#eyal
Thrice he knocked upon her door
"May I enter?" he implored.
"I bid the welcome"
Were her words
Thus he entered
Solemnly
Into the chamber
Were the bed
The night they wed
Had marked the first-
-and last as well
When both their bodies...
Intertwined...
Had layed in bliss...
Her lips, her kiss...
All he had missed...
And dreamed and yearned...
Just to return
And look into her auburn eyes
And feel the love he was denied
Then twice he bent upon his knee
And then he stood
And then he looked
And thus he saw
It wasn't she
Not she who loved him on that night
Indeed he knows she never did.
And yet if only-
"No, not ever," were her words.
"But"-
"Never ever will you be the man I loved, of this be sure."
So sure was she.
"I disagree," was all he thought
Though words came not
What point to speak.
"There is no point," were words
he heard
From lips, her lips
Her kiss, pure bliss
Was not to be.
END PART ONE
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
*NOTE: this is the 1st poem I wrote and posted on HePo. I've managed to finish the first 2 parts and have been struggling with the 3rd; however much of last night was spent refining this initial section so I figured I'd post it in the hopes of receiving some constructive feedback. Thanks.
-E.Lavi
*************
Dripdripdripdrip drip as it slips all it’s secrets, secrets slipped from the lip of the rusty metal moldy faucet, water whispers water whimpers water wishes of a time long gone; dripping water ever swirling round the beaten bolted sink; bolted to a wooden floor, chipped and nicked and cracked but grips, it grips the sink and won’t let go.
Secrets swirling round the sink into the void and through the pipes beneath the wooden boards of floor which would let loose their life-long grip of one worn weathered tired tethered reddish tinted rusty sink if only it - the wood! - if it could leave the floor it; the wood would stand and stretch and scratch and then would walk right out the door; wooden boards held hostage by a layered web of iron nails nailed years ago.
Creaking boards tell tales to pipes which snake throughout the secret house; Drip they drip they speak they slip through lips of sinks the secrets silent lip they drip and slip andio they rip and drip andrip they drip they dripdrip they ripipip i i…
Hush the whisper of the wind through broken windows rattles timber breaks the slumber of the man whose face is etched and leathered ever marked by hands of time; time played games the game of life the old man thought and thinks he still can stand and stretch and scratch then walk straight through the door and out the house, like secrets lost in rusty pipes he thinks he’ll walk into the dark and be whisked off on wings of wind which carries whispers rattles windows speaks in drips through rusty lips of bolted sinks gripped by the floors forever more and so the man will sit he sits and thinks and thinks he drips and drips drips dripdripipip i i i...
End Part 1
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
Sun-Bleached Blonde Having Fun
In the sand under the sun
Sun-kissed skin, taught and tanned
Ain't her life so grand?
Sun-Bleached Blonde Drinking coke
As she smokes, takes a ****
Getting high
On the beach
Careless to the men around
Women too
Watch her move
As she stands
In the sand
Sun-Bleached Blonde, now she smiles
There's a breeze, like the wind knows what it does
Makes her happy
Makes them happy she is happy
Women too, the beach alive
Sun-Bleached Blonde
Having Fun
In the Sun
On the sand
"Hi," says I.
"Hi," says she.
Then we stand
Our eyes locked
"So?" She asks.
"What?" Asks I.
"That's your pick up line?"
"Yupp, that's it."
She smiles
I melt
"I like it she says."
"I'm putty," I say.
Now she laughs.
"You're killing me!" I protest.
"Don't die just yet."
She leans in, her lips touch mine.
First kiss ever
I'm 13, she's 19
"Whose this little guy?" Says some dude who just walked up.
"He's a heart-breaker," she replies.
Why is some dude taking her hand?
Why is some dude kissing my love?
Am I in love is this it oh my God I'm getting hard I think they see oh **** oh shut in turning red don't know what to... i plop down on the sand, put my head in my hands.
Some dude laughs but my blonde frowns, "Go away" she tells her man.
Then she sits down takes my hand and she says, "One day you'll find someone right for you."
"You're perfect"
"I'm not"
"I swear you are"
She smiles that smile which melts my heart.
"One day you'll find there's lots of girls just right for you."
"But why not you?"
"I'm way too old"
"You're not"
"I am. For you. You deserve a love your age."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was your age once too."
