1201

So I pull my Stockings off
Wading in the Water
For the Disobedience’ Sake
Boy that lived for “or’ter”

Went to Heaven perhaps at Death
And perhaps he didn’t
Moses wasn’t fairly used—
Ananias wasn’t—

The truth lies in believing and not deceiving.
Lies starts with deception instead of confession.
When in your heart you chose to do anything for the lord?

Stay the path.
Stay the course.
Two subjects mention in the scriptures decided to play games with the truth.

Or agree to be deceptive for no apparent reasons.
If they felt not to follow through than they should state it.
Peter, was an honorable representative in place of Jesus.

Why?
Keep what you promise to give?
And you weren't pushed too.
Ananias only were exposed when questioned?
And offered up a false answer.

Believers, the TRUTH holds strength.
Ananias found out too late what it meant?

Then his spouse had a chance.
For some reason, she failed the same question.
When she could have given an honest answer.

Believers, the TRUTH holds substance.

Promise God nothing if you can't keep your word.
This is what we all have as our honor.

The Apostle Paul was a saint but he was a sinner in the beginning.
He killed Jesus's followers and Jesus struck him blind for sinning.
After Jesus sent Ananias to restore Paul's sight, Paul changed his evil ways.
He vowed to be Jesus's Apostle and preach the gospel for the rest of his days.
Paul began preaching that Jesus is our savior.
Some people became infuriated by his behavior.
They planned to have Paul put to death.
He was warned about this and he left.
After leaving, he continued to preach the gospel and made tents for a living.
Even though Paul was a former murderer, Jesus knew that he was worth forgiving.
Paul was worthy of forgiveness and so are today's sinners.
If people put an end to their sinful ways, they can be winners.

Wonder this today, what if
we
are.
We are
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.

We swore
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,

we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith

is evident.

"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred

for our own American Dream, it seems, now.

Mortal tyranny
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
away in
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten

to deposit at interest less than I pay,

this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough

old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…

we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.

The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names
…
Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
with passion,
proud, puffed up butchers,
heirs of
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.

Say I am,
Popeye.
How long will that be funny?

Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as

eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
exist
slick as snot,
it's not.
Now,
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
in passant

considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
grout
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--

ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
We square?
--
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.

Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
esprit
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification

springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away

brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet

A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,

Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own

libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
sub
dis-error
agent of
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
frequency of
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
sometimes
haps
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.

Nurses whisper, listener listen
emulate Socrates
in knowing
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,

who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…

The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
watchasee…
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.

Ah, man
How high the pedestal on which he stands
Lost in reverence of himself and his deeds –
Prone to forgetting his nature and ‘civility’.
He is a menace to himself and all that breathes;
For he is as feral as the beasts
Above which he holds himself.

Man
To what ruinous end would he drive this world?
What manner of destruction and death will he unfurl?
He pays no heed, not even to his own kind
He has such magnificent vision, but he is blind

Man,
Holds a brush of ruin and paints such foul ends
His every stroke on the earthly canvas, rends.
It lends intensity to misfortune and torments.
Now even the breathless sigh and weep
For man bears the scythe and he will wantonly reap.

Man
Capable of every ill, it would seem
Yet, the fool has hope of being redeemed
He holds on dearly to his dire dogmas
Sat astride prevarication - an embodiment of Ananias

Man will, by his own designs, meet a jester’s end.

R. A. Tyndall