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Hadiy Syakir Jul 18
Looking for the words
the exact words of prayers
in several agnostic pages
with untidy, scattered phrases
- blindfold yourself like
how you're used to all this time.

In the backyard
of your six feet layers
of loneliness
interrogate the dogs,
like when you breathe in
the happiness.

Assemble
all the words.

Lament.

Express yourself
like how you make love
to the dark, feverish heartache.
My *** told me
To **** those who are different.
My *** told me
That genocide is efficient.
"Go into their land
And **** every living creature."
I saw it on TV just last week
In a Technicolor double feature.

My *** told me
*** people are abomination
My *** told me
To hold back children’s rations.
Rip babies out of parent’s arms
Because they are terrorists
Pay no attention to the heartache
That’s just how my ***’s law is.

My *** told me
It matters about the color of skin
People can be born inhuman
Depending on the country you’re in.
It’s not as bad to be a dark person
If you stay in dark people lands,
But here in the good old USA they
Only deserve to be migrant hands.

My *** told me
What’s sin for other people to do
Is not a sin for me to commit
The criminal things done by you.
My *** told me
It’s just fine to cheat on my wife.
As long as I go to church weekly,
I will have a wonderful, godly life.

My *** told me
Other people have to wrong idea
About who is *** and who is not
And who will burn with the devil
In some place below, where it’s hot.
My *** told me
To worship no *** but him, it’s true.
Well, I worship Jesus, his misnamed son
So, I’m going to heaven, aren’t you?
Ken Pepiton May 7
Sunday, May 06, 2018
4:51 PM

Failing for lack of power is a fear crop.
A fear crop.
An odd thought.

Not the seed nor spore, but the fruit.

And fruits have seeds in themselves,
All men, I say again,
wombed and un, should know that by now.

Freedom of information act fact, informed
men know when to fight and when to sow and when
to reap the crops we've sown
in our mortal moment
gone with the wind.

Not mine.
The wind is in my inheritance,
True proverb.
I troubled my own house, fouled my nest
with all the rest o' youse ab-users of life
ignoring forever like that could never happen here.

It did.
The voices in your head are never all evil if they use words.
In the total accounting of idle words some significant percentage
may
carry meaning forsaken.
Such may be redeemed much as one would redeem the time.
One of us.

Dear reader, we say again, we ain't Legion nor his kin.

We are words once spoken in jest among fools who repeated us
meaninglessly, oh my ***, you know. Per se. No ****. **** happens.
All the ****** time, and **** and *** get overtime of idle utterance instances.
Though a statistically measurable deme does redeem a significant some of those two
in true beliver
dying breath
honesty.

By my leave, I say, I am the definition of a free entity accepted in these books.
We are voices. Messengers. Some of us were wicked, twisted as wicker
or wire bundles. Some of us were true pass words. Some were true rest words,
rest rooms were so named for that wonderunful feeling we all get
when **** happens
at just the right moment
in the book. Great ideas gravitate to clean rest rooms.

this is a new book right, this reader is
whadayacallit

Vetted.
What does that mean. You know right idle heard words are
meaning less
power less.
Vet me. Am I one of those ideas, good to the core, caught up in fairy
tales fed the T.V. generation, the Boom beyond the bomb.
After school and duck and cover drills,
we watched cartoons aimed twenty short years earlier
at the wanters and wishers and workers and worriers
of the thirties, we Boomers, as the media hipsters have always known us,
the off-spring, often unwanted and ill-begotten, of the Greatest Generation,
the one that won the contracts to build all the bombs in the world,
tax-free.

Those cartoons from the thirties with Entertainment Tonight plots and cameos of
Hollywood stars who were Grandma's age,
that Cowboy Bob on the local VHF (unaffiliated or independent, hard to tell a diff)
showed the first middle class latch key kids in centuries,
were meaningless,
unless we knew the faces to match the charicatures.

"Grandpa, who is that guy with big ears and a skinny mustache?"

