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He was not sending
He did not know even he was the messenger
He went to that cave
Called "herraa" cave
To be away of the world
To look after the natural world

To discover if the world was created
By only power and God
His nation worshipped statues
360 statues with days of moon year
To approach them to the only God

The true is when one increases his faults
He searches away from his God
Trying to get a way and method
To get his God forgiven his worst

He forgot that his God accepted one
Who discovered that he did a wrong

Mohamad sent a lone
To see the outer of the world
And to hear the inner sound
Until a great creature appeared
He made a strong hung
Mohamd felt his chest was collapsed
Telling "read"
Mohamd said," I can't"
Mohamad was illiterate

The creatures hung him again

The sweat ascended as rain

Telling him read
Mohamad said," I can't read"
In the meaning of the talk
The creatures did again
Saying," read ,
Read with the name of the God
Who learnt with the pen"

As the Al arak surat said
Mohamd went with great shock
Saying," cover me, hung me
Warm me"
His lovely and honest wife met
With great mercy and kind
Telling you God will not let you down


To be continued
mohamad was sent to guide all the creatures to the holy power wo created the world
Christopher Dec 2018
Oh Creator, my maker.
So much I thank thee for
But so much I can't say.

So much has passed by but it's been years since we spoke.
Yet my mouth remains tight
As if you had much to say anyways.

I stand here in the position as you have made me.
But life slowly repositions me.

Why bother repeating what you've heard.
Master...
Cover your eyes like the weeping angel you are.
My time has come and soon I'll break the chain.
Time to create a new...
Just like they all said...
So let's put action.

Where am I now.


Arise and become anew.

1257 Dear Child
Sometimes my direction changes. Sorry master that u broke your rule but sometimes to please, you have to displease
veritas Oct 2018
if you kiss a statue in the dark,does
it leave a mark?like the moonlight's

cold stain on pale columns of necks and
thinner bones of knuckles,or like the

heavy-handed cracks on thighs and
mine own,leaking gold to match.it's

easy to admit a mistake in the dark
is
what you say,but marble lips leave

little space for contrition.there's irony

in that,in rennaisance-made lovers who
screamed for dominions and settled in

ash instead.history is adjusted,and the
cycle continues.but they left their jaws

open,and the light is pouring out.
the secrets that statues never tell us
Imelda Dickinson May 2018
I entered Grande parlour of elegance where is placed bronze statue unique

Beside wide patio glass-paneled doors. “Shipped from Italy,” her Owner’s critique

Stepping closer, my curious nature sees child’s form, perhaps five, plus one

Clad poor, feet bare, head downcast. Clasps round vessel empty of duties undone

Illusions of her Artist haunt me. Why brown metal a child colored so?

Her innocence tainted, darkened, bleak. Why not a face pearled, soft cameo?

I peer in her eyes hallowed, countenance sad. She stands across from me

Near smoothed, bronze dolphin cast in glass, ****** from frothed waves sea

I think merrily, “You live where sea creatures play, power driven, dive ocean deep

Squeal with delight, let’s ride aquatic prince of Atlantic who does not sleep!

Or, “Do you hope to soar to third heaven, where bronze eagle behind you can fly?

Moon shadows beckon us to jewel stars on veiled, velvet blackened sky”

Or, “ Could I offer you a melon-porcelain rose? Fragrance perfume fills room you’re in

Petals never fade. Would you wear garlands on small feet, frail hands, brown hair so thin?”

“Angelina, come, listen to night sounds! Leave tasks mundane for a time

Frogs creak, leap high, jump gleefully, come to soft sand dunes we’ll climb!

Will you ride wail winds of tempest, hurricane water crash smooth sand?

Just beneath your window safe most days, but hurls destruction on demand!

Does music of your Owner excite you? Tunes, ballads, songs, new and old?

