Don't preach with words you don't intend to live
and make your hearers weak by what you give.
You inject poisons that makes others frail;
then it gets easy for your sword to kill.

When preachers make the devils get docile,
it will be easier for them to get hostile.
The devil none can kill with that great ease,
but when docile, you treat him as you please.

When preachers use their words for their own gain,
I feel they get much worse than damned satan.
At least the satan is quite known to all
that he works for the odious lore of hell.

Don't preach, but show man deeds that convey love
through gifts and tender hearts that can forgive,
through tears that well and shame a sobbing heart
while man tries hard to hide them but he can't.
I am Your coddled child, my Lord.
You have a tender heart that loves the human kind.
On passion way, with cross on back, You told
the girls who cried,"Each cry for her own self
as each has such a life
so full of strife."
You cried for Your old friend, poor Lazarus
when someone told You of his loss
though You give life and can return
those who have gone.
You sympathize with man and feel for his long pain,
and You intend to cure his illness and ignore his sin.
Just on the cross, You said,
"Forgive them, my dear Dad.
They don't know what they did."
You love like that.
Why should l not depend on such a tender heart
and be a coddled child
asking the help of his most loving Dad?
The heart of gold attracts the young and old
as purest love gets these two groups involved.
The truest love has roamed from east to west;
the old and young could mostly it arrest.

No wonder that the children run to you
and leave their mums, surprised at what they do.
Even the babes turn faces to your side
as in your heart their long lost love they find.

Where can we find a deeper love than that
the old can feel in depth of their true heart?
Their love is true and mixed with mind so wise.
They feel at home with you; that's no surprise.

I haven't seen a doctor who shed tears
apart from you, who share your patients' fears
and do your best to see them well again.
That's why they call you Lucy, our queen.
I see a child and meditate for long,
"What sort of days will life bring him along?"
Who knows what he will do and where his feet
will lead, and where his destiny he'll meet.

Will he compete for fame with men so great,
or will he fear to leave his building gate?
Will he become a bold man of great name
or will he be a coward with no aim?

I wonder if wide smiles will clothe his face
or if that face will wear a firm grimace.
Will he have luck that yields more than he needs?
Or he should drudge so hard to feed his kids.

I think for long, while he holds his mum's hand
and enjoys walking between mum and dad.
He toddles caring not for what may come
as long as he walks with his dad and mum.
She was great succour, and she saved her kids
from dangers that none saves but their mum's hands.
She went and left them faced by kinds of threats,
none rescues from except the acts of saints.

She left afar and dwelt in her dark grave,
the cave of no return that scares the brave.
She was so needed in her little house
as her kids' kinship was hinged on her voice.

Ere she had left, she prayed to Jesus' mum
to keep them safe, with mum's soul around them.
The Mother of mankind said, "You and l
will make your house a part of our sky."

The soul of man will stay alive for good.
It lives eternal life where that soul would.
It seeks for those whom it has loved the most
and intercedes for them to Jesus Christ.
Your friend can affect your mind and change your style.
He can make you cheer and laugh or tend to wail.
Tell me who your dear friend is, l can tell you
who exactly you can be, and it turns true.

I've read books about old myths and histories,
and those heroes who have lived in friaries,
but l cannot find a man whom l love more
than Jesus Whom l admire and adore.

He is Whom l love as man of refined traits.
He has such great might of heart that never hates.
No one can be strong like Him and bear a grudge.
He forgives all as He can't the weak men judge.

He's made me love all my life as l do now
as most gleeful sight He can my eyes endow.
I've begun to see all folk as most loved men,
which grants me a tranquil heart void of all strain.
Joseph Zenieh Jul 31
Whatever has an end can't make man glad
as when it starts, he thinks about its end.
What can this life give man if death waits there
and he  thinks of its scythe and ruthless fear?

Can most delicious food atone for that
and friends at parties help him to forget?
Can journeys and success make life less grim
as all will pass and death will wait for him?

The only thing that can bring him delight
is if man knows that he will  stay alive
somewhere, somehow and meet the people whom
have formed his past and have not tasted doom.

Then life's most buoyant smiles on lips appear
as death won't be the doom but complete cheer,
and man will live the joy that never ends,
which starts just when he knows that life extends.
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