Some dude calls her, "Let's go babe."
"I'm coming," she says, then looks me in the eyes.
"Be gentle when the time comes," says she to me.
"Gentle?" I ask.
She kisses me on the cheek.
"Try not breaking too many hearts."
Then she stands
One last smile
Says goodbye
Then she's gone.
Sun-Bleached Blonde changed my life made me a man who respects the better half of the human race.
I wonder where she is right now?
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
Thou doth deny my love for you
Thou doth deny my words so true
My words like chords sing songs of you
My world is yours though you decline
Denied your love I'm all but blind
To all that was and is and could be
In a world where your don't see me
See me once and hear me speak
And then release me from your grip.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 7:29 PM UTC
Were I to sit upon a throne
And gaze, amazed, that I alone
Can change your life
Can grant your wish
Deny your rights
'Fore rights exist
As I see fit
And thus my whims
By my decree
Can change your life
Should I see fit
Oedipus I, I Ordipus am
Am ruler of this wretched land
Upon my throne I sit alone
Alone I sit, alone I am
I am alone
I Opedipus Rex, I ruler of the dregs
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
Hues of blue wash the evening sky
The moon, alone,
In deference to the sun-
-Which burns and warms and loves. And gives life.
To all within it's fatal grace.
A mistress which both loves and hates and bathes one in its warm embrace and kills one lest you lack respect.
The Bluelight Special
peaks above
The Eastern scape
And scans the West.
In hues of copper, rust and red
The Western sky cools as the day
And as the sun now fades away
In all her glory still she burns
And still she clings
And still she flicks
And spits and licks
Her flaming wrath
Her's is this world
And yet her grace
Which graces all
Is not enough
'Fore all her strength, nay! despite her grip
The world rotates
Though she objects
Yet nature does what nature does
And time ticks on-
-the day now gone
The Bluelight Special rises clear
And soft and bright
And rules the night
In peace it whispers
Can you hear?
The Bluelight Special says to you and me and he and she,
it whispers and the words
you hear
are...
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
Drying like a dying leaf
Thirsty angry full of grief
Ain't no water in this town
And if there were I'd spit it out
Deny myself
No, quenching thirst
It ain't for me
I don't deserve
Not today
Not anyway
Today I'm dry
Wrinkled weathered withered spirit
All alone yet too much noise
I hear my name
Another day
At the office
With the drones
But who am I if I'm not them
If them is drones I'm the ******* motherboard
Of corporate copy selling ****
To ***** across the world
It pays the bills
Such a sellout
So I won't quench my thirst
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
If I ruled the world
You'd open your thighs
If I ruled the world
You'd then look in my eyes
And you'd see the sky
If I ruled the world
I'd shower you with love
And if you strayed away
Nahh, you wouldn't
I rule the world, don't I?
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
Words cannot explain what a feel
Words cannot explain that my reality feels
SO ******* UNREAL
How can sorrow be so deep
How is it I don't just leap
How is it I cannot fly
And let the wind dry my tears before I splatter into bits
Of grime and brain and flesh and bones
Like scorching fields where battles roared
Like sorrow from the depth of hell
Which churns - yet mourns - for who I ain't
I ain't I ain't I ******* ain't
Like these words, no more than chords
Like air in wheightless majesty
I'm hollow, a mere shadow, in my 30s
In my 30s such despair
For who I am a corpse with air
And yet a cling to whothef*ck cares
A f*cking asterisk for the U that goes there
**** I say to all this sorrow
Still I know there comes tommorow
And tommorow will I wake?
I will despiste my corpse-filled air
I'll shower dress and go to work
I'll HePo even though I'm such a ****
For thinking that the f*ck you care
For words like chords at least the air
Will have some meaning, meanings! it.
No purpose nor the will to find
Some semblance of a life worth time
But it will pass this endless pit
Of sorrow and the stinking ****
It will, I know, it has before
And after all
These words
Like chords
Are just
Plain
Jokes
The jokes on me
Of this I see
And now the clown waves mightily
For who am I but words and chords and air and **** and **** all this!
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Have you ever tasted hunger?
