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I came across something convicting the other day
Something extremely relevant to our lives today


Jesus wouldn't judge them for their typos and bad grammar and spelling mistakes, and neither should I.
J. W. May 2013
From the moment your born, roll on death.

Alcoholics Unsatisfied sit round in a circle,
soft acquitting eyes passively flow in direction
left and right, never direct nor convicting
always looking out but focused on the void inside.

The moment you step, doomed to fall

Your childhood you say, you weren’t breastfed
Daddy used to drink, its in the blood
the ****** horror that shook the house down
now stands at the door, dormant and waiting

From the moment you speak, its already over.

The excuses rolled out like sludge about you
And your running on empty, just fumes, exhale
Breathe in shame, disgust and self-loathing
These places always polluted with that smell

From the moment you kiss, you know you've lost something

Sit, relax, help yourself to a drink
Plastic cups, plastic chairs, plastic coffee
your marrow may be exposed
but rest assured we, the faceless, nameless few, are here to help.

From the moment you drink, your released.
Lauren R Mar 2013
I have a heart that
No matter what I do,
She doesn't come back
When she decides to leave.
She sits on my sleeve
And every once in a while
I let her out. Tentatively.
To explore, to trust.
To connect.
Me to you or...
to him.
I say "don't go too far."
Echoing my mother,
Knowing such obedience is short-lived.
Because it was in me.  
Every time I'm shocked.
The connection breaks
and my heart makes a choice.
It's always to stay,
never to come back
to the shirt cuff
she once called home.

I have a mind that
Wonders...why?
I need my heart,
He doesn't even want her.
I'll take care of her,
He has no idea she's there.
And yet she stays.
And Lord knows I can't change her mind.
She's all heart.
So I go on feeling,
All the neglect,
All of her ache.
And people say, "Let her go."
"Move on."
But they don't understand,
It's not quite so easy,
I can't reason with her.
And reasons
Are all they give me.
And they don't understand,
She's never coming back.
I know, because I feel it.
She's past deciding
To make her own way in the world.
Good or bad, but without me.
She'll hurt, and I'll feel,
But I can't help her.
Not anymore.

I have hands that
Keep giving out love,
The busy things forget.
I tell them,
"We don't have a heart anymore,
Stop that."
But they're so bogged down,
Always processing, filing.
The message doesn't reach them in time,
And before I can stop it,
They've given and collected enough love;
A new heart's been born.
Everyone knows that's how hearts are made.
And alive, thriving, revitalized,
She can't understand yet
Why her mother is so broken.
All she knows is goodness,
She can't comprehend
her sisters before her.
She complains
About the rules I give her.
She rebels, and tries to run away,
I'm determined to keep her close though.

I have blood that,
cannot help but flow with passion,
With a longing to explore new paths,
Encounter new things.
He runs through my heart,
my precious heart,
and gives her
Excitement, vigor, curiosity.
See, blood lives in the moment,
He has miles of roads to explore,
So many things to experience.
He tells my heart all of his stories,
All the things he's seen and done.
And she's much too young
To resist such influence.
She tugs and tugs on my arm,
Begging to be set free,
She'll run at anything that peaks her interest,
Always heedless of my warnings.
I don't want her to leave,
I know she won't come back.
But I need her to grow as well,
So once again,
I let her creep, here and there;
Try things.
But where her eldest sister
Once had the entire world
As her playground,
My heart's radius of play
Grows ever smaller.

I have arms that,
with every heart gone,
Grow stronger.
They're menacing, but compassionate.
They know of my turmoil,
And their will to hold tighter,
To my dear heart,
Becomes evermore powerful.
She's frustrated, moody all the time.
She can't stand chains;
She was born to be free.
I can't tell her,
"Hey, slow down, he's not that great."
She won't listen.
She'll drum faster.
She doesn't know that I'm so afraid.
I'm afraid she'll be gone.
Once again.
I feel her longing,
Hoping, waiting.
Someone needs to peak her interest,
Enough so she can run
And not be stopped.

I have eyes that,
Slip the secret,
Connection is power, strength.
In a glance,
They know a thousand things.
My heart learns from them
The hearts of hundreds.
Some of these hearts are harmless.
I've discovered I can trust them,
To play with my heart
Without convicting her,
To the point of no return.
I feel safe with these hearts close by.
Maybe, if she can explore just these,
She'll be satisfied, and not leave.
Alas, her curiosity always proves too strong.
She wants something more
Something stronger.
She wants to be in love.
And isn't that what everyone wants for their hearts?
I'm conflicted, I should let her go,
But how do I know?
Maybe she's smarter than her sisters.
But that's silly,
After all, just like them,
She's all heart.
Truth is, I don't know.
I have to trust her.
So once again, I set her free.

I have a body that
Can't help but follow my heart.
They've become best friends,
Both inspired by blood's speeches,
Both supporting one another,
Both excited, young, curious.
At this point, they're inseparable.
And so I give myself to someone new,
My body connects with his,
And as always, my heart follows.
My heart and his heart, intertwined.
My heart has never felt so alive,
And for a moment, I'm convinced too.

