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Mark Oct 4
Was Jesus an impersonator
Or the original son of the creator
Did he steal ones name
Then get all the credit and fame
Lying about
Hanging about
Lazily wandering about
The non factual stuff he was saying
No wonder we still have heaps of doubt
Maybe, he could tell a great bedtime story
If so, did he copyright it all
And will he sue for defamation
Or was he just like the rest
Just after all the worlds glory
While I inside hiding
The real source of his information
All things come and go
Like World Leaders, Empires
Big Bang Theories & Co
He went on trial, then got lucky
Had groupies follow him  
Hundreds of miles, along the Nile
Do you think
He will bother to give us a call
Before he comes back down
To judge us all
Gee time flies
When you believe in yourself
Hope I'm still here, if he returns
To at least defend myself
Jesus Christ, Oh my God
God just spoke to me
Looks like, I'm the chosen one
He said, get ready
Then, wait for his text
For I'm up next
For has anyone ever bothered
To do a family tree search
If you did, you would know that dad
Had more than just the one son
We have the same DNA as mum
But dad emptied his spirit
Into, not just the one ****** bowl
So next time you hear
The almighty word from ones mouth
Listen carefully from deep inside
Ones very own memory soul
Remember your parents advice
When you were a young youth
Because all creatures born on earth
Instantly know the meaning of ones life details
So don't ever think
You are the chosen black sheep
In your family’s fairytales
Live your life, fly like a bird
Just be Happy and Free
And be one with your creator.
Ylzm Apr 24
The Jews searched long and hard
for signs of their Messiah's coming
but when he arrived as prophesied
they traded their King for a thief.

The Evangelicals love their bibles
Proud they see, for the Light has come
And not as Jews for they're true Israel,
Desirous as Eve, they hasten the Apocalypse.

The Evangelicals searched long and hard
for signs of their Messiah's return,
the lawless one arrived as prophesied
and they made him King.

If the Chosen suffered the Holocaust,
how can anyone escape chastisement too?
ifs Apr 11
My father’s shop closes
His soul stayed behind those rusting hinges,
The burning business
That built our lives,
That held like a bridge over
1923.

My mother’s knees buckled beneath her
The suffering and pain echoed from within
Her tears pierce the weakness in my being
Salt water runs in the soil of Berlin.
Damp on my skin.
Glass shatters, beneath my feet.

Where are you Mother?
Father is gone.
Are you playing hide and seek?

Because my eyes where the black-
Birds against the blue sky,
Because my hair breathed in moonlight,
Blocking the sunshine
Because my face, brought disgrace upon
The beauty in that tyrant’s eyes...

They stripped me,
Whipped me,
Beat me into an identity
till I saw stars...
Yellow flickers of who I really am
Pinned to my chest
Burnt into my flesh
Marked for all to see.

A poison.
I was that poison?
It finally consumed me.  
1943.
#Unfinished?
Sketcher Jan 24
Condolences,
Today is the day,
Dangerous circumstances,
Are soon on their way.

From the brains in your head,
To the feet in your shoes,
You are soon to be beat,
And you're soon to be bruised.

You'll have blood on your head, crusted into your hair,
No wounds will ever heal, not the cuts or the tears,
With your head leaking brains and red stained white cleats,
The athletes will beat you while you're out on the street.

They'll touch all of your ups,
And they'll touch all of your downs,
From the back to the front,
From the tip to the crown.

They'll open you there,
Wide open and bare.

Outside things will happen,
They will continue to do,
Things that mess with your head,
Because you are a Jew.

And when things will happen,
Don't worry, don't stew,
Just go along with,
Whatever happens to you.

OH!
THE ****'S YOU'LL MEET!

You'll be up on your way,
To see some pretty sights,
Then a **** will show up,
And knock out your lights.

You'll lag behind, because you don't have the speed,
The whole gang will jump you, they'll do it, indeed,
Wherever you go, you'll fight the best of the best,
They'll use their fist to rip your heart out your chest.