It tastes of metal at the side of your tongue
And a pain in your chest, not in your gut
It is depression deep and endless
And there's food somewhere, out there but you have no energy to eat it.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
My kingdom is priceless
So a penny will due
My kingdom is words
In a rainbow of hues
For a penny I hand you my brush
To paint my kingdom so it now belongs to you
May I suggest a multi-colored landscape
And hues of blue to brush the sky from morn to eve
And black with points of light for a blanket of Universal awe and countless stars
My kingdom for a penny
To paint your heart's desire
With strokes one might admire
My kingdom - nay, your kingdom now! - to do as you would do, to lay your heart's desires
Across the rolling fields and endless sky
In hues like notes a symphony of feeling for all to admire
And when you are thoroughly spent perhaps you too will offer your kingdom for a penny
And let another paint the world anew.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, once upon a time all of us were told
Prince charming existed for all you fair maidens
And the perfect woman waited for the gents
And Santa was real and a bunny laid eggs and if you wish upon a star your wishes will come true
I call ******** **** that, what about you?
As for Prince Charming he ain't a prince
He might be sweet and effeminate yet manly... only in your dreams.
You want an ******* a bad boy, a ****** and lucky for you that's what you'll find if you look.
And the gents who want ladies should ask themselves why? There's no such thing unless you have a fictionilized humonized life-sized plastic doll. With a plastic hole for a ******
But that don't feel real at all.
**** wanting ladies who don't exist
You want a **** at heart who'll go down on you when you wish.
And she'll look real pretty without tons of makeup but then you'll see her blemishes and reality ain't what you expected.
There is no Santa just fat drunk pedophiles in malls
And bunnies don't lay eggs if you thought so you're more stupid then I thought.
Unrealistic expectations open you up to a world of pain
Settle for normal you'll live life sane.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 3:48 AM UTC
I'm tired. Exhausted is more like it. Sometimes I want something so bad I get overwhelmed and then comes the questioning, why am I doing this, is it worth doing and if it's worth doing what makes it worth it? It's 6:21 AM this moment, 6 hours and 21 minutes into another day, I'm sitting at a table next to the balcony, the door is wide open and I see the sun, the sun is just rising but it's blocked by a tree, so I look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding, not at this moment though soon it will be, soon it'll rise up above all the branches, soon if I look at the sun it'll hurt so when that moment comes, when the time is just right, I will look at the sun and the sun will be blinding.There's also a bird, it sounds like it's moaningn but I know that it isn't, that's just how it sounds. A bird which sings but it's not really singing, it makes such a sound you would think it was sad but it isn't so sad, at least I don't think so, I don't think that birds have the ability to feel, not physical feelings but ones from within, emotions like sadness which makes a bird moan, a moan like the sound that is made by a feeling that humans can feel and that all of us feel but we all feel it sometimes and for a whole host of reasons like when we are sitting in front of a laptop which is on a small table right next to a balcony beyond which the trees block the sun as it rises and while it is rising the leaves block the sunshine so during that time which is just a few minutes you can look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding and when it is 6 hours and 35 minutes into a new day, at 6:35AM is a moment in time which is captured in words which I choose to write down but there isn't much to them, no meaning no feeling no reason for writing the words that I'm writing and so as I write this I realize it's pointless, these words have no worth so they're no more then letters, a whole mass of letters I'm stringing together for no ******* reason and so I'll stop writing and now that I'm stopping to write without meaning the logical question is why publish this message if this message is worthless, there's no reason for it thus no reason why I should hit the blue button which has 4 letters in it which create the word "Post" which means if I click it I'll be posting this message which has less purpose than the blue button which posts it, and so what I'll do is stop writing this nothing and instead of all this nothing I'll click the blue button which has more worth than all these words and that's really sad if you think about a button worth more than the whole of this stupid, pointless po...
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
Amidst the solace of a night
When all appears as if it's right
I look towards the Eastern shore
And realize that it's black no more.