But then,
He somehow wrenches his heart away from mine.
Maybe one of his lost hearts has returned.
And he wants his heart
To get to know it's brother.
Or maybe he was never
That caught up in the first place.
It was my heart,
Clinging as hard as she could
To something she thought she could
Believe in.
I can't tell,
My eyes no longer
Connect with his.
Blood no longer
Rushes to my cheeks
To be closer to his.
My body longs for him,
And seeks a replacement.
My arms feel empty
They try to find something to hold.
My hands keep busy,
Trying to ignore
How they're no longer
Kept still by his.
My mind takes the longest.
But with time, she forgets too.
Somehow though,
My heart still clings to him.
He didn't know,
It would always be his to keep.
I did.
I've done it all before.

And so, here I am.
And my hands keep giving love,
My mouth keeps setting smiles loose.
Soon enough a new heart will be born.
I'll be even more strict with this one.
Maybe my arms will be strong enough,
My mind smart enough,
To not let this one go.
Probably not.
My eyes search for the next one.
Cautiously. With reserve.
Because if he's found,
I know I'll have to decide
If I should keep my heart away.

I go on, things keep moving,
I keep feeling.
I watch all of my old hearts carefully.
I wish them the best.
They beat on,
Alongside those who took them.
Each one seems a bit smarter than the last
Maybe my mind, my experience,
Has more of an impact than I realize.
I grow,
I become better.
Maybe this time my heart will be ready.
M Harris Apr 2017
Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,

Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,

Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,

Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,

Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,

An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,

Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,

Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,

Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,

Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,

Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,

Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,

Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.

- 05:43 AM -
Chris May 2010
When I am gone and one, or two
Are huddled on a funeral pew
Then ­this one thing I ask of you
Don't lie about the man you knew

For­ by the bloating of my name
You'll nullify the one who came
Who b­ore the fullness of my blame
And died in such disgraceful shame

­Know that every sin which you recall
Those times I drove you up t­he wall
My secret sins made these look small
Their evil horror wo­uld appal

Yet every crime against my king
Was matched by grace a­stonishing
Every joy a gift releasing
Freedom from my sin convict­ing

For long before the world began 
My God had forged a stunnin­g plan
Despite the dirt of my life's span
The great God loved thi­s sinful man

So mourn or shrug as you feel right
But do not fret­ about your plight
My God will keep you in his sight
A glorious h­elp in darkest night

When I am gone and one or two
Are huddled o­n a funeral pew
Lift up your eyes and look anew
For Jesus Christ ­is calling you
Inspired by Mark Ashton
Drew Plant Aug 2011
Gazing at the vibrant clouds in the ashen sky,
It is not them that move, but I,
For the breeze of Mother Nature is but a wafting breath,
Imparted from her *****,
To move the impartial inhabitants to harbor universal wisdom.

Thus let rivalry arise between the jurors three;
Amongst which Father time sets the sands free,
Impartial to havoc of releasing ages and convicting generations,
Set loose at his own hand,
Greatly yearning for mankind to desire to understand.

Hark and Herald, an Angel arrived on sullen black wings,
To recluse man; further reprieve wrong doings,
Slowly risen with the gallantry of gilded fervor and entitlement,
Like Atlas bearing burdens on brazen back,
Sentencing humanity to acquiesce that all is not bleak and black.
Roxy DeNoir Jul 2013
I thought for maybe a fleeting day that I liked you.
I knew it would never work.
You and me.
Me and you.
It's just not possible.
I'm nothing compared to you.

Your talent flies to the stars above,
While I sit on the grass at night and gaze in wonder.
Your passion for life shines like the sun,
While I dance in the warm light laughing with joy.

I do not love you, or even like you more than I show.
It's the thought of you that makes me smile.
It's the thought of you that makes me wonder how you are doing each day.
It's the thought of you- nothing more- that makes me want to be your friend.

I hero worship you.
I need to stop.
You are human like me.
Nothing more.
And you should be nothing more.
You are my brother that I look up to,
That I secretly admire from afar.
I am a small child in need of guidance,
A lost heart searching for a close friend,
But you cannot be that person.
You have your friends,
And I mine.
Even if we meet tomorrow,
We'll be friendly but nothing more.

Admitting I hero worship you is uncomfortable.
Convicting myself for being weak enough to do so hurts.
Convincing myself love is not an option for me is a battle.
Punishing myself for liking someone is unbearable.

I cannot love.
I must not love.
I am not capable of love.
And if I do love,
I would be better off dead than with a broken heart.
It already is fragile as glass and as worthless as fools gold from the first time I liked someone.
Again, it was the thought of him,
Hero worship.
I barely survived that.

I must never love again.
Name Redacted Aug 2015
I speak in tongues of men and angels, I speak as a man that knows the angles. I rhyme truth melodically, with my methodology, my words convicting you this is no mythology. And as tides of tithes flood our church like Jordan, the lives of lies, my tongue has shortened. So let's ask the Ghost of the Most-High, high above I, to bless this mission, this mission of mine.

