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Morgan Gail Jul 2018
we've taken our salvation into our own hands
it's no wonder we've turned to worshipping alcohol and ***
you see, the Godless are never truly godless
we just become our own gods
wrap every beautiful thing around your wrists
draping like precious stones
until it becomes unholy
we bruise any purity with our splintered hands
raising our empty buildings
cathedrals where we all stand
we pledge our allegiance
to "self"
and to flags
adopting false idols
raising them to be like us
until they start looking just like us
well, a god just like me would be a fearsome being
that god would have killed everybody
including itself
inheriting my self-destructive tendencies
i've built myself up so much
in my attempt to feel worthy
it's a wonder my spine doesn't snap
from all the weight
an altar with one too many golden statues adorned
wasn't i supposed to be past everything
wasn't i supposed to be reborn
i guess we're never so far from our mortality
that we can truly be safe without our boundaries
Jose Hurtado Jun 2018
I live like a ship on a wave
Dragged by the deep, still paving a way
A slave for the day,
Set sails north and I let the force of the wind take me away

Take me away, sight's on a star
What's outside's inside who we are
What's inside's outside who we are
So who am I to define who we are?

Or who we're really not
But they all get ill and do the Millie Rock
They all sell souls at a mill-a-pop
That's a millipede, running Hip Hop

One thing I know, I am not them
I'm not slipping cuz I got Him
Lucy’s gripping cuz she got them
They ain't tripping cuz they balling
The struggle of a Hip Hop fan in the Idolatry of modern Pop culture.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Journey of relativity  
When the same sun lies above the head  
And the same Moon, and all stars vanishes  
We share the same sphere
Time to speak our heart,  
Being unbiased,  
We all are not that different,  
I’m giving up myself  

“Idols are immortal”  
Without an expiration date  

At night, man in good sleep is the idol  
At light, man who never give up is the idol  
Obstacles is the path, all need to overcome interference,  
Stones in the bank are the idols for patience  
Struggling for one more breathe are idols for hope  
People who opens up with smile are idols of happiness  
All who hope to make change, they are the idols  
Those who lives outside the dream, all are the idols  

In Idols, I find evidence of life.
Those free words were generated spontaneously for a blissful silence, whose presence rules my thought.
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Genre: Inspirational
Aaron LaLux Dec 2017
Supposed Supporters

And yeah sure she’s gorgeous,
amongst the praise of all her supporters,
but at the end of the day what difference does it make,
when most supporters don’t even know why they support her,

what makes you so dang important,
yeah I’m special too but I don’t beg for supporters,
but I suppose in a way neither do you,
which brings us back to the point that’s important,

which is and the end of the day what’re you really supporting?

∆ LaLux ∆

FREE E-Book Available 12/12
Oculi Nov 2017
Looking at me, you see a pure, young soul.
But look inside me, you sweet summer child.

Inside me are so many people
I am Che Guevara with the lance of poetry
I am Vladimir Lenin with the shield of quick wit
I am Petőfi Sándor with the armor of ambition
I am Mahatma Gandhi with the horse of music
I am Fidel Castro with the arms of an endless mind
I am Spartacus with the flames of unending hope
But I am The Uncharismatic Man with the burdens
The burdens of a tired arm
The burdens of a twisted tongue
The burdens of clipped wings
The burdens of a deaf ear
The burdens of numb thoughts
The burdens of a dying sun
I've risen up and gone down just as quick
My rebellion was for naught this time
I've grown exhausted from the fights
But I'll never put down my arms.
I'll never cease the struggle.
This war never ends.
So fight with me, brother.
Fight yourself, goodfellow.
Defeat the oppression, comrade.
And never give up...
Not until I give you the call to surrender.
Lilly frost Sep 2016
Open the curtains to the show
Bow down politely
What do you know?
Strings tangled up
Wrapped all around
Spinning me
Twirling me
Making me dance
Dance to the beat of the fingers
Twisting the strings
Bending me like rubber
All for the plastic applause of the audience
Clap clap for whoever's on stage
Smiles are painted
Cheers are fake
Idolize me for my body
For my face
If you don't turn out like me
You'll be a disgrace
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.

It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.

All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.

True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.

Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.

It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.

Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.

Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."
~ Philippians 1:21

"I want you to know how hard I am contending
for you...and for all who have not met me personally.
My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart
and united in love, so that they may have the full riches
of complete understanding, in order that they may know
the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden
all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."
~ Colossians 2:1-3

"I say to the LORD, 'You are my Lord;
    apart from You I have no good thing.'...
Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more...
    LORD, You alone are my portion and my cup;
    You make my lot secure...
I will praise the LORD, who counsels me;
    even at night my heart instructs me.
I keep my eyes always on the LORD.
    With Him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.
Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
    my body also will rest secure...
You make known to me the path of life;
    You will fill me with joy in Your presence,
    with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."
~ Psalm 16:2,4a-5,7-9,11

"Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign LORD is my strength;
    He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
    He enables me to tread on the heights."
~ Habakkuk 3:17-19

"How lovely is Your dwelling place,
     O LORD Almighty!
My soul yearns, even faints,
    for the courts of the LORD;
my heart and my flesh cry out
    for the living God.
Even the sparrow has found a home,
    and the swallow a nest for herself,
    where she may have her young—
a place near Your altar,
     O LORD Almighty, my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in Your house;
    they are ever praising You.
Blessed are those whose strength is in You,
    whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
    they make it a place of springs;
    the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength,
    till each appears before God in Zion."
~ Psalm 84:1-7

ConnectHook Apr 2017
Cartoon bunnies up our kiesters;

yellow chicks lay chocolate eggs.