Except when they don't,
Because sometimes they won't.

They will be high or drunk or maybe just blue,
They'll be so sad and depressed, they'll do nothing to you.

They will either hang themselves,
or pray in the church,
They will put down their weapons,
and stop the search.

Upon leaving the church,
You'll surely feel a thump,
And chances are then,
That you've just been ******.

A special kind of ****,
That will leave you stunned,
While it's up in the ****,
You'll scream, "This isn't fun!",

You'll feel the reaming of Muhammad and Mark,
One is a light skin, and the other, rather dark,
They'll tear through your **** like it isn't a sin,
Then they'll turn you around and take you for a spin,
And a slurp, and a choke, until the stuff drips down your chin.

When they finish, will you have the strength to fight,
Or will you barely be able to tell left from right,
You'll be so dizzy that you think you might be blind,
It must have been too much ramming from behind,
After they're done, they'll keep you in prison confined.

You will get so confused,
While they're booming the bass,
Riding you faster, at such a neck-breaking pace,
Riding the throat then spilling all over the face,
Then they leave you in shock, in this dark humid place,
Dark... humid... place...

...just waiting and waiting,
As the seasons come and go,
And cars will come and go,
And people come and go,
Some people ask, "Are you okay?",
and you say, "No.",
You continue to just wait.

Wishing that you were just white,
Instead of a Jew that gives off a fright,
To every non-Jew and hater despite,
Religion or if they're dead or awake,
So you still lay there in anguish and ache,
You'll soon get the nerve to pull up your pants,
And then you'll walk south until you reach France,
Every step is a throbbing pain in your ***.

NO!
YOU WILL NOT GIVE UP!

Somehow you'll escape,
The praying then spraying,
Removing all hope,
Whatever was remaining.

As you leave Germany,
you will say goodbye,
But you were too loud,
And you were stopped by a guy.

The man screams out, "HAULT!", as you begin to run,
And now you realize that the great chase has begun,
As you are running away, you trip and you fall,
Still wanting to flee, away you sluggishly crawl,
You feel the mans hands grab so you beg and you plea,
You loosen the grip, stand, then pinned against a tree.

Rammed into the wood,
Knocked out, this is no good.

I'm afraid you'll be caught,
And chopped up in a stew,
This is bound to happen,
No matter what you do.

Very Dead!
Whether you like it or not,
Dead will be something,
You'll be in the ***.

And when you are dead, there's a very good chance,
That a necrophiliac will find romance,
He'll steal your body with his swiftness and brawn,
You'll make him say, "I do want life to go on!".

On he will go,
With his moaning and growls,
On he will go,
Stretching right towards your bowels,
On he will go,
Like a wolf he will howl,
He will awkwardly peck,
With his mouth like a beak,
Upon the great hole,
In which he took a leak.

On and on he'll strike,
Until all the white tar,
Comes out of his *******,
Dirtying his new car.

He doesn't own a horse,
But a car you can blow,
Because there are thirty *****,
Hanging off the window,
And the wheels are some *****,
That are hardened and cracked,
This is a normal car,
This car isn't abstract,
This car doesn't run on gas so it's quite the heft,
When it's pushed up hills with hands of the deft.

So... will you bleed?
Will you beg and plead?
(This Is Actually Zero Percent Guaranteed)

JEW! YOU ARE IN CHARGE!