(Are you sold? Are you inspired? By this sorcerer peddling his strange fire? Are you scared? Are you mired? By the weight of this second-rate evil-inspired rant that can't won't couldn't shouldn't be found profound by us when by Christ it wouldn't? The "broken bonds" of this sounding gong are just more chains, just empty song)

I've loved, lived, lost!
(But burned the cross.)
I've spoke and swayed!
(At disastrous cost.)

I've sung the hymns!
(So did the Devil)
Filled our church with gold!
(The softest metal.)

I fought back the dark!
(But it left it's mark)
Laid all at the altar!
(That's still awaiting a spark)

I witnessed to the street!
(On a weak foundation.)
Was given the the finest things!
(And moth and rust will take them.)

(It was never about what he could do, what glory can God take when who is seen is you? His “my’s” and “I’s” can’t save the lost, his “my’s” and “I’s” put Him on the Cross! Man can only save what gold can buy, and in the end owns nothing but gilded lies. You've seen his path, and where it leads. Do you see now that it's from you you're freed? Not debt, not pain, not loss or strife, but the crushing weight of your debauched life?

The Son will not impart what this man asks, for to leave you the world is not His task. For we are born, but do not live, until we surrender that which was not ours to give.)
Nicole May 2017
She climbed out of the window to her bedroom and into the cool night sky. Dressed in black ripped jeans and a dark colored hoodie, so she dissolves into the darkness.
A case of Corona in her hand, she jumps the few feet to the ground. Her knees bend to soften the harsh landing. She stands back up to her full height, though it isn’t that tall.
Her hood, covers her face so that she is a mystery.
The night time accepts her with open arms, understanding that she needs to be unknown for the time being to be her true self.
She stalks away from her ‘home’. Her sharp, rushed movements standing out against the white walls. Then she breaks off into a run, wanting to get away as fast as she can, not being able to stand being close any longer. She runs to her night time escape, laying down in the middle of the field underneath the leafless tree.
She looks up at the stars, wondering who each one was.
What kind of souls turn into stars when their time on earth is up?
She lets the hope that she is one of those souls slip into her mind just this time. But for only a moment, before pushing it away.
Her experience with hope has shown her that it only brings pain and heartbreak.
She reaches over to the 6-pack and takes a bottle out, sitting up. It settles into her hand like it has been destined to since it’s creation, comfortable between her fingers. She takes the bottle opener out of her left pocket and brings it to the lips of the bottle. The top pops off in one fluid motion, the practice she’s had making it as easy as breathing. She brings the rim to her chapped angry red lips, then tilts it up quickly, taking a short sweet sip of the poison ambrosia.
It tickles as it slides smoothly down her throat. She lets a small content sigh slip out and be taken away in the breeze. At home, that is how she feels sitting underneath that tree.
The stars are her shelter and the field is her bed, soft and welcoming, the tree, an old friend. Here she lets the tears run freely down her face. The salt water mixing with the bitter taste of alcohol.
She’s screaming, wailing.
Asking the universe why she hates herself so much, why they don’t want her. Why can’t he love her the way she loves him? Why can’t she already be dead? Maybe then he would realize just how much she meant to him, how much he meant to her.
As she lets this fire slip from her throat, she doesn’t notice the boy dressed in blue on the other side of the field. She doesn’t realize she isn’t alone until he is sitting next to her with one hand grasping hers.
She startles when his skin comes in contact with hers. Then she looks at him, his blue eyes, blue face, blue heart, blue soul, unsure if he can be let into her secret home. He sees her hesitate, so he brings her hand to his lips and whispers his secrets into her skin.
The tenseness in her shoulders is released and she squeezes his hand tightly. They are both on a mission to escape the lives they live.
Both have minds burdened with memories and bodies littered with scars. Running from the demons in their homes.
She reaches over to the cardboard keeper of sins and plucks another bottle from its grasp. She takes the opener and rips the top from the bottle’s lips, handing it to the Blue Boy.
He takes it with the hand not wrapped in hers and brings it to his lips quickly. Tilting it back, he downs the whole bottle. He sets the empty bottle back into the cardboard as its poison takes effect.
Then he’s stumbling to his feet and dragging her with him, towards the forest standing menacingly behind them.
She runs after him, feet not quite touching the ground and laughter hanging in their air. Engulfed in darkness under the canopy, they giggle and whisper secrets of death.
Without the stars to see by, they fall into a rabbit hole. Spiraling down to their private Wonderland, where there is no home for them and the Mad Hatter is their friend.
They can run through clouds and save each other from the demons under their beds.
Their bruises scream, convicting the guilty and their memories wail in relief from them.
But Alice couldn’t stay in her Wonderland, so neither can they. Waking from their dream, back underneath the tree, weeping at the loss of the make believe and forced to go back to reality, where their demons have them in a choke hold and the guilty hide behind atrocious lies.
Mattea Marie Dec 2013
I am on trial
And my sins
Are my testimony
My defense is pathetic
Crumbling under the weight
Of your
Disappointment
I cannot win this case
When I can't even
Believe myself
Everything I say
Can and is used against me
In your court
The jury is your peers
Convicting me on one night
Of blurry evidence
I'll wear this number
Forever burned in my memory
Guilty as charged
Mike Hauser Feb 2021
Both convicting and convincing
Pointing to what's true and right
My Daddy's worn out Bible
Always comes to mind

