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Lost in sombre details, of what really hangs around morals
-Crucifix, hanging around a sinner’s neck; so choked up
While the devil speaks on my livelihood with his demons
Parading as unwanted guests; foundations of personal griefs
I am unguarded; not well versed in a couple scripture verses

Versions of my weekly self- a relaxed stance, trying to have
Faith in a life of ease. Setting aside everything else, in the
Way of being by my bedside- faithfully praying on my knees

Still if my faith is loosely based on modern people’s commitment
To their faith and integrity, I might as well be faithless as them all-  
Seated in a church; behind on my many debts, sitting at the back
Listening to the loud laughs of the greatest hypocrites,
The usual Sunday gossip, sounding clearer than a church bell
Leaders who burnt me, quick to preach how I might go to Hell

As a failed sense of wholesome community in communal
Around church clicks of skin colour, for Sunday’s different cults
In what my conscious tries to say is a domicile sanctuary:
I’m a bit reluctant to fully agree with my own self
Of mortall sinnes quhairof thou art not guilty
Slanderous tongues do falsely thee accuse:
Their accusations lyke their tongues are filthy:
They doe their tongues by lying so abuse:
Their tonges they vse the foolish to confuse:
Their forked tongues cannot sincerely pray:
Forgive, forgett and hope they one day chuse
With honest tonges righte honest wordes to say.
For verie sooth thogh damnable are they
So aren't we all, and were it not for grace
We all to Tartarus woulde wend our way
Nor euer any sinner sie Gods face.
The truth hath thee exonerated ere
The uglie lie coulde ****, for truth is faire.
Greate is thy Sin, since Sin is never Small:
     And Monstrous Moles of Sin Call home thy Soule.
About their Mountainous Molehills they do Crawle.
     Play thou (and win) a Game of Whacke-a-Mole.
     Unto the Moles be Deadly as an asp.  
     Beware, take Care, nor Swat the pettish wasp.

The Harebrain'd Sinners Sins to him are toyes;
     Theyre Entertainments, Gambols, Games with Dice.
The Madbrain'd Sinners Sins to him are joyes
     Untill he's made to paye in full their price.
     The Crackbrain'd Sin-addicted Scarab bug
     That liveth but for Sin to Hell is Drug.
A judgement made according to Gods Determinations.
Jeremy Betts May 6
Throw your stones at me
Those of you who've never sinned
My past a bit hazy
I don't know where I begin
You think I could get lucky?
And one day catch an elusive win
Something worth sharing with a loved one or a friend
Forget the knowledge that hindsight's 20/20
Didn't know I'd have no one in the end,
Not even one that's pretend
Hopefully I can find a sticky type of happy
But until then
I'm just a phony
Chasing leafs in the wind

©2024
Pax Apr 20
Sins, bites on your conscience
          never to your convenience.
       No salvation, No revelations.
               Unblessed the lucky
       bottomless becomes your destiny
and darkness laments, it’s quite cloudy
     wavy timelines, weary crimes
                   Brooking our doom
                  creating thy tomb
                   as deaths looms.
this was me playing with words. Yet as always there is hidden truth and meaning behind my play. I guess this is me cursing to those who are lucky enough to have sinned and get away with it. As in every truth, sins is also subjective to survival, so we should be careful who to blame.
Jeremy Betts Mar 5
It's simple...
There's no heaven, there's no hell,
Only good and evil
Atrocities carried out by people
One of the biggest cover-ups is under the steeple

...and even still,
Just to shiit and giggle a little,
Let's say da bible is factual
Then heaven is empty & hell is full

No one can live up to that mantle
Not a single soul
And if you do, by some miracle
Don't forget about his branding of a sin original

I'm not getting tossed in hell
To burn eternal
Because I couldn't unravel
Some self fulfilling riddle designed to be impossible

And as a whole
"Where the Fuuck've you been?" That's all we'd like to know
I'll go one step further, I want him held accountable
As the trinity or individual

I can't wait to ask questions that make a "GOD" uncomfortable
To watch him back track and stutter a little miiiiiiiiiiight be worth it all...
...okay, here we go...