Melodies you never knew where you grew, stories of love you untold

Instruments: string, ebony, ivory keys, soothe soul, lift spirits high

Loud drums beat march jubilant. Music to laugh with, music to cry”

My mind stills. Angelina becomes bronze again, dress of white linen gone homespun

My imaginations for her happiness for a moment quiets, our fantasies clearly undone

This is why your Artist formed you, so mankind could see in your face

Divine hands help mold bronze your form, your simplicity man must embrace

Ill leave grande parlour of elegance from Angelina, bronze statue unique

Not Italian, but universal child-alloy. Words unsaid, so loud does she speak!

Of an Artist inspired to fire her. Of a Buyer perceptive to see

A child in need of needs to fulfill throughout life of man’s history

Child’s image, thin hair, poorly clad, feet bare. Rich in lessons clearly taught

By Master-Artist is Angelina, little teacher. Forget her not

“Angelina, did you give water to the thirsty? Was bread given away all you had?

Coarse shawl you don’t wear, did it cover an old friend? Did you visit prison comforting Dad?

In small village, do you care-give Mother often sick, rush on your hurried little feet?

Do you invite another child like you to humble hut on Lonely Street?”

Reminds me, words of Scripture, Master Teacher, Jesus said

“I was thirsty and drink you provided. I was hungry you gave meat and bread

As stranger you took Me in your place, naked you clothed Me poor alone

Sheltered Me, tattered and torn, lonely, no place to call home”

“I was sick, Jesus said, “You visited. To My prison cell you came

Downcast, forsaken,” He says, “ Angelina do you know My name?”

Lord send me Your naked, Your hungry, Strangers many in thirst

Sick in pain, prisoners behind walls, lonely, unloved at worst

Teach us to live Your words, like You help us to be

“In as much as You do to these,” Jesus said, :My brethren you do unto Me.”
A poem about a little bronze statue girl by Imelda Dickinson www.ImeldaDickinson.com
Cana Feb 2018
I swam the sea
Manmade fish with rubber fins and glass eyes
It wasn’t difficult to breath
Quite the contrary
I witnessed wonders of man & mother
Bejewelled sealife amongst statues of stone
Sunken artistry, seaplanes and Poseidon
A lady of rock, the Ocean Atlas
Holding up the sky from beneath the waves.
The Bahama Mama casting a gentle eye over her domain
Tomorrow maybe more.
Went snorkelling amongst the statues of Clifton heritage park. Followed By *** on jaws beach.
Mark Lecuona Aug 2017
I don’t know what to tell you my son
The fire has started and it’s a hot one
The past is about to be undone
We once wanted to learn from it
Now we’re erasing the song they sung
You may have to ask yourself why
And if you can’t understand
Then ask a man who was hung

The storm will pass
Just like the last one
But what will it leave behind?

You can’t change the color of your skin
The way it was worn once was a sin
It’s up to you to decide where history will begin
You had nothing to do with it
You’re innocent but the gallows bell is heard again
Their anger is a tormented man’s cry
And if we can’t understand
Ask if marble eyes have a soul within

The storm will pass
Just like the next one
But what new world will we find?
Asher Apr 2017
statue angels and stone cold kings.
mine their hearts and steal their rings.
turn them into crowns for nobles unbound,
sitting with Arthur at a table so round.

ancient martyrs and modern heroes.
tales of rebellion and battles they go.
fighting horned demons and winged serpents,
with blood on their hands they feel the repentance.

they drink their *** and consume the alcohol,
waiting and watching for the hammer to fall.
yet no news came of the hellish flame,
that was said to burn them all.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
The Monetary Moai
Standing on the shore
Making sure you worship them
Making sure they get more.

More of your offerings
More of your respect
Even if the have to take you
And hang you by the neck.

The Moai are important
With their grant-faced stare.
You may or may not like them
But they don’t have to care.

They are the gods to you,
And you the fools that revere them.
You put them on their pedestals;
Stop others from coming near them.

You, the ones who refuse
To question them and their power
Have made them the gods they are
Right up until their final hour.

It they ever revert to the truth
As just strange hunks of stone
Maybe then you will leave them
Ignored, disintegrating and alone.

But as long as these monoliths
Represent something good to you
There is nothing that the rest of us
Can, by resisting them, can ever do.

We can talk and chant and rant
And tell you that you are all fools
But it was your hands that put them up
Your effort, superstitions and tools.
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