The pages torn and tattered
From years of loving use
My Daddy knew what mattered
From his early days of youth

As he poured over the pages
Daily in blood, sweat, and tears
No if's, and's, but's, or maybe's
His God he both loved and feared

Highlighted, both pen and marker
Words that touched his very soul
As the days grew ever darker
He knew the light to hold

And also where his strength came from
In the faithful words he'd read
Of God's grace to us poured out in love
To all who have the need

Both convicting and convincing
Pointing to what's true and right
My Daddy's worn out Bible
Always comes to heart and mind
sheloveswords Nov 2016
I am convicting myself of loving you
the most loneliest trial to attend
alone I sit on the stand
I raise my right hand
to God
that there is a truth
I am hiding
burying inside me
a national treasure
of finding
the truth
is
I love you
I see your amazing
I admire the weakness of your strength
those elements of you that lack
the sight of eyes
hands couldn't even feel
I have to leave you
I don't want to
you have to leave me
with silence filling my ears
completely full
of my tears that feed me
my fears that keep me
from living my life
without you here
your laugh has become the best sound on Earth
your smile has carved itself tattoo on my skin
scrubbing the lust off
fighting the demons you left within
as I opened my life for you to fill me
I wait for the rest of you to leak out of me
but all in love is not fair
now I am condemning myself to the only lie told
I had to do all that I could
to get away from you

since I didn't get my way with you
Jason Cirkovic Nov 2014
14
Another day another number
Another day another empty bedside
Another day to smell the hair on the pillow sheets
That cocoon me with my frantic mind
Another day acting like
Sleeping with different girls every week is fun
Another day of being called a ****** slayer
By your friends who wish they were like you

Why oh why
Do I have to see these days pass by
Without being called a ****
Another day where men measure themselves
On how manly they are
By the number of girls you have slept with.

Sleep on this
I can’t sleep at night
As Whatshername’s
Hair brushes on my nose
I sit there thinking these 14 things
That seem to tug on shirt
Asking for my attention

1.) I hope she had fun tonight

2.) I hope this clock stays at 2:13am
maybe if I stare at it the minute hand
It won’t move

3.) I hope I can feel loved by her by another night
I want her to see
That I’m not just a ******
Craving her curves on my body.

4.) I hope she can see through the cracks of my smile

5.) I hope she sees that I’m not like everyone guy

6.) I hope I can make her pancakes when she wakes up
Before she escapes the person she calls a regret.

7.) I hope sun doesn't come up
Because I’ll have to walk alone in cold street called reality

8.) I hope she doesn't realize
The reason I have *** with her
Is to avoid to larger problems in my life.

9.) I hope that ****** worked

10.) I hope I can change my ways,
why can’t change my ways?

11.) I hope my dad’s leather belt
Isn't waiting for me
When I sneak back home,
Yet I’m excited to see it
Because I feel my father’s touch
Through the sounds of leather

12.) I hope my future son doesn't see me like this

13.) I hope my number of girls I've slept with stops at 13

14.) I hope I can stop

Stop
Stop
Stop
Whenever I try stop
All I can think of
Are those words
Floating around my head
Convicting me
That if people call you a “****”
“****** slayer”
“Man *****”
I just think to myself
“Well I guess I am who I am”
15
16
17
Dakota Schmidt Aug 2010
Forever closed eyes,
Reasoning dies.
Empty inside,
Nowhere to hide.

Lost in the loneliness of my mind,
Losing the sanity that binds.
Falling apart at the seems,
Can't escape these haunting dreams.

Oh why do I try?
No one can see these tears I cry.
Razor to wrist,
Replacing all I've missed.

Convicting those who did this to me,
Remembering what I used to be.
Holding on to life by a thin thread,
My horrid regrets repeating in my head.

