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“I am a jealous God,” said the Hebrews’ deity.
Ain’t got patience for a jealous God, for I’m a spirit free.
I have many idols, on this terrestrial sphere.
And if I didn’t worship them, I’d surely not be here.
For they are Icons, real, of what I have struggled to attain,
my ideals and aspirations, or of persistence through the pain.
I worship them with love, despite their fallibility.
They guide me and inspire me,
with their strength and creativity.
For example-- modern martyrs, who’ve sacrificed for others;
I'm sure that Jesus would think of them as sisters and as brothers.
And rock and roll; it’s my religion; I know the Promised Land
cannot be much like heaven, without my favorite band.
What I seek but never find is Plato’s ideal vision--
the unseen perfect version of our seen world. My submission
is to something that we know by feeling, and I think it must be said
that the traveling to find it cannot start by being dead.
Surely Poetry and Art are to be followed, as a creed;
they can be read and seen, and then, perhaps, believed.
Music is transcendent, call it the Flesh made Word--
not reserved for us in heaven, but here, on earth, is heard.
Nature is a Goddess; her work is the creation;
we strive to understand it, through rational “divination,”
using math and science, objective experimentation.
I have so many idols; I can’t limit adoration
to just one jealous God and his righteous indignation.
The Bible is a document that’s full of truth, I know;
but it was written a long, long time ago.
I’m keeping all my idols, for they soothe me and inspire me.
I’ll continue in my “lifestyle” of spiritual polyamory.
You may say I’m going to “Hell” for my sinful apostasy,
but I’m not afraid of the future grave,
for I’ll have lived with ecstasy.
Thought I'd re-post one of my faves here.
the summer sun hangs overhead
held there by her dreamy heart...
softly painting heavens with the fluffy clouds
softly illustrating passions devoted kiss from
the delicate dance lovebirds do in the
beautiful summer air...
she writes me romantic stories as
the first stars to pierce the
tide of evening skies
washes away the last of summer afternoon...
with the gentle blessing of
her dreamy heart she entices me to her bed
and into her arms...
with wondrous stories she has found in
the summer eve's graceful song
she tells our profound love story
set against summers beautiful day...
everyday we find each other's sweetest desires
in each others dreamy eyes
 Aug 2016 Tiberias Paulk
Micah
you made flowers
grow in my lungs

and although they
are beautiful

I can't breathe.
They could not sow anything else but seeds of hatred
Now what will crop up nothing less buds with blood
The next generation is of ****** thirst hounds avid
How can love overcome when nothing remains sacred

Gift of father travels through very many generations
It becomes root cause of all evils in many great nations
It corrupts worthy daughters becomes debacle for sons
When atmosphere becomes sheer dark without beckons

Prayers are destitute slogans are but just sham excuse
Only charity remains in the shape of just utter refuse
It is not possible now to inject life or confidence to infuse
Bruised minds and injured hearts will not be able to diffuse

Time can not wait for stupids to come up to the occasion
Broken donkeys are unable to carry troublesome burden
Life is a reality it is not a dream of a driven and drunken
Real pragmatic people believe in life in action and function

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
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