Religion is Recruiting for
Customer Complaints.
Where is my God, the disciples
and all the absent saints?
The time I have invested
sitting in your church.
This wasn't in your advert
you've left me in the lurch.
I'm asking for a refund,
you've years to reimburse
and then there is the funeral,
the flowers and the hearse.

I've sat on your pew,
spent time praying to you
and now that I'm dead,
I'm unsure what to do.
I should have known better,
you never replied.
Yet I kept the faith
until the day that I died.

Now I queue to complain,
I must be ******' insane!
because,
well,
you don't even exist!

Poetry by Kaydee.

At Youth camp service the pastor asked all the troubled to pray at the alter,
He called it the alter call.
Dozens of teens stepped forward to pray,
The tears were almost to much for me,
I comforted all who finished,and
whether I knew them or not.
The you walked forward, all eyes on you,
You were the strong one,
You never broke,
What hell has broken you?
You one else and after everyone left, you stayed still praying.
I stayed behind waiting.
when you finally lifted your head your teary eyes met mine.
We hugged for an eternity not speaking,
You left and smiled at your friends, messing around, a flawless mask,
And I believed that lie for the longest time, But now I know you truly.
Only I knew the unbreakable boy has snapped.
And I think I love him.

I can see those blazing eyes of yours, scrutinized every corner of my room, absorbed a whole lot in sight.
I'm aware you are ready to burn everything up, validating your existance and making sure the spotlights are all on you.
And when that time comes, you will swallow them all like a wildfire,
Left a little for them to realize,
It's you they need to worry about.

I was out browsing the galaxy.
I came upon this place of poetry.
There are Poems laying at the Poetry Alter.
Found a poem I also wanted to give some water.
At the Poetry's ALTER
Pieces looked upon.
From the fore front they've gone.
Yet they are special and still stretched carefully out.
Like flowers just waiting there to sprout.
Poems to be read upon like planted seeds.
For anyone who needs,
I was out browsing the galaxy.
I came upon this place of poetry.
There are poems laying at the Poetry Alter.
Found a poem I also wanted to give some water.
We are the Writers, the sowers, the reapers.
We are workers the laborers the Poetry Keepers.
Let us browse the books, the internet nooks, the newspaper shoots,
But let us not be guilty of being overlooking crooks.
Let us not go ignoring the massive carefully written books.
But let us sow
Were we shall reap, let us read that we may grow,
I was out browsing the galaxy.
I ran across this place of Poetry.
Let us pour WATER.
On the poems left lying at the Poetry's Alter.
Dear writers of poems, songs and books you have now been watered.
This water consists of vitamins, and mineral for you to grow.
May more from you develop And more of you may sow?
You're watered by tears of joy, laughter and refreshing rains.
Your Poems are seeds, grown and sown it forever abides,
and its uniqueness remains.
S.A.M. All Rights Reserved © 2007