The sky in hues of purple-blue
Gives hint that soon the sun will rise
I listen for the silence which brings peace to all my sleepless nights
But in its place the birds awake
They're chirping should bring peace to most
But not to me, not when I see, through reddened deadened weary eyes
Which haven't had the peace of sleep
Not on this very night at least
At least if sleep brought constant peace
The chirping birds would be so sweet
Instead when sleep comes randomly
The solace of the dead of night is dreaded with the end in sight
The sky now hues of softer blues
The sounds of morning traffic grows
The sun breaks over Eastern shores
If only I could see in it the beauty that most others see
But it's been years of sleepless nights
And years of dreading morning light
But soon enough the sky so bright
Will call me forth into the sun
And then, sometimes, I feel it's worth
I see the birds
I see the world
And everything seems to be right
If only for a moment I find peace and that's a cherished thought.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
Dripdripdripdrip drip as it slips all it’s secrets, secrets slipped from the lip of the rusty metal moldy faucet, water whispers water whimpers water wishes of a time long gone; dripping water ever swirling round the beaten bolted sink; bolted to a wooden floor, chipped and nicked and cracked but grips, it grips the sink and won’t let go.
Secrets swirling round the sink into the void and through the pipes beneath the wooden boards of floor which would let loose their life-long grip of one worn weathered tired tethered reddish tinted rusty sink if only it - the wood! - if it could leave the floor it; the wood would stand and stretch and scratch and then would walk right out the door; wooden boards held hostage by a layered web of iron nails nailed years ago.
Creaking boards tell tales to pipes which snake throughout the secret house; Drip they drip they speak they slip through lips of sinks the secrets silent lip they drip and slip andio they rip and drip andrip they drip they dripdrip they ripipip i i…
Hush the whisper of the wind through broken windows rattles timber breaks the slumber of the man whose face is etched and leathered ever marked by hands of time; time played games the game of life the old man thought and thinks he still can stand and stretch and scratch then walk straight through the door and out the house, like secrets lost in rusty pipes he thinks he’ll walk into the dark and be whisked off on wings of wind which carries whispers rattles windows speaks in drips through rusty lips of bolted sinks gripped by the floors forever more and so the man will sit he sits and thinks and thinks he drips and drips drips dripdripipip i i i...
End Part 1
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
I'm tired. Exhausted is more like it. Sometimes I want something so bad I get overwhelmed and then comes the questioning, why am I doing this, is it worth doing and if it's worth doing what makes it worth it? It's 6:21 AM this moment, 6 hours and 21 minutes into another day, I'm sitting at a table next to the balcony, the door is wide open and I see the sun, the sun is just rising but it's blocked by a tree, so I look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding, not at this moment though soon it will be...
...soon it'll rise up above all the branches, soon if I look at the sun it'll hurt so when that moment comes, when the time is just right, I will look at the sun and the sun will be blinding.
There's also a bird, it sounds like it's moaning but I know that it isn't, that's just how it sounds. A bird which sings but it's not really singing, it makes such a sound you would think it was sad but it isn't so sad, at least I don't think so, I don't think that birds have the ability to feel, not physical feelings but ones from within, emotions like sadness which makes a bird moan, a moan like the sound that is made by a feeling that humans can feel and that all of us feel but we all feel it sometimes and for a whole host of reasons like when we are sitting in front of a laptop which is on a small table right next to a balcony beyond which the trees block the sun as it rises and while it is rising the leaves block the sunshine so during that time which is just a few minutes you can look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding...
...and when it is 6 hours and 35 minutes into a new day, at 6:35AM is a moment in time which is captured in words which I choose to write down but there isn't much to them, no meaning no feeling no reason for writing the words that I'm writing and so as I write this I realize it's pointless, these words have no worth so they're no more then letters, a whole mass of letters I'm stringing together for no ******* reason and so I'll stop writing and now that I'm stopping to write without meaning the logical question is why publish this message if this message is worthless, there's no reason for it thus no reason why I should hit the blue button which has 4 letters in it which create the word "Post" which means if I click it I'll be posting this message which has less purpose than the blue button which posts it, and so what I'll do is stop writing this nothing and instead of all this nothing I'll click the blue button which has more worth than all these words and that's really sad if you think about a button worth more than the whole of this stupid, pointless post...
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
"If you don't wanna' lick my ****** that's fine, but don't attack my character." Said the lesbian in the reality TV show. !
She's holding a red plastic cup, slurring like a drunk. She is profound. If I called her gay I think she'd say **** you, *** I'm a **** I might point out that **** and ***** are gay; she, perhaps, would then remind me that after Katelynn or katelinn or however Bruce spelled his new name for a brief period in 2016 LGBT had a Q added to the tail-end... but 4 letters is the max allotment for tagging a community and the Q simply took the splash and the roll off the LGBT brand...
