Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dylan McFadden Mar 2018
Planted upon Mount Zion
By the Ancient of Days:
A Magnificent Tree seen – beheld –
By withering grasses’ gaze
Seasons come, go, and change;
The Tree is here to stay
Withstanding time and weathering –
Won’t bend or ever fray...

Word is carried by the Wind –
Sent forth through gentle whispers
The Tree of Life is here indeed;
Let ears who hear be listeners
Prepare the heart! Prepare the way!
Find Rest down by the River…
…Where running sweet…is scarlet sap...
...And fruit that will deliver...
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2017
Only men who wield a sword
Could fight in a battle
And women were frightened
As they were seen as fragile

At home they stood still
And wished for strength
To be in the battle field
And their loved ones defend

Faith was in their heart
And peace in their scope
They held the last shards
With glimmers of hope
- Credit to the author.

The Graces of White
the women were known as.
Under the damnation of war
and blood
and fire, there was one sanctuary
they could retreat to.
A place of marble and ivory, of still
pools and nature.

Though all of them had the black stench
of fear, they stood in the still pools.
Quiet. Trembling.
Orisons left their mouths under the gold
dust of this holy place

They were not like their counterparts.
They had no swords or arrows to wield.
They were not of the Dragonsouls.
They could not see themselves knee-deep
in bodies.

They clasped at the pearls.
A shaft of light appeared above them.
In body, the Graces of White were no Dragon
The shards of hope were in all, man, woman
and child.
Woman, feeble in body, glimmer of hope on
rheir hearts
For they are the eyes of this hellish storm
- By me
This is something I had to do...
in a moment of weakness, I compromised my beliefs of being a wordsmith, and I never got over the guilt of it either. I won't deny or run from it. I surrender and own up to my mistake wholeheartedly because I want to start this page honestly. Only The Graces of White is mine. Now, this poem is my heartfelt apology to the writing craft, fellow poets as well as truth. This poem is my atonement, for I will never take for granted the power of the pen again.
I won't doubt myself or my belief in myself.
I really am sorry...
By Lyn
Mankind’s genuine Life is found
in the blood, not in the heart,
nor in the mind; the guilt of sin
leads all to Death. As His blood
ran down onto Golgotha’s ground,

The Lamb’s atonement was released
and in that moment, we were bound
to Yahweh by the “Scarlet Thread”
of Christ’s Love for us. With Him
serving as Humanity’s High Priest,

Salvation requires us to partake
in His sacrifice, via acceptance
of His gift in the recognition of
our guilt from sin; this allows
The Father to properly adjudicate

and satisfy His requirements for
justice and His desire for mercy.
And now forgiveness is available
to all; Christ remains patient,
as He knocks on our heart’s door

while offering God’s free gift of
eternal Life and everlasting Love.
Inspired by:
Lev 17:11; John 19:31-37; Heb 7:25;
Eze 18:4, 18:20; Rom 6:23

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Deep Thought Mar 2017
Since 7 years old I remember having this fascination for trees. Although I'm all grown up, there's still plenty of love for climbing them. A few days ago, while walking through a valley, I noticed a tree shaped like the letter U. If you're wondering, yes I did climbed the tree, the little girl inside me couldn't resist. Shortly after the hike was finished something amazing dawned on me. I figured out the reason for my love of trees after all these years.

Our Savior was hung on a tree, and shed His blood for the world's sins willingly. The fixation for trees has a life altering meaning behind it. Realizing He was my one true love all along.
Seeing that U shaped tree is Jesus' way of saying "I love U"
U don't have to impress me, I love U as you are.
If you want to see the picture of the tree check out:
Deep Thought Jan 2017
This is for my generation.
  A generation full of selfies, in short for selfish.
  A generation of women murdering their own unborn babies.
Woman walk around half dressed hoping a man will grant them respect.
As they reclaim their lives, renaming it feminism at it's best.
This is for my generation.
A generation of men that rather play with their hands.
Rather than creating work out of their bare hands.
******* for women as if we were created for one night stands.
We are the millennials.* We're *full of worldly distractions.
Looking for our parents to be the lending tree.
Since we spend most of our money on ***** & ****.
This is for my generation.
Can't you see we're slowly dying off? We are becoming too self involved.
While every pleasure keeps causing our own demise.
We're too stubborn to realize our ways are flawed.
We mask it and look for love in other people. Yet, we feel emptier when the love isn't reciprocated. Some call this "unrequited love".
This is for my generation.
I'm here to tell you that, you are loved, you are cherished, and you can be forgiven. You can be saved, not by your works or how much money you make.
If you only believe what He did for you on the cross.
The perfect blood Atonement.
We are the Godless generation. Most would say they believe in evolution, perhaps others would mention God.
This is for my generation.
See, Jesus didn't come for the religious people. In fact, he called them frauds. He's more than just a bunch of rules and laws. In reality, He only came to save the lost. Which lead him to be hated, beaten and killed on a cross. 3 days later, He rose from the dead something Allah never did.
Now that our King is risen, He's offering a free gift of salvation. That's why it's called Grace. Being coming Christian doesn't make you perfect, don't get it twisted. I'm just a forgiven sinner by His definition.

**The choice is yours.
God selects what Man neglects.
Joshua Dougan Dec 2016
In introspect,
hindsights stumbling over intuition.
Guts hard as a rock.
Minds eye coupling with superstition.
Feeling lost, without a paddle, up the stream facing tomorrow.
Trading calls, seizing, coughing out a scream. Laced with a sorrow.
Silence escapes the harrowed moment.
a siren: opaque.
Privately shamed, a borrowed atonement and a giant mistake.
Red streaks the latest paper
The blood of martyrs splattered on walls
For their faith.
For the whole world to see.

Red blotches a Gentile face
He wakes up to see Jesus
Coming with healing bright
Shingles, white patches
hideous bumps, flaky scabs.
They vanish at His faintest whisper.

He runs into Samaritan darkness
Screaming, Your name reverberating.
Red is what they ate in Eden, too.
Red is being torn from Your side
By smooth connivance with
Reptilian deceit.

Red is how the world looks
To lovely young eyes
Enamored by it for the first time.
Red is their world
And You turn pale
In their sight.

Red is what I feel
When I learn
Your anointing on my throat
lies–almost forgotten
Preciously hidden
Tucked behind the veneer
Of daily pinings for applause
From dim, glassy faces
Made red by stage lighting.

Red is the color of my cheeks
When I realize
You love me despite.

Red is Your sacrifice.
Red is Your atonement.
Red is my ransom.

…You are everywhere.
living life like a photograph
I am captured in that moment
a record of images of the past
the black and white of atonement

the negatives scroll through my mind
by now, I guess I get the picture
a flash frame from that place in time
on this wall, I am a fixture

living life like a photograph
it's on my wall, then I own it
a snapshot of images of the past
a still frame of atonement
I haven't been very active here, because i am trying to enjoy the springtime. I am about to camp for a couple of months. I doubt that i will have phone service, but i will be logging on occasionally. Very glad to see the in-flux of new poets here. Keep on writing!
Next page