rained heavy on the forlorn
white stone

April dusk had stood still
on deserted lane

iron gate to the lawn
showed mossed sleepy graves

tiptoed on the overgrown grass
for epitaph hard to read

Expect great things from God
opened eyes to more widely catch

Attempt great things for God
couldn't ruin it the ravage of years

outside tombstone waited a world
in the drizzle echoed the missionary's deathless sermon.

Unprecedented poetry,
   newfangled conception in
      idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
    to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
 less than the likes of sonnets
   penned deliberately archaic
        in Old English tradition,
figurative language
  of the huddled masses
      is strictly forbidden,
  contradicted,
     ostracized,
        anesthetized
           and possible grounds
               for poetic eradication

For those that are "suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", looking for someone else to blame for what happens to them; GO LOOK in a MIRROR! You'll probably find that person pretty quick.

copyright: Richard Riddle: June 10-2015

The blank pages
Invite the poetic wanderer
With a wanderlust heart
Visiting undisclosed locations
In search of rare experiences
Roaming the edges of known
Where the real adventure is
Gathering some rare pieces
Strewn here and there
Not oblivious to poetic eyes
Allure of the blank pages
Is difficult to ignore
For all the adventures
Of the wanderlust heart
Waiting to be chronicled
Sore feet and tired soul
Heals when the muse smiles
After all the secret journeys
Poetic heart will return to
The blank pages

There's no better friend in life
Than a brother or sister in Christ
One that's there to give a hand
For the times of trouble and strife
A friend with an ear to lend
When you need to unload on life
Not to be your judge
But to lift you out of the mire

There's no better friend, can I get an amen
That you can count on
One that will be there to the end
And then take it beyond
The very reason they're in
Is out of God's love
There's no better friend
Than one that has their sights on above

There's no better friend
Than one that holds your feet to the fire
As the Bible points out
Iron sharpens iron
Knowing what it's all about
To become more Christ like refined
There is no better friend in life
Than a brother or sister in Christ

The crackheads
want the good gear
even though it doesn't matter
they are going to take that eight-ball
and smoke it all

All wide-eyed and sketchy
teeth rotting out of their head
scanning the floor for any dropped crumbs

Another run for a twenty stone
to be drawn down deep with another and another

Good gear they say while grinding there stubby stumps
too wired to think of anything else but the crack

The sores on their bodies skinny rakes for a frame
A bad reputation with their drugs to blame

The nights and the days they very much mesh together
until they run out of funds that were begged for borrowed or stole

The crash is inevitable the cycle as well
the lives they lead are a living hell.

This is for the imperfect drunk...
The hopeless ******....
I too have been the bottles *****....
Outweighed by a gram....
I seen the world at ground level....
Because shame kept my head heavy like lead...
The world had so many ideas that were spoken in meloncholy tones.....
With so many answers how could i fail.......
As i hurt myself one more time I reached for a band-aid.....
But with tears and pain in my eyes all i got called was failure....
Like a bruised muscle i nursed my broken soul...
And when I realized I no longer wanted superficial assistance....
It was easier on my pride to put down the evil....
Because the lies people fed were spoken taunts....
it may not have a "Why" or a " What"....
But my question is" Why" do you like to judge me when im weak.....
And "What" is the answer that will make you happy...
This is not "What" makes me happy..
"Why" cant you see that??