... and thus the Q was dropped; and thus the order of the world restored; and thus, on the very last minute of the 6th day, the Lord's final gift to man and life in general on planet earth was a raging ********* in the form of a drunk lesbian educating us all on the fine merits of keeping one's ****** wet BECAUSE a dry ****** can only belong to - nay! exist as far as the reality star would have you believe... vaginas exist onto themselves, though science has deduced with unquestionable Puritan certainty - despite the very Words Written by The Very Good Lord's Hand himself in The Holy Bible as Interpreted by the Most Wholly Holy Puritanical preacher preaching from Jerusalem to L.A. itself - Vaginas (cap the V, it's a she and she's a noun) most definitely and defiantly belong to mammals only; However should they be dry then said mammal most-probably has a questionable reputation and a clearly corrupt character.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC
The sun burns bright
The heat is blasting, scorching hot
Burning razor rays of light
Beams like sharpies poking at the
Pockmarked clouds
Let through the light in shards
So bright
It burns I look it hurts I stare I dare myself to count to ten
By two i cannot see what's 'round
And still I stare by four I'm blind
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
Part 2
The old man sits upon his chair and speaks words slip with spit they drip - drip drip - he speaks but no one’s there. From thought to speech the old man speaks, his words released hang in the mist formed out of air so thick and dense it ebbs and flows and dances with a constant freeze brought by the breeze thus when he speaks the old man sees the sounds that slip from his own lips...
...Each word a sound each sound a note encased in ice the words take form; his thoughts comprised of merging chords which morph into the words whose form is slick and round, encased in ice, shine like a string of flawless pearls.
A burden air can never bare the string of pearls falls from mid-air. Pearls hit the floor with such great force that impact shatters words like bones upon a field where battles roared, souls ripped from form thus die his words; remains of thoughts the old man spoke, words torn apart reduced to chords in piles litter scatter wasted cursed forever to be words unheard like treasures lost, no! never found or heard, his words the unearthed pearls of thoughts he thought and dared to speak though fate he knew would have them be forever lost beneath the sea where words from chords and notes will never see the day nor know the heat when they would shine under the sun though smooth and round their form once was when once the shattered chords were words.
There was a time his words had form their form was round like pearls or drops of water dripped from leaky faucets drip they slip from rusty lips into the sink and down the pipes which snake throughout the secret house, they drip the words words slip his thoughts from lips are lost drip drip the words in chords thoughts drip are lost in sinks forever gone the old man thinks…
Drip drip he speaks words slip drip drip from lips words drip their form drip drip so round the sound from chords which merged and formed the words he thinks and speaks and let's thoughts drip released expelled he sees the strings of pearls his words afloat drip drip the words the sound he hears or heard he thinks once there he sees or saw he saw he knows he did let words drip drip from lips but then drip drip he knows he sits he rocks on boards within drip drip a house where secrets drip, the words, drip drip the sound, they slip forever gone as if they once were sounds which maybe formed the maybe thoughts he may have thought the old man thinks that maybe he just never spoke the words which maybe never were the thoughts he thought or did he think he didn’t know now doesn’t know not like the sound he knows he hears the drip, drip drip drip from rusty lips of leaky faucets down the sink...
The End Part 2
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC
Chapter 1: Goody Goodwill Was Exceptionally Great at Being Good
I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you; I shall show you the way.
-Psalm 32:8
The Preacher Goody Goodwill was a very fine man, and a good preacher too. Destined for the cloth, Goody felt that his was the way into the Good Lord's Grace and Goody knew as sure as God chose hues of blue and a brush He purchased* in March of 1973 at a PennySavers Discount Store in Moscow, Russia, to paint the sky from the break of dawn until the sun disappeared in all its God-given glory beneath the Western Horizon.
The Preacher Goody also knew that the Good Lord was a rather curious being, and even though He was an all-knowing, all-seeing omnipresent Divine being He was He and man was man and perched upon a Golden throne He often felt all on his own and gazed beyond the Pearly Gates and down the path of Salvation itself, and looked upon his Earthly domain and felt the urge to walk among men; thus, on far too often occasions in far too random locations the Lord took on the form of man, woman or animal and walked among his children. Once he even took on the form of a pebble on a seashore (though that turned out to be a rather boring experience not to be repeated).