©2024
pierrot Mar 5
my love is desperate consumption of anything im not

i can only ever crave hankering separation

(the farthest away from my own sinful hand)

and abhor all that easily falls into my shameless claws

i swallow my desire and digest it long enough it turns into something carrying an all too familiar ugliness

(i stare into the abyss and in the abyss i see you tire)

everything i love i stain with my own repulsing vacancy,

mercilessly shape it into a cage befitting my prodigal heart

fill it with the same insatiable appetite that snarls and howls knowing no decency

my love is not creation but its own twisted pretense being picked apart

loving is god creating his own specular image of worship

looking at it with both resentful revulsion and unspeakable lust

and i, just like a god, can never love anything made of my rib
Jeremy Betts Jan 30
"I'll be back" threat or promise?
It's always back regardless
"Stay in your own lane"
Player one syndrome inflates the brain
"Have a nice day" not a curse
At the same time "enjoy your next 24" sounds so much worse
"Here's what you're in store for"
Is what you're gonna pay for
"No pain, no gain"
Different levels of insane
"Yo, I got sooo high"
Careful not to get stuck in the sky
"Pick yourself back up"
More often dumb luck
"First things first..."
Then substance and thirst
"Righting a wrong"
Whether right or wrong
"Gotta play to win"
Sometimes a win's a sin
Who has your back, a friend?
Then who stabs it at the end
"What you see is what you get"
Most won't get it
"Face your fear"
Pretend you don't hear
"Live carefree"
Die instantly
"And that's that"
Always the same black cat
"One step forward,
Two steps back" and cornered
"Chase your dreams forever"
A nightmare's a dreams that doesn't fight fair, so no, never

©2024
If you told me of your deepest sin
would you fear I’d despise you?
Will you trust me, let me in?

Do you think I don’t wish to know
everything about you?
Would the truth be such a blow?

Don’t you think I might suspect
the truth you think you’ve hidden?
You fear you’ll lose my respect,
that you’ll become the unforgiven.

From the deepest depths of hell
even you can crawl to earth.
I’m here to hear what you can tell
and to tell you of your worth.

There’s a way to wash the stain
out of your broken soul.
To seek redemption, heal the pain.
To make amends should be your goal.

Give me a chance to be the one
who can see that you have grown.
That you are more than your worst day
and you don’t have to be alone.

Some of us can see
when someone truly seeks redemption.
Who seeks it not for sympathy
but for truth and honesty.
Robert Ronnow Jan 16
Nicky, the neighbor’s dog, drags a road **** home.
A beautiful pelt like those fox shoulder garments women wore in the
      forties.
But the head is crushed beyond recognition—maybe it’s a fox and that’s
      why Nicky, a canine, is conducting this wake on our front lawn.

Loretta, my wife’s mother, is in the hospital again. Forty years of Crohn’s
      disease has finally broken her.
It may take some time but she won’t bounce back from this episode.
None of us are sorry to see her die, not even Loretta. There will be a
      thunderous downpour during her last hour.

I like the story about the nuns hitting Peg in school–contumacy is a sin.
Emile and Loretta considered it an inappropriate punishment for their
      cherished adopted daughter.
So they pulled her out of Catholic for public school. They did their own
      thinking about discipline.

Early Spring, peepers all night, then the birds take over at dawn.
      Soothing—the mourning doves.
During this half of the year, May through October, we live in a green
      bower.
We turn the house inside out, move into the mountains.

In their annual order, flowers appear in the understory: coltsfoot, hepatica
      and trillium through to the end, late purple aster, spotted joe pye and
      pearly everlasting.
We let Nicky nurse her road ****, watch over it, roll around on it.
Don’t let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in the passing lane.
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