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EllieMoon Dec 2018
I’m a sinner

I loved
I lived
I ******
I kissed
I cried
I lied
I prayed
I died

Still got no demons in my mind...
Lenchen Nov 2018
I have been burnt at stake
before,
like a witch on trial.
The cloying smoke would always cut off my cries for help.

I have been dragged through hell
before,
like a sinner brought to justice.
The demons know me by name.

I have been thrown into the earth’s core
before,
like a ****** sacrificed.
The heat of the beast below whipping at my back.

And in all my fiery encounters,
I always knew with certainty,
that the flames will see me die.

But when I sit at your fireplace,
it’s like I’ve never known fire at all.
juliet Nov 2018
【i am the sinner.
          i am the liar in you

                                           i am the seer】
misha Sep 2018
you make
me feel
like a sinner
because
loving you
is like
falling
in love
with the
devil.
misha Sep 2018
i'm
making
a deal
with the devil
when i dance with
him late at night
down at parties
drunk in love
with you

but he's got me
wrapped around,
oh the devil
stays with me
and he pulls
my hair back
as i let
it all
out,

he's always
mad but
he won't let
me go because
every night,
he calls me
in my room
asking for
one last
dance.

dancing with
the devil
has never
been
better,
because
he's a devil
in the form
of you.
Uzzie Aug 2018
It's pretty and precious when you speak and spit those words of yours that are meaningless.
It's deep and thoughtful when you think you own the land that you were raised up on.
I think it's hilarious when shoes are compared to the price of bread.
Is it me that sees material being more worthy than food?
Brazilian weaves become ends meal and yet no meal is eaten at the end of the day.
Gold twisted to coins
And yet POVERTY is still a lifestyle.
The TRUTH being twisted into LIES.
Fast money reaching it's greatest  peak
But in reality we know that slow money is more purer.
Our hands are filled with BLOOD
Our MINDS are locked in chains
Our wrists are slit with blades.
We are blinded by our stories
Covered by our problems
Scared of the truth.
We'd rather face the darkness than being caught in the light.
Because I heard that once you're caught in light
You're a "GOODY-TWO-SHOES".
We throw punchlines
But they bounce back
With lines that form a REBOUND.
Superficial, materialistic and cynical is what we define.
DREAMS burnt away
As if in a crucible where metals are melted and purified.
Our streets are blocked by ashes
Our senses are polluted with gas.
Yes, our MEN are filled with violence
And yet our WOMEN appear to be resentful and bitter!
But have you forgotten that BITTER  was once SWEET
HATE was once LOVE
ENEMIES  were once FRIENDS?
It's more simple when we reflect our backs on the mirror
'cause now it's not us that we face.
We running from the truth
Due to our fear of our roots.
Remember that God didn't create a coward
Neither did he create a sinner.
It's just the life that we face that trickles us down.
We pop bottles in funerals.
We take shots on horses 'cause we want a hell of a ride.
Our tongues twist what's true to false.
We have become slaves of our sins
So in denial, lost, confused and BRUTALLY tampered with.
We are set for LIBERATION,
INKULULEKO
FREEDOM.  
We have misused our freedom.
Yes , we don't appear to be SINNERS,
We are sinners!!
But I prefer to be a RIGHTEOUS  SINNER . . . .
Rafael Melendez Aug 2018
Cut it out, remove the dead tissue from the past. Leave it there on that bed you used to sleep on with her. Burn your fingertips clean of her touch, disappear from the way she remembers you. From the tabs she kept on you.
You've tried to sympathize now that you've done your time, but sympathy from a sinner doesn't mean a thing to an angel.
You've become something without a future or a past, but hated nonetheless. You've become a derelict, waiting for a storm to tear your old walls down.
Glenn Currier Aug 2018
The hair on the back of my hand
glistens in the lamp at night
it tells me I am a man
I am a creature
a thing created.
I did not create myself
even though I act as if I did.  

You made this body
and you keep it alive.
When I look at my hand
sometimes it reminds me of Jesus
who was also a man.

I yearn to feel his touch
his arms around my shoulders.
How often I need his hand
on the small of my back
giving me a gentle shove.

When I picture that hand
in my mind’s eye
I see the hair
the veins that bring the blood
from his heart,
a heart so full
so big it reaches to heaven.

It also reaches into my heart
when I think of his first noticing
and then stooping down
to touch the person on the side of the road
the person nobody else would go near.
I am touched to tears.  

That was the hand of Jesus
reaching down as it does now
to this sinner.
This is another of my spiritual-awakening-moments. I find myself on this site with poets/creators many or perhaps most of whom don't relate to the godstuff and yet I feel at home here standing in this garden and all of its fabulous and rich fruits - creations by these lovely creatures. With gratitude to all of you and to David Chadwell for his web piece entitled: “How low will Jesus stoop?”
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