Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Teen, sixteen, gazing into the mirror, adoring
Her smug self afore that vanity espying glass.
At her well favoured features she's ogling
With ****** grins, sans ****** feelings.

Everything was still in a pink state,
Like morn, from her sole to her pate.

"Time's winged chariot" flashes by, and she's
Turned sixty. That same structure luscious
Like seasons, from summer to winter,
sooner changed: gray hair hath taken over
With wrinkle surface, shelving ******* on
A frame frail. Her cherished hot form
Has sunk, as the sun, down the horizon
Of beauty for ageing, which doth man transform.
Cares tons loaded
up
in a tipper of worries
discharged.
Caught by poverty, swinging on its hook
like a fish. Down in the mouth was he
so his relatives fled, friends him forsook:

Lingering nights of unchanged story;
Pining in the grips of paucity.

Ha, he was a forgotten being--
despised and belittled by everybody!

Poorness is a brutal burden and yoke
upon the shoulders of life. It's no joke.

Lack is a wretched beast
and want a miserable guest.

Better to dwell with a mouse!

But heaven's eyes are full of mercy,
wherefore he was visited suddenly.

For the Ark of God into his house
ere long, by Grace's hand, was taken
by David, when with fear he's stricken--
lest like Uzzah he be by and by killed,
who, looking at the Ark tilting, It steadied.

And the Object of dread and horror--
within three months of stay--for the king,
became the Bringer of blessing and favour
to the habitation of Obed-edom,

making his name for eternity to ring
a bell of honour in human kingdom.
2 Samuel  6:1-11;
1 Chronicles 13
Gone is yesterday
and all its aches.
Grace new found today.
In betwixt

the swaddling-clothes

and

the graveclothes

is destiny.
Mountain leveled
and
valley filled. . . .

What's 'ore?

Life, full of goodness:

where'ore

the heart belches

out

in

* * * * * * * * * *
h i  g h  p  r  a  i  s  e s.
¡  ¡  ¡  ¡  ¡  ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡
Imagine a world without terror outer
and inner, sans famine of food and water,
where every soul is well-sated; a world
sans sickness and disease, not by the cord
of morbidity and death held; a place
where huts are mansions, every shack is
a castle, and each flat a grand manor;
where the roads are built with pure gold
and the bridges with resplendent diamond;
where the day does not change in colour,
except when full moon in its full array
once in a month has its  own display.

I mean a planet steeping in love
unfeigned, bristling with true hospitality
of the soul; a world bereft of danger,
and of every mind-and-heart breaker;
a world with the similitude of the garden of
Eden, hung on the shoulders of harmony--
where man at another cove's lovely dove
will not leer, where there are
no split and divorce. The genre, stuff
of life where one's pigmentation is
not the cardinal, but the inner essence.

A sort of society where ******, Hussein
and Laden-like fellows and all their
coterie of killers do not have a lair
of habitation, i refer; where besetting sin
has no confederacy with the rotary heart
and mind of man; where the leagues
of villians are non-existence. An earth
where conglomeration of wicked cliques
is non-operational: where everyone be
holy--no child soilder, nor forced labour;
where women are not ravaged in cruelty
of acts, and is void of conflict and war.

Such a place "the world" is not called
but "heaven: governed by the Almighty Lord.
Next page