The end is near,
My eyes fill with every lonesome tear.
My deep secret is the key,
This is what I need to set me free.
:D
Amanda Sep 2014
There's a myth about a boy with lips so toxic he takes a year off your life every time you kiss him.
I called him cigarette boy.
He was like a liter.
A matchbox that wouldn't light unless you struck him the right way.
It's almost embarrassing to remember the way he made me feel.
He made me feel the way I promised myself I never would.
I am an icebox.
He thawed away at the cold.
I am a puddle at his feet.
I can't figure out how he did it.
His hair is much lighter than mine—his smile so much more warm.
He reminds me of the way honey melts when you stir it in tea so hot it burns you.
There were 3 incidents that I knew he would not be going away:
1. Imagine holding hands with a ghost, a loaded gun.
2. Being lifted up in a flash flood, letting his love drown like a brick.
3. I felt like a soaked bouquet of flowers, and his eyes would not stop convicting me of love.
His eyes were the survivor in this aftermath of blood and war.
He had to leave me so I could grow.
In the end we were so invincible.
We had to find something else to mourn about.
He apologized for every kiss with more.
When my time was up, he asked me to tell him a secret.
"I'd kiss you a million times more knowing your lips are the death of me. I'd sacrifice this last act of selflessness to you."
Lace your veins with my vengeance.
I'd come to you every time.
There are no voices left to be heard beneath my skin.
He was an already published novel that refused to have an end.
I know that I am far from being perfect but  my Savior is using me still.
Its not suppose to  be ok now I am saved I shall quit all of my sinning.
But instead its Christ convicting you one sin at a time then helping us.
True he does not want us to live as the world lives but as he lives.
I know that he works on each of my sins separately, he does all the work.
All that I have to do is obediently lay each of them down one at a time.
Then turn away and not do that sin any longer, but I am still not perfect.
This is why he gave me an helper to help me  to overcome each sin.
But its not me that is overcoming the sin but Christ whom lives within me overcoming them.
Simon Monahan Nov 2017
Hail, King Arbor, vice-regent of the paradisal garden!
Springing, a wooden fountain clawing up and seizing handfuls of sky,
Towering, dancing in winds that cannot bow him,
With every breeze rattling branches scratch out a shout.

Padded with armor layered in sheaves and shingles,
Constant cloak accented of moss and vine and bubbles of fungus,
Weathered of snows and rains and smokes and fires,
Fitted snug o’er the ageless trunk, ever-young beneath time’s rings.

Steward of life, he cradles birdlings in nested branches,
In chewed divots and caves hiding the squirrel and his kin,
His skin alive with deep burrowing beetles and grubs and thousands of worms,
Beneath his leafy mantle are sheltered the fox and the deer.

While branches sway and leaves fly in stormy havoc,
And beasts and creeping things are shaken and tossed,
His stoic roots, unimpressed, anchor the forest to the world,
Laboring buried and ever unmoved, in dark earthen dignity.

Here he stands, shoulder to shoulder with his brethren,
A sylvan army assembled to keep watch as the centuries drift by,
Council of elders evergreen presiding over the passage of epochs,
Terra’s first tribe bonded inseparable under countless dusks and dawns.

And there he stands, all solitary, vertical spire against a flat horizon,
No less regal for the absence of peers, but still defiant and noble,
Standing in judgement uncontested over an undiscerning globe,
Convicting all, dismissing them as airy flights ephemeral.
Claire Ellen Mar 2013
I have lived through 3 suicides,
and limitless unexpected deaths.
I have been in courts,
that only end with "guilty".
I have shared deep convicting connections,
that can never be repeated with others.
What has my body become?
My flesh is smothered with boys oils,
My heart has been replaced by mechanics,
stuck on one same beat,
My kisses have become wasted,
no longer special to me or others.
Thats only the physical.
LOVE.
How do I believe in you anymore?
Speaking of which,
when did love become approval?
When Love did you become a law?
Dry your tears child,
life is to short for so much sorrow.
How do you climb out of this depressing pit?
Laughter, God, Music.
And possibly in that order.
Lets talk love
  I want to hold u, and I want to give
            You something more
     that I could ever give to anyone
         with your hand held out
   And a perfect smile on your face
        I could call you an angle
   I know we can make this work
till the end come here let me show you
how deeply and convicting my love is
        for you with just one kiss
  all smeared up with a little twist
   Forever my thoughts of you will
   never be denied
    I promise you I will never lie
cause every breath I take is for you and I
  Just let me memorize a time of our
dreams cause lighting bolts in the sky
   will forever scream,

              So hold on tight
           Never let go my lover
Cause I'm waiting , and I'm thinking
   of a time, a number , and a place
        were we can die together
      without memories being sour
    So never challenge the wheathear
Cause  love itself will always be better
Jerry Howarth Jan 2016
A man decided to go to church one day,
He was down hearted and  so went to pray.

He came to the front door ad was welcomed in,
There quietly seated were many children, women and men,

The teacher in Sunday School made him feel glad,
For he heard more about Jesus than he ever had.

The Preacher then followed preaching God’s Word,
The message was different than any he had ever heard,

He made very plain  God’s simple salvation plan,
How that His only Begotten Son died to save every man.

He urged all to accept Jesus from sin  He will set you free,
I knew I was a sinner, the Holy Spirit was convicting me,

The Preacher called out, “Beloved, what shape are you in?
Without repenting faith there is no forgiveness of sin! “

The invitation was offered, but I waited for awhile,
But I couldn’t resist God  calling me to walk down the aisle.

At the old -fashioned altar on my knees I repented of sin,
Now Jesus is my personal Savior, praise God I’m born again.

Then there came a day when testimonies were being given So this is his testimony of that day he received Salvation.

