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Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
Glimpsing her bathing on the roof,
He averted his eyes and looked away.

Wondering if his eyes remembered her beauty correctly,
He sneakily took a short glance to see clearly.

And that was all it took for King David,
Who gazed upon the wife of his own soldier.

Lured by a glimpse,
Hooked by a glance,
Swallowed by a gaze,
He didn't know the steep cost to be paid.
A poem about King David from the Bible with Bathsheba
Samantha LeRoy Mar 2016
god is a woman
and she is angry.

her tongue is a serpent,
medusas mouth,
and her fists are vultures.

seven eyes,
seven horns,
seven doors.

the angels are women too
because only a woman
can weep so much.
someone unfurl her wings,
break the lock.
she is a dove and this
is her olive branch.

in the catholic church only men
can be priests.
but this church,
this gold and silver church,
was built from the bones
of sleek coated mares,
of birthing cows,
of cream skinned ladies in
veils and jewels and wine stains.

ask delilah of samson.
ask jezebel of ahab.
salome of john,
mary of joseph
and magdalene of jesus.

ask the moon of the sun.

ask god about her daughter,
the one still nailed to the cross,
still awaiting birth in bethlehem.
the carpenters daughter
with a wooden stake at her neck.

ask god about her other daughter,
the one in nazareth
still breathing desert air.

ask god about her sons,
sweet lazarus and wild lucifer,
stepping on hot coals
like summer asphalt.

ask god about the forget me nots
pressed to gravestones
in the heat of august.
ask god about the magnolias
wilted against gravestones
in the bite of december.

ask god about the lions,
the goats,
and the lambs.

ask about yourself,
if youd like.

god is a woman
and hell hath no fury
like a goddess scorned.
Samantha LeRoy Feb 2016
i.
To the angel of the church in Ephesus,
Write this:
The one who holds the seven stars
In her right hand and
Walks in the midst of the seven gold lampstands
Says this:
Wickedness drips from the fangs
Of faeries.
A mystical hurt wounds
Its way around your spine.
Revel in the snapping of vertabrae.
Suffer for my name.
Repent for me, my lover.

ii.
To the angel of the church in Smyrna,
Write this:
The first and the last,
Who once died but came to life,
Says this:
You are rich in tribulation.
Bathe in the slander
Of those who came before you.
For ten days we will be faithful.

iii.
To the angel of the church in Pergamum,
Write this:
The one with the sharp two-edged sword
Says this:
The throne is yours.
Hold fast to my name.
Let the gold consume.
You martyred me amongst the rest.
Eat the feast sacrificed to the idols
And I will play the ******.
We will wage war with
The sword of my mouth.

iv.
To the angel of the church in Thyatira,
Write this:
The daughter of a goddess,
Whose eyes are like a fiery flame
And whose feet are like polished brass,
Says this:
I am Jezebel.
Condemned for harlotry,
The ***** and I will crawl on ****** knees,
Broken by mens will,
To the city on seven hills.
It is fire we want

v.
To the angel of the church in Sardis,
Write this:
The one who has seven spirits
Of god and
Seven stars
Says this:
We will wear white.
We will walk with our heads held high.
We are worthy of the divine.

vi.
To the angel of the church in Philadelphia,
Write this:
The holy one,
The true,
Who holds the key of David,
Who opens and no one shall close,
Who closes and no one shall open,
Says this:
They will realize I love you
With a bleeding heart.
The altar will drip red and
I will keep you safe
During the trial.

vii.
To the angel of the church in Laodicea,
Write this:
The amen,
The faithful and true witness,
The source of creation,
Says this:
You are neither.
Neither loved nor hated,
But certainly not loved.
Not loved with the inferno of my heart.
I am rich in wretchedness
And you do not realize
You are naked and blind
Like the lamb with seven horns,
Seven eyes.

Who ever has ears ought to hear.
The victor will never
Taste death from my lips.
Samantha LeRoy Feb 2016
with hands made of shrapnel,
i seal the door shut,
hide under the bed.
gunpowder perfume and gasoline showers,
when i was 13 i forced my way out.
i crawled back in,
driven by the sound of
cicadas dying.
theyre last will and testament sounding
too much like salome.
am i john?
summer is over,
the hush of fall falls down
like the last veil.
i am salome,
you are john.
head sitting heavy on a silver platter.
my body is jeweled,
the veils,
the color of violets,
flow, swirl, part.
i reveal myself to the king,
gold melting down his face
like saturated sacrilege.
Kunal Kar Jan 2016
A deluge of earthly sins,
A waterspout on green leaves,
A hurricane among lull seas,
An equanimity of autumnal eves.
A dilated tale of mundane me.
A million abstruse blocks of C of Co²
A walker among you and me.
A wanderer lost in blue.
Attired by crimson lust of artistry.

A masquerade brew of red wine and dark coffee,
A stark blithe of sanguine comatose,
All drunk and clinging to the thin threads of this unstaged life,
All murdered by the sinical overdose.
The seascape choirs of ocean waves,
Embracing the narcoleptic yellow shorelines,
And evanescent castles
And sail headwind with a mystical concubine.

