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Samir Mohammed Nov 2020
Unity in peace is what we seek
separate, we are but lone sheep
As one, hear the words we speak
Lambs, in the wolf pit of slaughter

Not hiding, like our fathers
Chasing the highs and the cliffs steep
We are the sons and the daughters
Soaring above the skies, clouds beneath our feet
sigma represents sum in mathematics
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch

’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).

And THEN—a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe (what did it mean?).
It made the wooly lambkins cry.

Not far away a new-born lay,
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know

it now was Christmas day!

Keywords/Tags: Christmas, day, lambs, star, children, baby, Jesus, manger, crib, cattle, oxen, straw, hay, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, Bethlehem
Robby Dec 2019
I am the lamb
Lead me to the post you prepared
Tie me there tightly

Take your knife from its sheath
Plunge it deep in my neck
Drain me until there is no more

Love me while I perish
When it comes to our Christianity,
we’re to be like tethered lambs;
ready to die for our Faith, while
displaying grace, love and humility!

Though we’re surrounded by wolves,
our Great Shepherd can keep us safe
in green meadows, under His watchful
eye; it’s usually from ourselves…

that we require the most protection.
Nothing can separate us from Yahweh
and His right hand; therefore, let’s
offer genuine praise for Salvation

and the promises expressed within
His Word, including… Life over sin.
Inspired by:
Rom 8:35-39; Psa 63:8

Learn more about me and my poetry at: amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Brother Jimmy Jul 2015
Maybe you’re mistaken
       when you think about what’s out there,
You attribute ev’ry stimulus
       to winged things from books,

Mistaking accidental circumstances
       for essential causes,
There isn’t really anything
       that God conveys with looks.

Perhaps it is hard to face the truth:
       we’re just meat bags with will,
Which slowly rot away until
       the day when we’re forgotten

Needlessly dissecting
       every move and every inner thought,
Attempting to discover
       what makes us all so very rotten.

Take a deep breath
And hold it in
Until you feel it all
...Fading away

Slowly toward death
All of us fall
Someday we’ll feel it all
...Fading away

Through my goat mouth, it’s true,
       you can hear me bleating,
Like a little lamb who’s lambier
       than lamby-lambs can be,

But yes in fact it’s bike tires,
       and tin cans that I’m eating,
And I feel my goat heart beating
       and... I want to flee.
The silence of the lambs
Pulls the shepherd from the sheep
The brightness of the Sun
Pushes owls into sleep
The song of the nightingale
Awakens the dove
A child in the city
Deprived of trees' Love
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
There is not much more than lunch of your poor soul's gut. That which has hidden your chase,
Be it the same flurry you face, or the chaste, widowed band of loons
Supplicate snail-movements, while wading through the stiff lagoon.

Everything must, while the fissures grow grumpy.
While the dust settles inwards and the cracks fill with stuffing.
The particle stands stiff, while each nursery cries.
A pitter-patter of rain drops lurch the birds forwards towards flight.

Say the gumption to roost was the dork lit and idling,
Each abortion towards space, kept the rocket from flying,
Like the cannonball sneering, or the whistle of men
The trial and tribulations of the miserly pens.

If be swore the moors, concrete beds shuffle the snores.
Unlike any trumpet of nose notes or horns.
How each curious grumbler failed the ewe of his flock.
Lil' crock lodgers counting sleep  of each lot.

Who can practice commands, width that makes up a strake
In the morning the weir-men quaff each tea of their tastes.
Then comes to the rind, the hands each guided by eyes.
Stumps the bard of his nightshade in imported glass vials.

Show whomever the pleasure, the happy hell once began
Because under each gambit is the king of a lamb.
Jazzelle Monae Apr 2014
Lions do sleep
On the opinion
Of sheep
Act as though
Unaffected
But deep in their
Slumber
They do solemnly
Wonder
If those words
Are too,
Unexpected
For sheep are
Wise
Of a Lion's true
Pride
The doubt that resides from
Within
The lion
The lamb
They've given
A ****
Only to be
Misdirected
© 2014 by Jazzelle Monae. All rights reserved.

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