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 Feb 2016 Mercy B
ryn
Profession
 Feb 2016 Mercy B
ryn
I once professed my love to the wind...*    

I had professed that I admired the way
     it had caressed my face.  
           The way it cupped my cheeks    
   and combed through
                 my tousled hair.

I once professed my love to the wind...    

I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured        
with its playful but gentle ways.            
The way it would upset            
the serenity of my clothes.      
          The way it would engulf me cool        
on a hot sunny day. 

I once professed my love to the wind...    

I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs  
and abscond with my breath.    
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment      
before mischievously  
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.  

I still profess my love to the wind...    

I'd profess my adoration for the way    
she fills my sails full      
and my heart full of hope.        
For I am a lone sailor        
in a crowded ocean.      
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...      
Traversing time and space      
with my love, my breeze...          
my air.              

.
 Feb 2016 Mercy B
SøułSurvivør
There once was a man
Who lived a "good" life
He worked through all trials
Temptation and strife

He lived very humbly
Never wished to be rich
Was good to his neighbours
Nothing bad passed his lips

He said, " God look at me!
I am worthy of praise!
I am without sin
But not by your grace...

For I am an atheist
And I don't need Christ
Humans provide
All their own good advice."

Then there was another
Who, quote, "lived for God"
But he looked upon sinners
as though they were odd...

He said, " God, I thank thee
That I'm not like them
For I walk uprightly
No, I do not sin...

And when I get to heaven
The praise shall be loud!
I'll walk right in
And I'll be so proud!"

Then there was a woman
Who'd give her last dime
That she could use drugs
And drink her sweet wine

But she cried, " Lord!
Please have mercy on me!
For I am so wretched!
So unworthy of thee!

I'm not all that clean
And I shout at folks
I drink and do drugs
And God help me, I smoke!

But, Lord, I am trying!
I want so much to change!
Please come into my heart
And my life rearrange..."

Then came the time
When all of them died
And the woman in heaven
Saw the men with such pride

In eternal torment
They cried out, "Lord!
We kept all your precepts
And sin we abhorred!

Why is that woman
Up there with you?
She so unfaithful
And she so untrue!

But Jesus said sadly,
"Yes, you were "good".
You had that advantage
Yet misunderstood.

I did not want works.
That's not what I bid.
You gave not your hearts,
But this woman DID
.

I was always there knocking
But death cut like a knife
I gave you your chance...

YOU HAD YOUR WHOLE LIFE.


SoulSurvivor
(c) 6/14/2009
This poem may not be very popular
To some people here.
But I must state what I believe.
The only way to righteousness
Is through the shed blood
of the Lord Jesus Christ!
Nobody is good enough to go to heaven.
There is sin in one and all including me.
But Jesus paid the price for my sins
Upon the cross at Calvary.
God will no longer hold me accountable for them. That does not mean I can sin.
It simply means that I AM COVERED.
Now the process of sanctification
Is occurring in me. I'm not perfect
By any means. But I have changed drastically. I am no longer the same person I was before.

The time is short. There are people
Who need to read this.
Please understand
I'm coming from a place of love!
The God I serve is great and merciful!
He just wants you to open the door...

HE'S BEEN KNOCKING A LONG TIME.


♡ Catherine

-
 Nov 2015 Mercy B
Bellis Tart
I'm holding out for something true
for the one who really thinks
I'm not too loud or sassy
and my thighs, they aren't too big
who doesn't see my belly
or think I'm a walking growth spurt stretch mark
or that my hair is never right
and I wear yesterdays makeup today
I know there's someone out there
who doesn't think I talk too much
and values my opinions
who also thinks I'm smart
I'm waiting for the one
I guess they call him Mr. Right
to help me up when I'm down
not down me for my plight
who wants to be with me clothed
as much as when we're not
who sees me as an equal
more than just a back scratcher to reach that itchy spot
I'm holding out for the real thing
that lasts past Saturday night
for the drum beat to my melody
for the fire to my light
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