The iced conundrums of this lost forsaken echoes of winter breeze,
The insanity measured in ones & zeroes,
We're the kings of this deadbeat time,
And praised victories of unsung heroes.
The wanderlust sailors drank the skies,
In mixed cocktails,
And thy heavens sang to this night,
As a melodic madness of wild gales.

Her pale white body declares some love due,
As our lips bled rapture,
And rose a melodramatic cue,
Like words of a closing chapter.
Charged with the flow of adrenal enzymes,
A surrogate from affinity to serendipity,
For in flashback of these forlorn events,
I write this epiphany.

And though these letters are on fire,
And bestowed the bullets over armored heart,
For life exists in the heartache symphonies,
Like a stratagem cliché of painted art.
Call your unfurled knots of wrecked sanity.
A wildfire has gone wild within,
The eloquence thirst of your red lips,
Inked the words of love on this skin.

An audacious lover of seafaring,
Beside the starry onset of a beautiful dawn,
A tide of marvelous mystery,
Whose side are you on?
Its all fiction served with tea,
And through warm sips of this worthy minute,
Change is tempted to render seeds,
That swam through wind, till it escapes and wanders the infinite.
Anthony Perry Jan 2016
An open mind is an open vein.

Insane thoughts convey into Cain intravenously then pour out vicariously through Ables brain like a river created from fruitful rain.
 
I don't want to be like Cain or end up like Able, to live disabled and brittle or serve a god and live as a biblical *******.

Realism on a canvas of skin and bone painted by a hand led by sin and the unknown, a brothers keeper estranged with the blood of his own

kept in a state of strife and decay with only dead crops and his thoughts, hes cursed with the lasting of life.
Silencer Nov 2015
Reigning
With the Heavenly Father
Whose rules are claimed by many
But very few follow

The Ultimate Truth

Which many
Are incapable to swallow

Even me
Mixed with
Wanting to enjoy my present being
Or
Being crowned with life for all eternity

Save yourself
Even if the rest decide to stay behind
Follow your soul and your heart
With no consideration of the mind
Where powers collide
Distinguishing the truth from the lies

No use in holding onto your pride
That is not why Jesus Christ died

A chance to overshadow all earthly delights
Offered by a devious serpent
That just isn't worth it

A chance to repent
A chance to be enscripted in The Book of the Lamb

Being with the ones I love
Hoping by the end of time I've done enough

To enter

Pray with me
Be with me
I shall do as you command
It blows my mind
I can't imagine forever being ******

Take my spirit in your hand
Son of Man
Take my spirit in your hand
Hebrews 8:12 "For I will forgive their wickedness, and will remember their sins no more."
George Krokos Oct 2015
A state of emergency may again soon be declared
something for which only a few have been prepared.
It will involve the whole of humanity on such a scale
that it will resemble in effect the oft told biblical tale.

Many people have been talking much about ‘the end time’
and it seems that what they have been saying isn’t a crime,
based on various words prophesied and written down of old
that mankind is undergoing now, past generations foretold.

The world as we know it has become full of corruption and deceit
there isn’t much hope in finding anything else that is so complete.
Even the forces of nature come screaming ominously in our faces
and uproot what we’ve taken for granted to be our homely places.

It would seem that the very thing we fear has slowly come upon us all
due to a lack of faith or trust in God going against His Laws we recall.
Though it has been preached that we are now under a New Covenant
and because of this it’s supposed to be something which is permanent.

But what this really does mean to all those who profess and seek the Word
is that in our own heart and mind or conscience God’s voice is to be heard.
In solitude and quietness we should often then meditate and go deep within
and reflect more on the things we could do better which don’t incur any sin.

Instead of being bent on revenge, pride and many another self-gratification
we should consider more the welfare of all those in need with contemplation,
and help to make this world a better place for us all to live in and call home
until the time comes yet again for God to intervene and make right His own.
__________
Written in 2013.
He sold his stories on the shore
they listened
and they wanted more
and Cohen sang
his song of
Hallelujah.

They followed him
the tide came in
it swallowed them and
still those men
paid for the joy of
one more
Hallelujah.

I drank the verse
and tasted wine,
I met her then and
she was mine and
time stood still
upon the final
Hallelujah.

When we take our shots
we take a chance
some find hate, some
find some romance,
some
find the jewels that
give this life
a balance.

And at the end
what journeys then?
joy
the tide
the silent men that
give you one more
rousing
Hallelujah.
Tragedy trapped in pages
Forgive me father,
for I have sinned.
I have spilled my brother’s blood
and cursed humanity far worst than you did.
Doomed to be the creatures who invented ******,
Oh tell me, father, what have I done?

My demons won out
and my jealousy raged.
I let my anger consume me,
and my dragons grew stronger.

In my hand, I hold my brother’s beating heart,
Oh tell me,
tell me, father.
What have I done?
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