Antichrist confection: Easter's

pastel poison. Drain the dregs.

Sweet untruths with trinkets given

lying in the plastic grass.

Dull consumers, market-driven.

Christ is risen... kiss my ***.
Our English word Passover, happily, in sound and sense, almost corresponds to the Hebrew [pesach], of which is a translation. Exod. Xii. 27. The Greek pascha, formed from the Hebrew, is the name of the Jewish festival, applied invariably in the primitive church to designate the festival of the Lord’s resurrection, which took place at the time of the passover. Our word Easter is of Saxon origin, and of precisely the same import with its German cognate Ostern. The latter is derived from the old Teutonic form of auferstehn, Auferstehung, i. e. resurrection. The name Easter is undoubtedly preferable to pascha or passover, but the latter was the primitive name.

[SOURCE: Ecclesiastical History to the Twentieth Year of the Reign of Constantine, 4th ed., trans. Christian F. Cruse (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1847), 221.]
ConnectHook Apr 2017
Six-armed things of Asiatic trances,
temple belles entwined in temple dances:
mantra in one hand, the other holds naan.
One holding chutney and the other, paan.
Two hands left (befitting of deity):
one offers curry, one incense.  Aseity
signifies self-contented wonderment.
(One wonders as well what that mantra meant...)

Note the third eye in the figure's forehead:
a spare one in case left or right go dead?
But really—how freakish these idols look:
a ******-pantheon from a nightmare book.
(Outdone only by the Aztecs for fright
along with demons born of tribal night.)

Cobra-crowned elephant-headed mutants
sickly-sweet incense, divine pollutants
mix in with the stench of bodies burning
alongside the filthy Ganges churning
flowing with ashes from funeral ghats
excrement, corpses of humans and rats
that swarmed humble hovels of Hindustan
where gods are mass-produced for fallen man.

Maidens in saris with red tinted lips;
glossy vulgarity, loose at the hips
now growing more arms; an insect vision
enough to make one gag on religion.
The ubiquitous trident looms, a sign:
the eternally present un-divine.
Instead, it ought to stick some sacred cow
in its bovine buttocks, and so allow
beef curry for a hungry avatar
craving fresh meat in his juggernaut car.

Turn from this antediluvian scene
in sincerity, ask: what does it mean?
Were you created in these gods' image?
Is anything real behind their visage?
Blue skin and sick smiles, anointed with ghee:
exotic... but wrong theologically.
Till lingams are yonis I'll spell it out;
these Aryan idols should merit your doubt.
Such weirdness deserves some analysis
(as did old Diana of Ephesus).

Would you tingle if such a god showed up
and offered to refill your soma cup,
sending siddhis up your spinal column
with you in full lotus, clueless, solemn.
Would you offer puja in their temple,
bedeck your soul in a robe to sample
veggie-masalas, chapatis and dal,
peruse the Upanishads, and enthrall
your mind with the mystic old Rig-Vedas
fall for idolatrous sin conveyed
as spiritual truth when it's just a big lie...
bow before a multi-armed freak?  Not I.
Not for all the visions in Satan's world.
Better to call B.S. than to be hurled
to hell for living and loving this lie
embracing monstrosities. By and by
the books will be opened. The Lord will judge.
Consider this your transcendental nudge
toward something less false, less fearfully fake
than the idols Antichrist nations make.
NaPoWriMo #15

TS Eliot
wrote highbrow literary
poetry (so-called)
There were idols in days of old
Made of wood stone silver & gold
They had a mouth eyes & ears
But they could not speak see or hear.

And there were also idols of flesh
Filled with God's own breath
The same images we worship today
Creating physical & spiritual decay.

These idols of flesh we're exalting
These idols of flesh we wallow in
These idols of flesh we're consuming
Will consume our mind & our spirit.

Taking away what we can't live without
Replacing inner peace with fear & doubt
Precious time spent covering up our tracks
Looking ahead but still looking back.

Burning on the ancient altar of lust
Occasionally saying we've had enough
Sheepishly returning to the altar again
Learning to live with the scars & the pain.

They are flesh & blood just like me & you
Filled with emptiness when the act is through.

                            --Daniel Irwin Tucker
please don't get all adamant...i'm not jumping on the moralizing judgemental bandwagon...
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