Goody, too, decided that it was his duty to walk among men so that he may see sin for himself although he did so rarely and never randomly: a mere four times a year - on the first Monday of each season - Goody prepared a ritualistic bath meant to wash his holy vows away if only for a single day, and when he emerged from the scalding water, his skin was scathed which felt to Goody as it should be even though what he was doing surely had the chance to jeopardize his Holy soul and yet he did it not for hI'm but for mankind as Goody thought that God had planned despite no single word within the Lord’s own book described to be an act that preachers should be taking so they may be better preachers; but Goody knew what Goody knew which was what God expected preachers do, thus with common clothes and common thought, and feeling good he walked on out of this house and out of the town and among the men and women who sinned.
The preacher Goody Goodwill came from the very small town of Dimply, West Carolina, which was not much of a sinning sorta’ town but beyond its borders down a beaten path which then turned into pavement and led to a Highway, if one followed that path one would reach the Big City where sinners sinned away and where God and Goody both discovered how it was to be a man among the common man. Though the Lord Almighty frequented the city often and in many forms the preacher Goodwill had a strict routine to which he strictly stuck to, year after year.
Throughout the day, four days a year, Goody put his faith to test as he roamed the big streets in the very Big City and watched and held his tongue lest he preach and his plan fall apart and the sinners would then see that a preach was in their reach and they surely would reach out and then Satan would have one ‘fore if Goody fell the way of the men who sinned all day then for sure he would be lost because Goody was the priest and he couldn't well forgive if he couldn't self-confess thus the risk which Goody took when he chose to risk his soul was a risk he surely knew was a risk that God would see and would write with His own hand in the Book which He would use to judge every single man.
As the sun began to set and the daylight fade away, he would start his way back home and thank God the day was done. Goody felt at peace when he finally reached his home where he'd take another bath and would emerge a Holy man and would don his Holy robes and he knew that he had proved what he knew he needn't prove, that he was a real good man and that good was what God wanted.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
THE PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL walks center stage and steps up to the Dias; eyeing his congregation with a seriously serious frown. Clears his throat, takes a tissue and blows his nose. Then resumes eyeing all the families sitting before him. Finally-
PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Were you unsettled? Did my silence catch you off guard? Or was it my frown, sure that was it, you're not used to seeing me frown, you're not used to me stretching out the silence. And yet I wonder: why is it you were uncomfortable? Surely, even though you weren't prepared for it, it wasn't as if I came here with accusations of you - you Charlotte Ray, or you Jimmy Matheter, or any random one of you for that matter - accusations that you had sinned 'for you surely did as the Good Lord intended you too, you sinned and you will be forgiven if you simply give in to the Good Lord's Word and his wholly Holy embrace.
(BEAT)
And so I wonder - and I ask you to ask yourself - why were you uncomfortable when I stepped up in silence? Have you sinned and are ashamed? Too ashamed, perhaps, to confess said sin? 'For if that's the case then you are truly ****** having committed not just the sin you are ashamed to confess but now in the Good Lord's own House you are committing the sin of pride, you are certainly not humble as the Good Lord asks of us all, are you?
(BEAT)
Are we not told that "the meek shall inherit the earth" as written by the Good Lord's very own, very Good Hand in our Holy Bible?
(BEAT)
So who are you to walk with pride when He asks you to be humble, that's all he asks of you my friends; be true and humble, be meek among men, and He - the Good Lord Himself - will surely welcome you through the pearly gates of Heaven and into his warm embrace.
(BEAT)
It is not for you to be your own judge nor are you tasked with judging others; surely you must see how full of pride one must be to imagine he can rightfully judge others or himself, for that matter, and not be full of pride if he dares take on such a task.