This is your life, your way,
You're able to seize the day,
You can go to all places,
You can choose to leave or stay,
So please do what you wish,
And your life will be great.
Parody of Oh, the Places You'll Go. I'm not really sure where I was going with this. It's very random...
Qais Alalami Jan 9
I am going to conceive a son and name him Adam
As names in our century have become a conviction
A reason for conflict and contradiction
I won’t name him Mohammed or Jesus
I won’t name him Ali or Omar
I won’t name him Saddam or Hussein
I won’t name him Ibrahim or Zakaria
And not even David or George
I fear he grows a racist due to his name
A name of which I am to blame
To foreigners he’s a terrorist
To extremists he’s an infidel
To Shias he’s a Sunni
And to Sunnis he’s a Shia
I fear that he’ll only be worth as much as his name
A name of which I am to blame
I want him to be named Adam, A Muslim, Christian, Jew.
I am going to teach him that his religion is what is nestled in his heart
Not his name
His name of which I am to blame
I’ll teach him about the arab pride illusion
And how humanity is the solution.
I’ll teach him that god lives in hearts and souls before mosques and churches.
I’ll teach him that I began my speech indicating he was a male,
as females in our society are destined to fail.
I’ll teach him that the problem lies in the Arab society tale.
Emerson Nosreme Nov 2018
i have been here for a very long time since the start
i have been watching everyone
charge at us
with sticks, stone, weapons and words
giants, gas, fire, fury
bombs and chains

but they vanished. or they learnt to love us
some study us like aliens
because they are fascinated
(but aren't we all fascinated in mysteries?)

i am as confused as them
i should be gone
but i rose like a pheonix from fire.
everyone says it's a miracle. but they don't tell me
why am i here?
'what is the secret to his immortality?' - Mark Twain, talking about the jews.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
My heart paces in an abandoned cage
that still holds the smell of lions ****
and human decay

They took my house from me
and He
abandoned me and the early seed

Oh how
love loses to profession

and I lost both
for something that may be
traced back to my blood
even though
I have never even been in a Synagogue
or prayed

It doesn't matter to the ones in
crisp black, green, and grey

The word I hear
from the birds tweet
animals are being imported
from Germany

This cage is not an idea home
but it has kept me safe
but now
I am truly alone
due to what they think is my faith

I must survive
for the little one inside
otherwise
this would be the end.
Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers
all manner of humankind would (during lulls)

Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken,
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge.
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping

linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid
loyal fans boosting morale from family members,

friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad *** Brutus brutes

rolled into one mean human fighting machine.
This previous comment meant as an honorable
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve

strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion,
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences

lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat,
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably

jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony
airing zeal! If (dog forbid) the richly paid, namebrand
looming kneecapped kneeling illustrious giant egghead
con cussed career athletes fumble, crumble and bumble

spelling a loss for those spectators (who doled out
a *** of cash) quickly make collective disappointment
known by cursing, first in ****, odiously reprehensible,
unacceptable wimpy yikyaking atrocious carpetbombing
expletives. As a casual observer (albeit also participant
within the human league of billions within the culture
club sans crowded house), no shortage of opportunities

avail themselves to scrutinize the man knee ting man
contention upon this oblate spheroid (densely populated
globular planet), these myopic brown eyes of mine need
not pay per view to witness austerity, depravity, gravity,

et cetera manifold gamut of Primate (particularly ****
Sapien) behavior. Raucous, querulous, perilous, obnoxious,
notorious...actions prompt me to intervene as referee.
I would fear for my life if one to many excessive acts
of kindness would require specialists to scrape my pan
caked body electric off the sidewalk. A similar outcome

would most likely transpire if this totally tubular troubadour
disgust religion. As a tried and true value adherent of atheism,
a vociferous, rapacious, nefarious, *******, fractious Bible
thumping religious dogmatic character would expend every
last ounce of fire and brimstone to proselytize me. Thus

when infrequently conversing about one or the other
aforementioned verboten topics de jure, I consciously
exhibit genuine indifference keeping mum. Obvious
quietness sidesteps **** wickedness.

Your anonymous, curious, erroneous garrulous, hip poe
***** mass stir wordsmith Matthew Scott Harris
At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac,

And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check,

Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek,

And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck,

See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck,

The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech?

Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet,

As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt,

A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set.

For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!
A "lek," is a Phoenician word for a table at which a collector stands. Like a modern-day podium...but more than a collector, an administrator for god as the Egyptians saw it.
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