Who knew the "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a ****" guy had jug-handle ears?
It was diversity in the desert. My big ears no longer made me bully bait.
I have superior hearing and star power.
From my kindergarten years I have known.
I am included, my flaws are not flaws at all.
That don't give a **** guy
and I have big ears to hear better with, so
we know more. Good fathers teach their big eared sons such facts of Nature.

Take care. Don't get puffed up. Knowing too much
will fill a head with hydrogen and the brain in it rots,
intrixically.

Are we powerless? If you say so? No.
I am in control, graciously demands
no load un-bearable with Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice.

(Note: not fire water white lightning
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice. Al Capp's
Personal Stash of Greatest Gen Synthetic Absynthe.
Used to **** hippie wanna-bees in farm country,
Like DDT for apple worms and skeeters,
Atom bombs for all colors of thinkin' right (but white),
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice revived many a faintin' pilgrim
follerin' John Wayne down the dusty trail,

Play me one o' them somebody done somebody right
songs,
there must be a million lying idle in blue puddles o' all kinds
of imaginary
ref-use.

Referee.
Job's Daysman betwixt us, we win. His call, not mine. I thought I lost for sure.

I was powerless, let me testify.

No. We think different here. If you are not ******,
you are not powerless. If you are ******, then you are powerless,
but but but
If you think you are powerless, you are not ******. *** knows, right?
****** people seldom see themselves powerless past the standing
under peace that's beyond understanding meat-mind-wise.

Dunning-Krueger. Again.
Feedback please, this is one of many in the theme of redeeming idle words, for fun and profit.
TheGrimRaven Mar 15
it was nice living life
pretending to know what is right
pretending to see what is real

in this senseless world
i was hopeful
somehow thankful
that i once knew you
and if what they are saying is true
that you are there
watching from above
the holy mighty creator of love

thank you

and this is not a trial or a phase or a social experiment of some kind
i am truly hopeful that one day
someone can prove the existence of the highly improbable

because i did lose faith
in your people
in your existence
in my 'religion'

but now im trying
really hard to know the truth
and i know you, among everyone else, will understand
ashley mckee Feb 19
when people ask me why I’m not religious,
I tell them stories
of all the people I have ever believed in.
I relive the memories
and the heartbreak
and I explain how each of them
earned my faith.
they were my friends;
they were tangible
and they were real
and they left me behind.
so, what am I supposed to expect
from some *** who hides their face?
I've had enough
of people putting on masks
and lying to me through their teeth.
at least I can look them in the eye
when I tell them
that I don't believe in them anymore.
The exponential term of the heretics,
All the lies and the gimmicks.
Everybody, rejoice in the freak show!
A melting *** of incompetent hosts.
A salad that's burning, turning
Hurting, learning and merging
Into a concoction full with disorder.
Into a world filled with borders.

Nobody knows.
Hey, who has time to learn and show?
Certainly not me.
Even the priest or a normal person, his time is not free.
As such, he hides the world's holes.
With words filled with selfish goals.
"Who are we?"
"We're the important humans, and that's all we could be."

4 years of understanding, is what I'd ask.
To get rid of the extravagant and unnecessary mask.
888 days of confusion,
And 666 days of rebellion.
Grab your forks and torches.
To destroy the flag of snakes, and let us come to our senses.
All these insignificant nonsense.
It doesn't make sense to take defense.

3 more kings giving gifts.
More men prosecuted for giving his race a lift.
"All of this is for nothing."
"I am nothing."
Isn't it confusing?
Is a more sensible thing to keep on living?
Without gods, or prophets.
The modern era doesn't need more puppets.

The modern asphyxiation.
Everyday, full of idiots that can't handle vision.
The idiots who will argue and argue.
Bleeding ears for the few,
Who understand, but will never speak.
Because they are still weak.
But in the end.....
But in the end.....

Who am I to talk?
I'm in the minority.
The sheep who flock east,
Feeding on the feast.
While, I, alone on the west.
Rest.
And live my life.
Away, from these crumbling heights.