(BEAT)
And let us be clear as He the Good Lord is clear, that to be Holy is to be prideless, to accept Him into your heart is to accept that you have sinned - and you have, each and every one of you - 'for we are imperfect beings in an imperfect world and who among you would claim to be perfect of His Own Son, Jesus Christ himself, was a sinner among men... oh, I see, I literally see your raised eye browse as if you truly don't believe me or perhaps you don't understand. So if I may let me give you just one example which is the one that speaks most true to your very own Preacher Goody Goodwill who does not and has never claimed to be great, oh no have I ever claimed that my good friends? I certainly have not 'for I choose to be good, just good at what I do which is all the Good Lord asks, while his own Son Jesus Christ, he too was a preacher like me, but he was great perhaps the greatest yes! the greatest of all time thus he wasn't very meek, to be great is to have pride and in pride we live in sin; and so, as the Holy Book informs us Jesus Christ died for our sins but consider that he, too, was a sinner among men and so he died for his sins too, he had surely lived in pride and he had not a confessor so he died a filthy man.
(BEAT)
Yes that's right he died as he had lived, full of pride and not so meek, do you see now what I say? You are not too full of pride that you'd consider your own sins and believe that you may judge what is right and what is wrong? No, I know you all as I do myself and you are Good Folks with good hearts and meek as lambs, are you not?
The congregation nods whole heartedly.
PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Good good, I know you are, you're good and meek at heart as the Good Lord intended, and so when it's your turn to confess I expect you'll remember this talk we just had, and confess as the Good Lord intended, let me hear all the sins you sinned for you surely sinned, and let me then offer you his Holy reassurance that the penance I deem is the key to your salvation and once you clean yourself of sin then salvation will be yours.
Now the Preacher Goody Goodwill scans the congregation, eyeing them all, one by one; then he smiles and they smile back - all is as it should be once again - and his warmth radiates within the Holy House as he concludes this Sunday's sermon by making the sign of the Cross across his chest.
PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
You may rise.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
I Wish I Was a Headlight on a Northbound Train in Wintet
When it surely would be snowing
Thick, white drifts of ice and snow
Carried on the howling wind
Makes it look like snow-white curtains ebb and flick like curtains do
Visibility, non-existent, that's how dangerous it is...
Thus it is tonight - the height of Winter - that I live a life with meaning
Because now I have a purpose and my purpose is real simple
I'm to do what fates have fated
Let my light shine through the night
And I cut through icy curtains like a heated blistering knife
And I feel the train push forward
And I know that all the life
Which is carried on my train
Is deep in sleep this night.
Though they might not ever say it no they might not even think it Still! the fact remains that I yes I and the light which I shine throug the night
That cuts a hole through thick white snow
And lets the men who are in charge
They see because of me this night
Thus it is that now I find
I have a purpose in this life
And this purpose has much meaning.
Much more meaning then I have
Living life as anything but-
- A headlight on a Northbound train which cuts right through the falling snow and keeps my passengers alive.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Encased within a gilded cage
With clipped wings as if I could-
-and have no doubt I surely would
take flight as once I surely did, to soar the skies, to taste the winds, to ****** my wings and let the breeze-
-take charge as I let go my fears and let my instincts lead my route.
Above below and through the clouds, I sore to heights so high that man below appear as ants and city lights serve to remind of man whose whims I must abide where I a canary caught in their grasp.
There was a time when I was free to dream of soaring upon crests of wind
And then that time came crashing down within a moment when man set his eyes
That moment when my guards were down
The very moment I lost the freedom I had had
And clipped, my wings, so I would never know the joy of freedom flying to and fro'
If only that was what they had in store perhaps their would remain a glimmer of hope
Alas it wasn't meant to be
I was a sacrifice to what man considered his
To live at all expenses lest within a mine beneath the ground the noxious fumes would dispatch man, their life no more, they all would die
And so it's i within a gilded cage whose mankinds fatal line of defense
And so I'm lowered in my cage
To serve as warning for all those men
Who treat me kind as kind can be
'For they know when I stop to breath they might be next lest they escape
And so now stripped of taking flight
I serve as signal, my death their sign that noxious fumes are deadly know and all they need as proof is I
'For in my cage I'm meant to die which signifies a lethal strike
I am the canary down the mine
My freedom gone all that I have
Is to pray that my death is quick for all my freedom no longer exists.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
What is it that I turn to thee
What hold you have on my whole being
I write I take a hit of smack and then I write and don't look back
The truth comes out I sensor not
And it will end far sooner than I thought.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
Heaven is filled with fluffy white clouds
One walks from one to the other and picks a drug
A sleep takes hold of all your senses
Bliss like no other
This bliss is Heaven
Yet here I am, now I live
If only one day I would simply just sleep...
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 6:53 AM UTC