
to make their reality the truth,
I'm a nobody to everybody, in this place,
beggin' you Lord to take me soon,
no need to end this with, 'amen', because it won't end, until the Faithful Amen sends me through.
This is part 1 based on a real experience. A true story of how I got hurt in a place you'd never expect to get hurt. In my whole life I've never been broken in this way. Blessings to you. I hope that you never have to go thorough this. Author Ven J Arnold
Find me on you tube under Jencie Arnold
Why
Why make me stuggle
because of you,
When I'm willing
to struggle with you.
True. People make it their hobby to cause others to struggle and to secretly laugh when the fall. https://m.facebook.com) venjenciecliftonarnold
Only liars deny the ambition to go fishing
for what they want. The craving, the need, the haunting desires
only places you on a self-destructive and burning pyre.
You yearn for more, twisting on a mission,
wishing for the glistening gold of what you’re owed.
To move, to improve, on your flaunts
for yourself is such an everlearning taunt of wealth.
Well, when your well doesn’t get any higher
and the Sun’s hell ceases to tire,
emptiness befells the commission and buyer.
You’d sire more just to gain more,
but wouldn’t look towards your neighbors implore?
You would even bore through foreign floors
until it's all missing. Toes tucked and turning,
mouth foaming, you're an overzealous fiend for more earnings.
Your hives don’t die and you keep twitching.
Your heart keeps spinning the lies through your sleek grinning
and only the drive to buy is what keeps you alive.
August 25, 2020: An infinity next to you so juxtaposed. Even your chauffeur is there just to pose and you have nothing to show for it.
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