Well Folks, one Sunday morning I repented
                                Of my self-righteousness.
I knelt down at the altar,
                                 And Jesus Christ confessed.
Then one day I was baptized,
                                  As a public confession of faith,
In Jesus Christ as my  Savior,
                                   And God’s wonderful Grace.
Now every day I try harder,
                                    then did the day before,
To live my life more pleasing,
                                    And glorify the Lord.
Every day I’m reading my Bible,
                                    And spending time in prayer,
And to my friends & neighbors
                                     I the Gospel share.

I never miss a church service
                                     On Sundays or mid-week too,
Oh how I love Jesus,
                                      My Friends, how about you.

Praise God I 'm saved, Praise God I'm saved
I'm born again a child of God
Praise God I'm saved
How about it my poet friend, can you sing this song?
Praise Gods I'm saved?
Gr8Ryzyngz Aug 2018
My wholly
Unholy spirit
Always guided me
From convicting convictions
To judge and jury
My sins east to west
Spans wide I'm sure
More a sinner
Than any saintly
Tendencies exhibited before
Simply saved by faith
Solely believing
In a loving
Invisible God's merciful grace
j a connor May 2021
To the far side of tomorrow
Killing for sorrow
Rest in the fact
Yesterday you retract
Time in a balloon
Floating up too soon
Listening to the magistrate
Convicting to legislate

Can you relate...???????????????


Lie in state

Debate
Kaitlyn Dalton Apr 2014
Chaos abounds

Containing so many ups and downs

Time is conflicting

Though solitude is addicting



The circle in which we live,

Prodives a place to thrive

But life isn’t perfect

It is messy and imperfect


So, although chaos abounds

And there are ups... and downs

Time is wonderfully contradicting

And solitude is convicting.
Arthur Habsburg Apr 2019
On an early Monday morn
Into this world my mother bore me
Although I never asked her to
But still she bore me
Into a hospital
A patient
Out of the train
Onto the station
The light, the air,
The Decompression,
No wonder that my first impression
I can't remember,
My mother thought I had a temper,
The nurses watched my massive member,
They put me down as baby boomer
Yeah, I was born to be consumer
But when I'm in my old age
I hope to be if not the driver,
Then at least the passenger

Aren't we going somewhere?

On holiday, perhaps?
Where birds of paradise dance
In savage colours
And sing in dazzling trance,
Where man's institutions are far away,
Where banks don't feed on our flesh,
Away from roaring trucks with pigs
Set for slaughter,
Away from downtown Bangladesh,
Away from ugly neighbours
And their children,
Away into the sweet fresh air
With no wifi
No zombifying TV,
No bling-bling chavs with one beat one key one theme music,
Where the weather is tolerable
And the scam of social media is no more,
We will leave the choking fumes
And strange wars...
Except we won't,
Cause that isn't where we go.
Let's be realistic,
We like postmodern world
It's lovely masochistic,
It takes out minds off questions
That probe beyond statistics,
Questions we don't even know how to phrase,
But fools are always one step ahead,
Delays make them enraged baboons,
When I am in my old age
I expect to see banners on the moon
And clouds shaped by advertisers,
Robot womanisers
And insect appetisers,
New ways to use fertilisers
On human brains
Making us none the wiser
But great at analysing market value
And levels of offensiveness.
I hope you don't think that I'm implying
That you will have something to do with this.
I know you're all good people here..
It's the corporations, of course.
Those classical psychopaths:
Self interested
Manipulative
Always the best
They prefer not to compete with the rest
Nor accept responsibility,
They suffer no conscience
Feel no remorse
And present superficial versions of themselves
To the world,
To the good people
Who take on their traits
Day by day
Year by year
Generation by generation
Because .. you know ..
Market forces and ..
Hunger .. for .. something..
Progress something !...
..it's the right way!
So what would you like to change?
Is this really your pimple?
When I am in my old age
I would like to be simple
I'll have my special armchair
That will be the envy of all people,
And I'd like to hope that something will be done
About climate change
But for that Israel needs to cease to exist
As well as all the other countries,
Old and new,
And national symbolism must get relegated
To the domain of underwear, swimming trunks and bathing towels,
Where washing machines will eventually bleach it into oblivion,
And the world must become truly global,
Entering the space age
United under redefined humanity!
When I am in my old age,
I still expect to see insanity on a global scale,
People fishing in empty oceans
Sailing their way to French Polynesia
on raging 20 metre waves
only to find French Polynesia
somehow not there anymore..
I hope not to be a bore in my old age,
I hope nostalgia won't be classed as a
Disease
And heavily medicalized.
I hope suicide will be legal like bread
I hope my head won't have the texture
Of a woman's inner thigh,
I hope my neck won't look like an accordion,
I hope I won't be making involuntary noises
Every time I lie down,
And I hope to lie down between women's inner thighs
From to  time,
Yeah, I really hope this can be arranged
When I am in my old age
Even if I smell of old people
I hope the smell of old people will be ****
I guarantee it will get very messy
If they won't let me
Take my pension money out
all at once,
I intend to own the stage
Until my very last breath
When I am in my old age
I hope impending death won't make
Religious, or spiritual,
Whichever's worse..
When I am in my old age
I fully expect hats to be in vogue again
And smoking in airports
And free range drugs
When I am in my old age
Maturity will triumph
Over the teenage bugs
With naked ankles and baseball caps,
And the myth of youth will rightfully collapse,
And I will order and convincing martini,
Drive a convincing car,
Snap a convicting finger at the waiter
To the rhythm of swing played at the bar
Somewhere close to the equator
On some not-too-distant star
I will be my own dictator,
I'll be my own tsar
And all will be jolly!
Apart from all this
I really have no worries.
So let me get drunk and let the world laugh
For there is a remedy for everything
But death
(and burning cathedrals)
And as long as we are laughing
We do not weep
About the roses that we picked
That even the sweetest showers
Won't make grow again.
future senile
Jeff Lewis Sep 2019
He wondered—
the mode of perdition’s redress.

