~
Holy smoke!

This is a drag.

Nevertheless,
I've come to depend upon it.
~

Trust is a limited currency
For those who have wronged us,
And the wall subconsciously built
In a day, can only be taken a part
Brick by brick,

But those who speak
For the force unheard,
Only proven to exist in a feeling
Or in the passed down book,
I think, are given too much credit.

Speaking for that which cannot speak for itself
Inherently is wrong, yet these priests
We give our trust
Despite the controversy
They always bring up

Speaking for not the god
That those sitting there
Came to hear about,
But speaking for those
There sitting.

Swaying and advising
The path they take and what direction
And nodding heads,
And right hands pointed to the sky
Tell you nobody pays much attention.

For a priest
Who preaches abstinence
And practices excess
On the underaged sons,
Open your eyes.

That stage shouldn’t be upheld
By one who sways people
Against one another,
But with the bible in the right context,
Anything could be directed towards anyone.

Limit your currency of trust
For those who prove
They deserve it,
The church can heal,
But my, oh my, can the pasture bleat.

DEAR God.
let me be your dear.
and I  shall have no fear.
allow acceleration from God's Gear.

Dear God,
I'm lost and looking for directions.
I'm blind and willing to see.
send your healing miracles,

I'm one of your creation,
living in your created nation.
and living with your created nature.
guide us as our lecture.

With the power of your name,
Please full-fill my life with prosper.
and shall I prospect forever,
and ever, Amen

pray away my sins with your lips,
fingers intertwined with mine
and whisper gospels into my ear
as we explore our celestial altar's in worship-
in hopes that i may be purified once more

She walked down the aisle,
In a beautiful white gown just like her smile,
Her hair in a bun
with a crown just like Eve,
Her lips without a smudge,
Her cheeks rosed pink
And her eyes in tears.
She made her vows with the one in her eyes,
But her throbbing heart
Knew she lied.
Since childhood, the angel thought
This day was the best.
Only to realize,
It wasn't the day,
But the man she would spend her rest.
The princess did not have her prince charming riding the white horse,
But he sat on the wooden bench like a silenda,
Reliving the moments of their star crossed saga.
Who knew there was an obscure string,
That would never let them apart,
The flowers,
The mass,
The rings,
Thy charm,
Was all just a show,
When the heart wasn't ready to vow.....

A stew of slow cookers
sit simmering
slowly brewing a communal stock,
seaping steam and aromas
which speak a seductive welcome
from doorstep to table
and whisper a warm, rich reassurance
that this is home