i

The inferno I go into, as I shalt not be burnt by hurting arrow's
A being born of love, taking shuttle from a dove, passing the cup,
As Ill-will circle's me, the contempt of many tryeth to ****** me
As I'm loosed from their naysaying, to their gameplaying anger.

ii

Anew I wilt linger, in this round spinning ball, giving beauty of forgiveness and awe, showing other's the light of God, as the prey wilt lacerate, as angels to me shalt emancipate me of daily aching and nightly heartbreaking, for tis this spirit's overcoming all .

iii

I seeith the real between the false,i seeith the idol's the crowd worship's like a mob, I seeith the murderous bigotry of word's gone wrong, I seeith mineself singing a heavenly song, a comeback from the bygone's, a holder of many vision's.

iv

Overriding superstition, giving authenticity between dreaming wishes, not listening to misconstruction, letting mine conscience  alive from allegation, moving mine wing's, nation to nation, giving the true one's an invitation, cometh one, cometh all.

v

Smiling wide, not changing what and who I am, spiritual by birth, though this place, a man, not saying I won't, to things I canst, a wonderful show, of graceful stand, and even if I'm a one man band, (which I shalt not be,) I'll keepeth on smiling, for I am me....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

I had a dream the other night,
                   I visited an old friend
                      who had died last Halloween.

He drank himself to death,
wet brain, liver failure,
the whole nine yards.

In my dream I asked him
    what it was like to be dead,
he said "Oh it's okay....
can I borrow five bucks?"

I don't know I said,
    "How can I be sure
               I'll get it back"

"Ah come on" he said,
"I'm five bucks short for a case"

I relented and we called a cab.
       The cab driver comes
            and he says to Barry,

"What's it like to be dead?"

If you call out my name  with repentance in your heart
I shall hear you, and reveal myself to you child of mine.
Giving you the Helper that I had  promise you saidth the Lord.
I shall make myself at home with you and have sup with you.
I shall show you amazing and wondrous miracles as well.
For I shall bring you out of strongholds that bind you now.
I shall show you my Love saidth the Lord your God.
I shall bless you my child and stay with you always as well.
For I am your God and Savior and I shall save you in your time of need.

Buried with dirt on top of mine face
Digging the grave, upburst of string lace;
Dressed in a tunic, not from around
She dances as a ghost, her soul is unbound.

Her hair is factual, she's not a dream
A lover, an amour, of beautiful thing's;
And weareth many ring's, her novel is wide
Feather's float off her wing's, an angel and bride.

To me as to her, the feeling obliged
She rode a white chariot, as one of the sky's;
I told her lovely, do not cryeth
She looked at mine view, tis she got excited.

Excitement burned hot, as sun in the day
She broke me free, from the worms of the grave;
And tis I was a slave, to the black hole of nothing
She showed me a bright aura, knowing God was near coming...



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Jibberish is just a word
to describe a rant obsurd

Slow it down
Those words you push

Don't he in such a jibberush

And when you've found
the words more sane

Release them from your jibberbrain

Onto the paper as you wish
Your masterpiece of jibberish