No need of brimstone;
sufficient are memories;
clear,
insistent,
convicting.
Cedric McClester Oct 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Aw, he’s just being him!
He’s a creature of whim
But the diagnosis is grim
So he’ll either sink or swim
In a swamp of his own making
With the laws that he’s breaking
Don’t ask me what’s shaking
Just because I’m muckraking

Aw, he’s just being him!
If he’s chasing some trim
Exchanging letters with  Kim
Or, avoiding a gym
But he must be insane
Holding back from Ukraine
To cause an opponent pain
In a political vain

Aw, he’s just being him!
And this is just the prelim
Though impeachment is no  pseudonym
For convicting him
But it’s a show and prove
When you want to remove
Xcretement from your shoe
It’s what we have to do

Aw, he’s just being him!
So the fault must be with them
Cause they’re worse than phlegm
So we must condemn
What they do or say
In a negative way
Then pretend it’s okay
Both night and day







                Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Speed racer, coke chaser, sting ya with da, vivid laser,
Shock ya visor, spiritual adviser, learned game wiser,
Three kings, searching for the north, star, looking afar,
I par, from evil ways, these days, most folks in th grey's,
Black and white, mentality cant see pass the fakery,
Enemies, front street, guns and blood,for satan's keep,
Demons fleet, amongst the humans, how can God love us,
When I see so much ****** amongst us, hunger,
For graves, lives cant be saved, see ya thoughts,grazed,
Feel these sting rays, Gillespie blows, link w Satchmo,
Yo, you know the spots bout to blow, carnage hickory,
Savagery, played across the scenery, long forged victory,
My mind was brought, by paying, attention, to ambition,
Let off ammunition, at the invisible, commission, convicting,
All my past sins, along with fake friends, looking for bends,
In the game, fifteen seconds a fame, just to loose, my name,
Nah, I rather toast the flame, yo you know the name, shame,
Love to lay with guilt, pleasure, and pain, all the same game,
For many years, struggled tattoo tears, bleed our fear,
Picture the face, with no face, beat any case, lace up the place,
With the styles, of  Chase Manhattan, see the flows batting,
Above average, better yet, a thousand, island wildin,
Out every time, I lay out, excellence mic performance, golden,
Glaring, like a touch of honey, dripping of the comb,
Girls staring me, down, wave blue magic crown, sounds,
Sweet soulful, vinyl touch seventy, beautiful skins, heavenly,
Lifetime of crimes, but I still, love amongst the blinds,
Many signs, of angels, garlic shots for vampire spots,
Watch em fly away, duck when the words say, prey day,
Who stop.the predator, news editor, rumbling thunder,
Critics under, pressure guns lay the measure, stretcher,
Very skill, against my will, I ain't scared to die, from a ****,
War trained veteran, combat like david, not a Letterman,
Comprehend, a fews words, chipped in, luxury mind clippin,
Sippin, off the henny, rub a bottle, out pops, a genie,
In a bikini, looking ****, she tried to get next to me, see,
She just another succubus, waiting for me bust, dust,
Me at the fiery , crossroads I rather stay, with the spiritual glow,


