The Right way is what works for you
The Right thing is what interests you
But the right time is now;
You see?
All rights you seek are with you. Right now.
Alas, you don't see!
So, go on
Take left, do wrong
As long as it's right for you.
For its your life, your battles, your problems.
And you, only you can fight for you.
And That's what is right for you.

We are not motivated
by a sacred concept
of moral regulations;
the heart’s context
of pleasing The Lord,
presses us… forward.
His Love covers sin
and senses of awkward-
ness that afflict us.

Before Him, we come
to offer our praise,
heartfelt thanksgiving
and lives to essay
a lifestyle of Faith.
As His adopted Children,
we’re to mature, grow
and rise above the din
of this World’s noise.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Tim 3:15-16

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

There's something peculiar
about witnessing courage
in the face of hatred
True righteousness hits me deep
It flourishes from within
the way epiphanies bloom in scholars
or the way love overwhelms
young students

There's majesty in the underdog
who stands until his knees buckle
who shouts until her voice breaks
fueled only by fortitude
mocked for feeling empathy
hated for living truth

In moments of moral principle
I see peace amidst the chaos
poetry amidst the prose
in the eyes of the young
and in the old
who fight
for justice

I rage against the waves of anger,
Slashing away at the waterline,
With a sword of cork and wood.

Relentless is my fury against,
This opposition vast and immortal.


I spend every millisecond of my frail life,
Swinging and swiping, fighting imaginary ghosts.
My haggard arms wash away in the receding tides,
And my starved body collapses and goes underneath.
My gaunt figure goes lifeless, filling with the departing waters.

I died thinking I had won.

Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a very ugly troll
But her heart was made of gold

Her body was round and lumpy
Her brow furrowed and grumpy
She always stood all slumpy

She was abandoned as soon as she was born
For her mother had looked upon her with scorn
For with beauty she was not adorned

She was wrapped in a towel and placed under a bridge
Right up there on that little ridge
She was nothing then but a little smidge

The forest creatures insteed of eating her up
Raised her as a cub
They even shared with her their grub

The wolf taught of graces
The vultures, patience
The skunk, fragrances

The mouse taught of need
The crow, greed
The fox, speed

She lived in an ugly house of mud
Just like her the outside was a dud
But wow the inside of that hut could warm your blood

Late one night came a knock on her door
It was a knight in shining armor complete with sword
Battle weary, and badly gourd

She took him in and sewed up he's wounds
He looked longingly in her eyes, she thought loved had bloomed
But in reality she unknowingly sealed her doom

For he had seen her heart of gold
Please excuse me, this is where the tale turns cold
For this knight was not so nice, he had a heart of mold

Late that same darkened night
He unsheathed his sharpest knife
And plunged in the troll's chest just right

With a wailing mournful cry
Right there in her hut she would die
In that fleeting moment that sparkle left her eye

That knight cut out that gloden heart
It was so huge he had to put it on a cart
He didn't feel bad, what an ugly troll was he's only thought

The animals came to see what was that screaming sound
The wolfs smelled around
Nose to the ground
Off to hunt that evil knight down

The vultures did what they do, and ate her remains
The crows joined in and did the same
The mice and the fox just ran around all insane

The moral to this story is an ugly body can hold a heart of gold
But this world is very, very cold
So be very careful with your heart and to who it is you show

Protect these children,
Who have grown up without care,
Knowing technological screens better than
Loving stares.

These children who develop
Perverse minds before even hitting puberty;
That type of parenting is a disastrous,
Sick sort of cruelty.

Raise your children to know human touch,
And radiating love that comes from within;
Don't accustom them to finding enjoyment
In the virtual worlds they play in.

Children are still developing and
It is your duty as parents to protect their innocence;
To safeguard their beautiful minds that are barren of
The world's filth; falter not in this for even an instant.

To fail this is to admit that you have
Poisoned beauty in one of its finest forms;
I do not care what social rules you have to break,
Never break or conform.

If you succeed, your kids' light won't go out,
Even when they age and the world gets darker,
They will remember the values taught
By those who would not give into slaughter.

Do not slaughter innocence, for it seldom peeks
Through the rampant corruption of this world;
And I fear sometimes that it will be quenched
Or become undetectable like water vapor tightly furled.

I can't get the voices out of my head,
they hide behind a facade of analeptic lies.
Their incoherent whispers make me wish I was dead,
and their noise seems only to rise.

There is no silence or truth,
never has there been since youth.
They promise a happy salvation,
from my arduous, caustic addiction,
if I were to follow their word.

They speak only lies,
the same in a different guise.

The sound is unbearable.
Their morbid speak of “****”,
but I don't think I'm able
to take my ghastly fill.

Their lies seem so sweet.
Perhaps its not bad.
Not bad to stop a heartbeat.
I’m not really all that mad,
like you tend to repeat.

The only one I can trust,
the one that seems unjust.
The one that speaks utter nonsense,
might be my only defense,
against this rising murdering lust.
It’ll take some time to adjust.

                                Maybe though, it’ll preserve my sanity,
                                      in this world of inhumanity.

the jaded bird took his perch
in branches thick with voice
his song a croak, his beak quite broke
a lovely sight, though unlovely noise

a plumed up bird, dressed in furs
cut into his space
she sang quite sweet, high and neat
sang right into his face

the jaded bird, of course, was hurt
by that most spiteful act
he moaned in pain, never sang again
until a finger tapped his back

a timely toad, brown and slowed
eyes blinking with slime
opened his mouth, north to south
and took his merry time

he sang a sound that squelched around
his throat before release
then he bellowed loud, and sore and proud
and the bird fell to his knees

the toad taught the bird, who listened, who heard
who was patient, feathers bristling
they sang together, sung for forever
and never cared about who was listening