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Verily this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a boy and girl using razors as allayments, making veins as paintings. Verily, this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a mother holding her young one in ashes, guts with limb's sketch the war-torn scenes. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a father toils on concrete and soil, breaking sweats for a dollar- Fifty. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a fiend shoots fire in their blood with syringes, whilst kin makest family arrangements for other's to Come visit daughter's and sons In boxes whilst they sleep. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a poet and poetess write, O' how their word's do excite, whilst they Dieth daily from secret pains unseen. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a young woman's locked in a semi trailer, smuggled by men from foreign labors, O' how her life shalt be In a room with many strangers; she Seeks to die yet wants to live. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's a broken child in Many ghettos, whilst elite buy wives stilettos, dope dealing is the only survival, just to put some food in malnutritioned Mouths. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; theirs a soldier in many lands, making wealthy men richer, whilst their bullets fly, they come home with the images they've seen, devastating guilt-messed up heads. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's God Almighty who's been with each of these people, in their souls he dost seest through, passed their skin, and flesh and bones. He knoweth Their pains, hurts, he seest their loves, Loves lost, though none of these people Once hath stepped into a church. Though God is not about religion, just for all to Know his son; who took all of their pains Two-thousand years ago up on the cross he gave his love. As each of these many spirits from all walks and ways of life, were all just the same, perfectly made and beautiful in God Yahweh's eyes. So his arms wilt always be open to those who hath that feeling of not wanting to live, for he sent his son yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus the Messiah) for God's own son for mankind's salvation didst he give. For poet as thou doth read mine words please do know this one thing, thou art not alone, for dear God Dost love thee, his arms art open for thee to come home to him. © Brandon nagley © Lonesome poets poetry
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Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
נשמות שבורות (Broken souls) Hebrew tongue
Verily this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a boy and girl using razors as allayments, making veins as paintings. Verily, this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a mother holding her young one in ashes, guts with limb's sketch the war-torn scenes. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a father toils on concrete and soil, breaking sweats for a dollar- Fifty. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a fiend shoots fire in their blood with syringes, whilst kin makest family arrangements for other's to Come visit daughter's and sons In boxes whilst they sleep. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a poet and poetess write, O' how their word's do excite, whilst they Dieth daily from secret pains unseen. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a young woman's locked in a semi trailer, smuggled by men from foreign labors, O' how her life shalt be In a room with many strangers; she Seeks to die yet wants to live. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's a broken child in Many ghettos, whilst elite buy wives stilettos, dope dealing is the only survival, just to put some food in malnutritioned Mouths. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; theirs a soldier in many lands, making wealthy men richer, whilst their bullets fly, they come home with the images they've seen, devastating guilt-messed up heads. Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's God Almighty who's been with each of these people, in their souls he dost seest through, passed their skin, and flesh and bones. He knoweth Their pains, hurts, he seest their loves, Loves lost, though none of these people Once hath stepped into a church. Though God is not about religion, just for all to Know his son; who took all of their pains Two-thousand years ago up on the cross he gave his love. As each of these many spirits from all walks and ways of life, were all just the same, perfectly made and beautiful in God Yahweh's eyes. So his arms wilt always be open to those who hath that feeling of not wanting to live, for he sent his son yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus the Messiah) for God's own son for mankind's salvation didst he give. For poet as thou doth read mine words please do know this one thing, thou art not alone, for dear God Dost love thee, his arms art open for thee to come home to him. © Brandon nagley © Lonesome poets poetry
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