no blood,
no shells,
everything out of sequence

people were even falling down before the shot was fired

the only thing missing was the handmaid costume
otherwise, everything else about it was remarkably convenient

all over the world, it was as if the lights were about to go out
with india banning all the wheat exports,
it would be nice if they could also stop exporting
incompetence, dishonesty, and the caste system

because everytime a 737 crashes,
we all know what country the engineers are from
same goes for cyber security breaches
always the same link

maybe they made the video too,
it was pretty bad, even by cgi standards.

Living in the shadow of Babel
Where nothing makes any sense
Confusion set in because of man's sin
Bringing with it certain death

We've built for ourselves a tower
Of media and government
Our innocence we've deflowered
Not holding to God's promise kept

Lost compassion and understanding
Arguments on either side
Tongues let loose spouting so-called truth
Last to realize it all could be lies

We look at each other dumbfounded
Wondering how this could go on
All the while over time we've allowed it
And now we are dry to the bone

All this in the shadow of Babel
Where the tower swings as it sways
It almost would be laughable
If we hadn't given our souls away

Living in Babel today...

“Why seek the Living One among the dead?“
asked angels to a few who‘d watched the Lord
be crucified—His blood and life outpoured,
“He is not here! He‘s risen as He said!“
In days before these women wept in grief
as Jesus‘ lifeless body, wrapped in shroud,
lay buried, guarded, sealed from Paschal crowd,
but by God‘s plan entombment would be brief!
His slaying served full payment for the debt
incurred against Himself by mankind‘s sin.
His raising proved His sacrifice the win
to satisfy God‘s wrath, my debts forget!
Because Christ Jesus died but ever lives,
the sin of all who trust Him God forgives!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                Tea with Just a Hint of Blood

Now comes an infusioning teafluencer
Armed with catalogues of adjectives
Herbaceous hyperbole cloying the page
With promises of transcendental bliss

The holy vessels of the altar shining bright
In glass and steel, accented with bamboo
In rooms green-lit by shaded window light
Unlike my best-remembered cuppa long ago

A beat-up canteen cup of Constant Comment
Along the Cambodian border that unhappy day

Father in Heaven, Giver of breath,
I am tainted by my prideful lust,
Wearied as I run toward death.
Kneeling knowing "dust to dust."
Were I to beg you slay the wicked,
My death I'd call for you to give.
Lord, hear the cry of one so wretched,
Tortured now, who begs to live.
Despite my wretchedness, I know
Surrender as I see your Image pressed.
Make whole this desperate soul,
Lift me to live in holy rest.

Amen

I’m a lone gunslinger
with a broken trigger finger.
I’m an old firefighter
with a gas can and a lighter.
I’m a spy undercover
with a double agent lover.
I’m the blind preacher
who has Satan for a teacher.
I’m the hangman
with a noose around my neck.
I’m the ship’s cat,
sunbathing on the deck.
The apocalypse is here
and we’re all going to heck.

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.

Oval emeralds peer through a man made of glass.
Casement windows carry the crash of turquoise waves,
From the coast of Costa Rica, through the verdant green
Jungle trees that surround us.
Two shoulders slung with Capuchin monkeys.
Crystal waterfalls trace UV rays
Around the blonde, attached to every neuron in my mind.
Precious moments render me blind.
Lost in the liminal space between
Two doors in a hallway.
Before and after; the passing chapters
That flip away like calendar pages.
Ticking seconds of the present, present us
With all we can own.
The nods and winks miles from the beach.
Bereft of worries about what’s left.
Unbound
From the doors we choose to walk out.