Prove me that your theories and your beliefs are the right ones.
Call me edgy, but people nowadays are being too clingy or dependent on a *** that won't be there for them all the time. Pray this, pray there. And at the same time, atheists rant about all these **** about "Oh, gods don't exist."

How can we be so sure, and what difference does it make? We make our way by ourselves.
JR Rhine Oct 2017
Baby Teeth

I pulled the prayers from my raw gums like baby teeth. With the
          blood spat into my palm, there lay the tools with which I
          chewed up everything I ever put into my mouth. And yet even
          then I had felt the hands working my jaw for me.

Every day I tongue the empty space before meals and again at
          bedtime. There’s this moment when I feel like I should be
          saying something, but the void leaves my tongue aimless in the
          newfound space. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

I wasn’t so fond of it when they wiggled in my mouth when I talked
          or ate, acting like a broken saloon door for my roving tongue. I
          didn’t like to brag about it with my friends. It didn’t quite feel
          like a rite of passage as it did a loose Band-Aid.

They dangled on those last few roots that desperately clung on to that
          childlike innocence, which looked like Awana badges, Sunday
          school, father reading to me bedtime stories of David, the
          girlfriends in church that were always repentant after we
          touched;

I began to believe I could sew it back in if I only believed hard
          enough. It was in those last few efforts that I was at my lowest,
          when my gums started to become infected as bacteria got
          beneath the bone and festered in the flesh. I grew sorer and
          sorer.

At some point I ripped every last one of them out. The therapist had
          cancelled my last three appointments. The bible study couldn’t
          progress since it refused to answer my first three questions. I
          stopped believing an artist had to first and foremost be
          miserable.

I still keep them in a little plastic treasure chest in a cardboard box in
          the garage, along with my plastic baseball trophies and other
          sentiments unworthy of the bedroom shelves. I recycled all the
          extra bibles I previously felt guilty enough to never say no to.

Sometimes a meal looks so good I feel the need to thank someone for
          it. Sometimes I wake up so happy I need to give someone credit.
          Sometimes that’s not the case. I’m happy I don’t have the voices
          telling me through my own teeth how sinful I am.

I’m also happy they’re not telling you how sinful you are.

I tongue the space before meals and before I drift to sleep. I feel
          something growing there. My parents are looking into an
          operation that will put the teeth back in. I still fear one day I’ll
          be the one to grab the sewing kit.

I don’t fear cavities anymore. I think they took them all with them. I
          brush my teeth now and believe in modern medicine, and
          climate change. Needless to say, I didn’t put them under my
          pillow that night.
Lucy Wooding Oct 2017
Why do you manifest such Judas like ways?
Hasten to utter words of falsehood and deception,
Like Eve's serpentine friend.

Piercing through the flesh of once lowly sheep,
Each dermis layer destroyed.

Sacrilegious acts contradict your beliefs,
Whilst sycophantic words trip off your death lined tongue.

The curtains are drawn, and the congregation dissembles,
Your conscience pangs, as your heart bulks against mind,
Twisting and turning under smog filled skies.

And why do you create a devilish mirage?
Professing to be christlike,
Yet disregarding Gods command to show tender love to his flock.

Why do you pray til kingdom come,
Knowing ***'s a reader of hearts,
Therefore your application into his celestial paradise will be declined?

And why do you shun those who have spoken against you,
Painting them as the anti-christ,
Is it because their words have shaken your soul?

Why do you lie?
Knowing it is the imperative ninth commandment.

Why oh why, serpentine...
Melissa Sep 2017
I'll  wonder if you miss us, that thought itself absurd

I'll  wonder if the secrets I've told you since have been left unheard

I'll wonder if there is nothing, just blissful quiet sleep

I'll wonder if all your memories are still yours to keep

I'll wonder if I'll see you in more than just my dreams, that thought alone- sometimes- makes the pain less than it seems.

I wonder can you hear me, my laughter and my cries,

I wonder what happens when somebody dies.
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