Looking at the tears, after the laughter, see the disaster,
Laid amongst, the citizens, where am I again, living in sins,
Perdition, just the ending of the beginning, sending,
All my fakes, that wish me hell, see ya soul dwell, sing shells,
Shotguns looking lovely, ****, when she laying next to me,
Bringing prophecy, in the form of tragedy, ya majesty,
Take a blast at me, skip the gates, of the heavenly, beverly,
Been on the hills, watch the thrills, how many love, blood spills,
No chills, see them feeling rusty, to many folks dusty, musty,
Cuz they cant clean they thoughts, I stay casket sharp, harp,
The strings of Robert Johnson, gangsta blues, dejavu,
Beat down crews, give em a taste, of what texas, ****** do,
Yo miss the hearse, funeral my casket, caped these *******,
Thinking they mastered, I caster, the seeds, fill the needs,
Of the dying breeds, pride I swallow, I'll go out, like Apollo Creed,
Rocky Balboa, stamina swole, feel depths, of a soul glow,
Went to rich, from poor, mentality up my locality, in divinity,
No fake in me, I been real, since the birth of the hip hop,
Walked out my cradle, with the shanks, and a toasted bagel,
Excuse me, I'm talking about my guns, clips for ecstasy,
Love my girls ebony, thick fit, thighs looking Pepsi, crispy,
Once I I knock the flavors, forget all the, wannabe jocks,
I keep it lock, like a Senate, hard to survive, satan's pendant,
See me in it, to win it, flip my biscuit, music, for ya mellow soul,
Stroll with me, as we vibes, to old school, hallow destiny,
Saw jesus, before he hit thirty three, he advised me, to see,
The world, hate it much, but love the soul, daring touch, clutch,
Only what'sreal, shoot through cupid's heart, with these darts,
Tomorrows never promise, follow the wisdom, of Thomas,
Gospel, gangsta disciples, holding bibles, with rifles, rivals,
Cant match up, I'm draped up, king tut, with the snake, bezel,
Word to devils, that try to get on my level, no nah, check the maw,
Never spit, what I never saw, combat stats, sticking like tats,
And that's, where I draw the line, brace, melanin for sunshine,
One line, I take a snort, miss the courts, back at up the beach,
Near the miami airport, distort those who thought, they had the fort..
Word up
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
Poetry…
  arresting the mundane
  acquitting the spirit

Convicting
   all redundancy
    —freeing the truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
jeffrey conyers Feb 2019
Comments come quickly when you're famous.
Instantly guilt before you convicted by whom?
Us, the judge and the jury.

We weren't there.
Except, we act we were.
Ask yourself?
Do we truly know what went down?

R. Kelly, instant guilt.
According to a few and most be right.
It's his track record in certain cases.
Except, some cases must be questioned.
Women, in his mansion?
Are they kept with locks and chains?
Or groupies latched onto him.

If this the case?
All prostitutes need to convicting their pimps.
They were manipulated too.

With Bill Cosby, to some, it's up in the air.
Although he was found guilty by jurors.
But some facts must be questioned.

But certain ladies in society decide to avoid the truth.
Did he make you?
Or like many using drugs as an excuse?

Doesn't matter?
We the judge and the jury?
We just don't have the robe on.

Strangest thing, if it was us?
We are on the defense too.
Just trying to prove the masses that they are wrong.
SøułSurvivør Aug 2020
In colored glass the prisons
In windows on the wall
Saints look uo to heaven
Jesus looks so tall
Piercing eyes look into hearts
Convicting, calling... all.
Weeping through the window
Shifting up the wall
The sun approaches painted hills
Sun setting leaves a pall.

All the congregation
Modern in the light
They follow "the Savior"
Thinking they're "upright"

Position, proposition,
Privilege in their pores
Matriarchs & patriarchs
Always wanting more.

The Saviour dies a pauper
Assigned to pour red gusts
Put in a rich man's private tomb
To turn to maroon dust

Now, O, hail the Pastor!
His preaching & his price!
He gathers up the windblown tithes
To practice every vice....
He's the one they come to
To give His Glorious advice?

The Mesusa in Their membranes
Giving Themselves airs
They turn us all to colored glass
Snakes writhe in Their hair
But batten down the Bible
WE AREN'T THAT UNAWARE.

The Saints look up so pious
Jesus scans the pews
He sees ALL the "Pastors"
He sees me & you
He's looks down so sadly

As the light weeps through.

SoulSurvivor
Graff1980 Dec 2020
I write as well,
tell myself
I’m not made
to perform on stage.

The blank page
is the place
where my grace
is the greatest.

I display this
humanness
by touching depths
I haven’t even
swam in yet.

I drown in
the sound of men
woman and children
moaning,
begging
for a living,
when no help is given
by those in power
who have been
taking without returning
a single cent
of human decency.

I can write clearly,
because I have time
to edit each line,
the same ones
which I hide behind
and pretend that I
am helping
when I am just
doing enough
to not be
the enemy,
less of an ally
and more of a lubricant
that helps
my own guilt
slide off
the walls I built.

I have tried
to understand
how those
who were denied
a helping hand felt
and mirror it
in my poetics.

But I am pathetic,
self-indulgent
pain appropriating
social movement
inactive student.

Taking out loans
I never plan
to payback,
other than
in writing
human events.

Some say,
I am a good man,
but I feel unworthy,
uncomfortable
because even though
they heard me
I don’t think
they were listening.

Life is a prison,
and I am self-convicting,
admitting that in my laziness,
I might as well be complicit.
I write so later on I can ignore it.

Work hard to explore,
then exploit what I didn’t earn,
take all that I have learned
and try to make a better world,

but no matter what I do
I feel like a poser.
Even when I am trying to help you,
I feel like a cheap magician trick exposer.

Though, I am trying to foster,
a compassion movement,
I am just an empathetic
poem writing imposter.

— The End —