If you choose to live in the world
Letting your freak flag fly unfurled
Beware care to know what is in store
The devil is close by keeping score

There is a choice to make
For a soul without salvation
Satan will steal, take propagate

Look at popular music and pop stars today
What Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, Beyoncé
A myriad of others have to say

Their humble beginnings innocence lost
To the evil side, they eventually reside at all cost
Their parents only saw Stardom Money Fame
They didn’t see predators playing a devious game

Look at what happened to a young Justin Bieber
He didn’t realize the price of famous fever

14 still a child wild with stars in his eyes
Bound zip tied No one spoke as he cried
Bystanders Voyeurism watched yet later denied

Drugged willing at first soon it became dark worse
Violated, broken, tattooed body to hide his shame,
Silent victim petrified, feared who was to blame

Then Jesus came into his heart saved every part
A cautionary tale of what could go wrong
To be famous for love of music a perfect song

Yes they appear to have riches a great name
But to Satan their soul is the game to claim

Selling their souls is not something a star can do
Jesus paid their  price of sin Satan can’t win
Humans deceived, IF they only knew

Devil worshipped
Witches believe demons whispers a convincing lie
Loyal to Lucifer while Jesus, they denounced deny

A stone cold sarcophagus a corpse’ byproduct
of those fated concerts, a cautionary tale
in public view, concert guests don’t die well

The war between good and evil is all around us
Most people don’t realize or care to put up a fuss

Society has become conditioned to stay home
Sedentary No longer we freely roam
Perceived safe was in our proverbial bubble
We don’t won’t can’t perceive the pending trouble




Inspired song,
Thriller
By Michael Jackson

FYI
I normally do not write poems like this; corpses, but the Webster's word of the day
sarcophagus is not a happy word
The information about Justin Bieber
P Diddy’s trial. On line

Footnote
Looking back in music history, you can see interviews where stars who sold their soul to Satan To become; famous rock gods, praising Satan Lucifer when they win a prize award
while people in the audience sit there and clap.
Lately presentations have turned to séances,
witchcraft a covenant ritual rites .
Jezebel riding Baal A golden bull in full display

A documentary on people dying at a
Travis concert crushed  by the crowd
and travis continued sinning For 45 minutes ambulance in the audience. Travis sang

Taylor Swift fans have gone to concerts and don’t remember a thing.They claim
they were in some kind of a trance.
Something wicked this way comes
pay special attention to the words in their songs it’ll blow your mind.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                Jim Croce and a Rainy Morning

When the plane went down that was the end
Of telephone operators and bottles of time
But the electronics are kind enough to send
Good memories of when coffee was a dime

You really could mess around with Jim
If you knew your way around a chord
And heard his lyrics as a workman’s hymn
That spoke of art offered to the Lord

He gave us good thoughts through his guitar’s strum -
And, yeah, a wild moustache to back away from!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                    A Dachshund Dreaming of Rabbit for Supper

My little Luna-Dog has a bad habit
Of chasing after her back-yard rabbit

But still let not your mind be troubled or fraught
With fear for that rabbit who is never caught!

Show a little finesse, place a bet.
You’re just in time for the game, get some skin, the fix is in.

What’s more American than cashing in?
The real winners do, and now that could be you.

With suckers out there waiting, scamming is as easy as creating
an NFT, bitcoin, an online bet or a romance baiting.

You’ll be a witness, as the wise guys step in, for the NFL it’s a win-win
You get the excitement you need and the real playas get the proceeds.

Come on, Mr slick ricky, you know you’ve got to be bold to win gold
winners double-down, they never fold—the thrill never gets old.

The winners will add your measly bucks to their ***.
Let's admit, all you’ve got, isn’t a lot - it wouldn’t, say, fuel a yacht.

So, step up, place your bets, you’re in the digital front row all the time,
don’t be lame, be part of the game, it’s greasy, ******, organized crime.
.
.
A song for this:
Vicious Games by Yello
The Game of Love (feat. Michelle Branch) [Main/Radio Mix] by Santana

Oh chica of New England snows!
Fair tropical Latina rose;
Green palms, of some warm distant clime
Shine from your eyes in wintertime.

Thy childhood in that tropic place,
Hath blessed thee with a dusky grace;
And all your pre-Columbian past
Must winter’s slushy chill outlast.

The rushing cars who make their way
Insult you with a frigid spray;
As from some humble task you wait
To catch the bus and change your fate.

Thy beauty, late transplanted, glows
To melt these white midwinter snows;
And cumbias from some southern zone
Sound from your soul with pulsing tone.

Your Christian heart, in solitude,
Has all our frozen land imbued;
America’s own breadth and length—
With campesina faith and strength.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                           Just Another Smug Football Recusant

Last night at dusk I admired the brightening stars
And before going inside put the gate on the latch
While saying goodnight to the Moon, Jupiter, and Mars
(Someone said something about a football match?)

Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.