The fruit cake child molester
gets acclaim and promotion,
put on a pedestal, while the
righteous underdog gets
exiled or killed,
kicked out and abandoned
like a stray cat.

This is an issue which isn’t spoken of enough. Awful, manipulative people roam this earth and poison the minds of many. Humanity often does not want to hear the other side of a story, and choose to instead blindly believe the slanderer. This brings no justice to the truth that was twisted, or to the victim who bears the damage. In many cases, the victim is forced to part with money and other things that are highly important to them. Why must slanderers feel so secure within their own lies, and why must the world deprive the victim of a voice?

Day after day, we go through the motions
Like waves searching for shore in the middle of the ocean,
Following along as we get swept by the current
Again and again, waiting for the day it’ll end.

I was lost in this sea of people when I saw him.
A mere glimpse from my periphery, I almost missed
His tear-streaked face and his bleeding knee,
And I thought to myself, how did I not see?

My eyes caught the way his shoulders sagged
From carrying the weight of the world on his back.
He’s only a child but his fate seemed worse than Atlas,
His young body shackled by greedy insatiable hands.

I wonder if someone witnessed his despair,
Picked up a brush and decided to share
The story of a boy whose future was stolen
By heroes who were nothing but villains.

His pleas echo in every brushstroke
And while my hands can never replicate
The vivid imagery offered by paint
He can live on in the words I create.

Parading through these beautiful Hills..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like,  well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men..   whose tattered boots
   you are unworthy, of even tying..

Traipsing across the Badlands--
your long  red hair, flowing..
giving off a stance, (as if)..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like, well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men.. in tattered boots
   that you are unworthy, of even tying..

Raining down havoc,  on the Beautiful People
simply for their having  within them ;;
  
Faith:
In the Great Father.. and Substance of Spirit;
Neither of which your cowardly Egostroke
will ever garner,  or ascertain..

But oh, you could steal..

And pilfer..
And destroy.

You will pay, oh General *******-boy
Your long, curly locks..
will take on a whole new color,  red
There will be a gathering..
A showdown..

A Holy Reckoning--
In that Montana field,  between the Hills
Along the Little Bighorn..

The River of all Beaten-Down  one's, dreams

Oh, how I wish
my tears
would steer clear
of the fear that
lives here.

I am tired
of the hate
that is inspired
by the spiral
of bad faith
actors working
in accord
with each other
to enhance
the discord
that smothers
compassion.

I am exhausted
from passing
my passion
from within
to my pen,
from my mind
to my computer
and pasting
pieces of poetry
on social media
sites
that profit from
greed and destruction
in the form of
views and ads.

It all feels bad,
and I would be glad
to grab
a long nap
and never have to
rise and see
the violent spree
of soldiers killing
civilians,
while the state claims
that these children’s
suffering is justifiable,
that these horrors
are deniable,
that these lies are viable,
going viral, and capable
of making some lives
less valuable.

The peace of this small neighbourhood, is shattered as the door caves in
As masked marauders seek with guns, the criminals that hide within
But they find no deadly drug baron, Nor killer, or ****** animal
But a grey-haired lady, small and frail, in terror as she beholds them all

At gunpoint then her hands are tied, and her walking stick cast to the floor
As she is marched by mighty men, to the waiting van outside her door
Her heart skips wildly and her breath is tight, as she is bundled roughly inside
Her dignity and rights of law, are swept away and cruelly denied

And across the town there sits a girl, with kindly, smiling joyful eyes
A teen who spends her youthful zest, bringing hope and joy to other lives
But little does she know this day, that her future days are to dwell
Not in delight and dancing halls, but in a dark and lonely prison cell
        
And elsewhere stands a local hero, a man so honoured by decree
Acclaimed by peers and politicians, as a citizen of kindly deeds
Yet on this day, he is torn away, from his family who are left in tears
As this father and devoted husband, is imprisoned now for seven years
  
Who are these ones snatched by the state, and treated so unjustly
Held without cause or consideration, and despised so bitterly?
They obey all laws and pay their dues, and love their neighbours when they can
And share a hope of a future bright, even though their hope is banned    

They are young and old, black and white, and gathered from diversity
They wage no wars, won't steal or lie, but treat all people with dignity
For their crime is not of violence, nor abuse, or fraud or robbery    
But of being Christians and trying to show, Christ-like love to you and me

And what of those who terrorize them, the land where this grim drama is set
That mighty nation, so paranoid, that it considers them a threat
This pretender to the throne, bedecked in red and white and blue
Is a jealous king who hates the ones, who, to Christ their King are ever true

But as they languish in prison cells, awaiting justice from the King
The one whose commandments they obey, is smiling down and proud of them
For their hope is not in men of law, nor international decree
But their just and loving King, Christ Jesus, and in God- Jehovah's sovereignty    


Dedicated to Jehovah's Witnesses imprisoned in Russia

--And you will not go
you will not fall
Within you  are the thoughts
that will lead
to your untimely leaving

if you listen to it all
you will lose
And the whole world
will lose, along  with you

Please don't leave
Please, sweet love..
stay--
If for no one else

then please stay  for me

In your pretty little head
is the death
that was never
meant to be yours
ah, love.. can't  you see
there is a renewal
within the breath
of  all  who are finally
able to let love in.

That head of yours,
my sweet one
It will tell you  
every-where  to go--

  every where,  
  but to me.

Yet
I know those messages
spoken, also..

So clear and so loud--
in its mist of distance
its concealing cloud,
the fog that makes it all
seem so very very real

But what of the real
within this feel,  within me

That tells me of your worth
and the tremendous value
that lies within the rarity
of all there is that is you..

In your head, you are ugly
In mine,
you are my  so very..
Will I ever  be able
to get you to see
what a departure like that
will do to me?

Within your own self view
is that oh so horrible 

           undoing of you
How very real  it feels..
this,  which was so very unfairly
placed in to you
This..  which now  only wants
to see you dead

Such a very beautiful
pretty, little head

And you--
my so very,
very

very..


Very.
xo