"perpetrated" poems
A reverie to say the least,
a darkness perpetrated by beliefs.
I envision the entrance, a cold whistle screams adventure.
Entering the mouth of the beast, my calloused hands, my fragile tips,
brushing against the ceiling, caressing and corrupting the structure,
disappearing deeper from destruction.
This grimace upon the face, this terror protruding within the gut,
an agony to be replaced,
once escaped, courage will flourish.
Expanding the vessel,
vomiting to emptiness, given room to proceed,
phosphorescent hues exploding through my dreams.
Reaching the cusp, I gather my strength,
placed upon my scalp, a diadem to show defeat,
unworthy, fruitless scavengers, left to retreat.
Broken, a shattered age, misguided and abused, nothing to lose.
Words ring true, guidance for those envious of power,
wake from endless lies,
enter into an abyss, never to return,
abandoned dark tunnel.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
She have never been into things such as growing a garden, they say her potential will have to be reached by a streak of light draping through the window pane.
she builds her greenhouse and collected some seeds, she doesn't sort if she'll grew by season or if it's a monstrous plant— she just want to see a lot of butterflies that she have never seen before.
she remain unimpressed, seeing a hues full of periwinkle and blues, roses and thorns decorated beautifully by her fragile hands, you can see on her plain tone the visible traces of paper cuts and ink blotch.
one day, a boy visited her garden, he grew fond and perpetrated on every flower she had. they sat on an empty, unfurnished room, filled with his paintings and brushes, not seem to notice the one uncleaned palette she used and left forgotten. She watched the boy as he paints, as if he knew every detail of his magic, it reminds her of the days she spent the same way, on how she loves it, tenderly in her heart— she said he was a stray butterfly, everything on him is luminous.
they spent their time there, little did the boy knew that she loves everything he had done on the garden. She wonders how a little misadventures were found in a wild wood.
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 11:00 PM UTC
You say life is but a dream.
Well then when will I wake up?
I'm tired of living in this lie.
This fantasy.
You've diluted these waters I swam in.
You've poisoned my sweet serenity.
How could you ever look me in the eyes and tell me the truth?
You have drowned me in my own existence.
I'm struggling to wake from this nightmare.
I can barely tell right from wrong all while I'm trying to right the wrong you've perpetrated against me.
I'm struggling to resurface.
You constantly hold my head under while I drown away.
And now I've become the deadpool.
So come and take a swim.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
It is often the
most difficult task,
to forgive
Could you agree?
I am not very good
at it, I will admit
When all you want
is to get even
or to make the other(s)
hurt just as badly
as they hurt you...
that fuels the grudge
What is forgiveness?
Is it letting someone
off the hook?
Is forgivness
simply forgetting?
Is it saying the wrong
perpetrated upon us
is now OK?
That it really did not
hurt or offend us after all?
No, it is so much more
Forgiveness is not an act
of the emotions,
for they seem unable
to ever come to reason
and they often betray us
It is an act of the will,
a release not just for the other
but for ourselves
from the prison of
resentment and anger
Do we need to hear
an apology
to forgive?
No
Do we need to make sure
the other or others
receive justice?
No
What we need is to make that choice
To forgive even if we don't feel like it
To wait till we "feel like it" is a lie
It is like holding on to a poison that
only destroys ourselves
and not the ones we intended
for it to torment
Forgiveness doesn't mean
we now have amnesia
about the wrong
inflicted upon us
It just means
all resentment
and bitterness
no longer have us in
a vice-like grip
And if we refuse to forgive one
who is begging us for it
that person is stuck in a ******* too
Sometimes, we find it is us
that is in need of forgiveness
and sometimes it is
that very thing
that we need to
extend to ourselves
so we can enjoy
being in our own skin
I am nobody to instruct another
about how to forgive
I am writing this partly for myself
It is one of the hardest things
for me,
to forgive
But when I am on the receiving end
it feels so beautiful and so freeing
To err is truly human
And to forgive is truly divine
It is not of our human nature
to simply forgive
but is a gift from God above
Even under the worst
of cruel situations
true forgiveness is possible
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
The day on which we became a Republic
Thanks to the guiding light
Of Babasaheb Dr. B.R.Ambedkar
The Architect of the Constitution
And the True Father of the Nation
If it were not for the great leader's efforts
In creating such a precious document
Many of us would have been denied
Our basic rights and freedoms
There would have been no equality
Many of us would have been languishing
In the gloomy confines of Tihar Jail
In fact, many of us
Wouldn't even have had the chance to live!
This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
Today is the day
On which we take the pledge
To follow and protect the Constitution
But do we really follow it?
Is there really equality everywhere?
Is everyone getting their basic rights?
Are we really a free country?
Is our human rights record
Really something to be proud of?
This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
If Dr. Ambedkar were alive today
He would have been speechless
With sheer shock and outrage
At the way in which
Our Constitution is being misused
Whether it be innocents languishing in jail
Or the atrocities inflicted by the trigger-happy police
Or arbitrary bills being passed
To benefit the rich and the powerful
Or people being denied a chance to love
Because they belong to different religions
Or an entire state being trapped and besieged
And cut off from any kind of communication whatsoever
And of course, casteism in a myriad variety of forms
At each and every level, whether overt or subtle
The list goes on and on
With no end in sight
This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or rather, supposed to be
In reality, a very sad day
We are cowards at heart
We wear our patriotism on our sleeves
We scream from the rooftops
India! India! India!
