there is a surge of electric energy
coursing through his veins,
it shocks you when he kisses you
but, my God, its worth the pain.

there is a madness in his soul
that takes your breath away
a madness that drives you wild
and somehow makes you want to stay

there is a lifetime of love stories
in each and every gaze
making you lose yourself in his eyes
as if you were in a beautiful elaborate maze

every part of him
has changed every part of you
and all your left wondering is

does he feel this way too

for the hungry
in body, mind and soul
is everybody's business
should be a common goal

"we have ours my poet friend
a special day? indeed...
soup kitchens aplenty
to minister the need"

but the drunkard with his bottle
the druggie with her pipe
may not be all that grateful
may even cuss and gripe

why? you may ask yourself.
it's common. it's not news
let me tell you as a one who knows
i walked in them there shoes
holidays are hard
the addicted have the blues

"they deserve rejection
they are all at fault
they'd pull up their bootstraps
if they were worth their salt!"

but the folks i speak of
have burnt up family. friends.
it is a cycle they can't stop
sans God it never ends

so giving them a dinner
may fill a certain need
but spreading out the Love of God
is an enduring seed

don't talk down to them
if they are ready, share
you'll find they may just listen
and are tired of despair

we do have a burden
we have a heavy load
showing love to the unlovable
where the rubber hits the road

but if i didn't do it
a hypocrite i'd be
that person with the bottle
save God's grace

could be ME.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/23/2015

I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.

Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.

I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.

I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.

So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.

Paul Butters