But we never question injustice
The sheer injustice perpetrated on a daily basis
On many of our brethren
Especially the marginalised communities
They are also equally patriotic
But we deny them the chance
To even share the stage with us
Till we, the privileged majority
Acknowledge our complicity
In all the injustice and inequality
And start making amends
In action, not mere words
There is no point in celebrating Republic Day
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 1:39 AM UTC
They called him The Ghost
He seemed to move practically undetected
Except for the destruction in his wake
Which made the people quake with fear
Whenever they thought he might be near
The people close to the victims shed many a tear
The authorities even shuddered and stuttered
When addressing and dealing with the crimes
Perpetrated by the infamous one referred to
Only as The Ghost
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Wind,the agent of change,
you at first was far off and distant,
A constant drone of bees, not much!
they paid no heed to those rumblings,
Your power was counted
insignificant,they kept the curtain drawn,
Down, intact, trying to
keep you out of the house of darkness.they kept.
But the suppressed put
their ears close to the ground, listened,
Aware of your intent, they
patiently waited, watching your unhurried advance.
Giving talkative leaves ample chance
to speak their heart, first, tickling trees, caressing clouds,
You changed the speed,
rustling sound soon became persistent.
Shouting slogans, hand raised,
all the plants and trees expressed their anguish,
Insisted, a change, justice for mother nature,
stoppage of torture of , animals, birds and bees.
Wind, you act as an unswerving friend,
creating awareness , is your intent.
and fight the rot , naked profit motive, relentlessly,
by now every one knows the injustice,
festering fiercely in the core.
You drive the clouds and spin them about,
rain by and by gains strength
It pours now in torrents, all untruth
comes out in the open, face the ire,
the true power of the protests, eye of the storm.
Wind, you boom, give a clarion call to clean,
revenge all the injustices, perpetrated til now.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
Her hand rested slight
Upon the book she'd found
Her bag across her shoulder
She was waiting for the sound
Of the door alarm at the B & N
I mean after all it was
Fifty nine volumes
On how to build a bomb
Found none to soon
On a shelf at the B & N
Abandoned by her lover
After too many fights
That was five years ago
A lot of lonely nights
Casing the B & N
Screaming out loud
At rush hour on the train
Was not an option
Nor was *******
Snorted at the B & N
Finally people milling round
She quietly lifted the solution
To her ravaged heart
All fifty nine on revolution
S
l
i
p
p
e
d
Into her bag at the B & N
Head down and weighted down
She walked to the exit
Waiting for someone
No one to prevent it
Except security at the B & N
At last the perfect patsy
Alarm rang, the man froze
And our spurned lover
To the opportunity arose
Ran out of the B & N
Ran to the parking lot
Her VW bug
Opened the door
Threw in what she'd lugged
59 looted at the B & N
Key from the drink holder
In her shaking hand
er rhrh rhrh vah-room
Such a brazen plan
Perpetrated at the B & N
Her eyes glowed wicked
With rage and revenge
Someone would pay
All would attend
This crime hatched at the B & N
The deed was done
She clung to the wheel
The accelerator floored
The tires squealed
Away, away from the B & N
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
the blade's removed yet its cold steel remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
upon us both the crime's been perpetrated
and though the blade is marked with just his stains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
his essence from my own's been dislocated
my life remains with only his remains
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
my soul's been scraped, upon my thoughts' been grated
his blood powdered, mixed with my tears, i'm stained
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
and as grief's torments whip my heart striated
all joy swirls round and round a filthy drain
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
i frame my memories,they're venerated
as cries repeat in minor key refrains
that Scythe has rent my heart, i'm penetrated
our spirit's gone, our breaths remain abated
(C)2010, Christos Rigakos
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
Brisk footsteps clank on the cold floor,
Likewise it was a cold evening
the hollow air echoed the silence that
fell after each footstep.
This was the walk of a dead man,
And the chilly twilight wind only whispered lies
as the man trekked onward.
He had been gone. Disappeared.
His magic trick had prevailed.
For three years he fooled the people of the world,
For three years he fooled his one and only true friend.
As he walked, his footsteps echoed words
of the game. A game he had not wanted to play.
Unwillingly, he had fallen.
An expression of pain crept its way onto the man's face
as he walked, pace lessened under the weight of the words.
The words, swelling up in his mind.
Twisting, hissing, taunting and haunting him.
Annoying, psychopath, show off, misanthrope, arrogant,
ignorant, ***** abnormal, inhuman,
machine, fake, fraud.
Fraud.
The irony laughed at his side as he mouthed
the word again: F r a u d
Noun. deceit, trickery, sharp practice, or breach of confidence,
perpetrated for profit or to gain some unfair or dishonest advantage.
Indeed he had been tricked, what a wonderful trap.
A trap only he could have over looked.
It was all so well planned out, his final problem.
Final words. Wrapping a lie in a blanket of truth,
it was the only thing that could[had] stopped him-
The most human, human being-
Reality struck him
as his feet came to a halt, the man's gaze drifted upward,
shifting into a familiar glance.
The wind no longer wished to whisper lies,
and the silence that followed him would break
with the final echoes of his footsteps:
Home.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 12:36 AM UTC
We can never forget September 11, 2001
We will forever remember such a date
A date that will live in infamy
A date that has everything in it:
Sadness, fire, death, destruction and bravery
Heroism, sickness and resilience, except happiness
9/11/2001 is a memorable and a daring date
That changed the world. Things are not seen like
The day before. We have a different perspective
About life and everything under the sun
We learn new ways of mourning, sighing
Fighting, of course new ways of being absolutely resilient
No, we will never forget this fateful day where terrorism
Became a new word. Everybody is talking about the death
Of so many brave first responders: firefighters, policemen
And many others who wear proudly their uniforms
We shall never forget 9/11. We will never forget 9/11
The sacrifices made by the brave civilians who had lost their lives
Are priceless. The eternal flame in our heart cannot be extinguished
We know that everyone in NYC and elsewhere will always
Remember how the world got shocked, stunned by these egregious
And deadly actions perpetrated by a bunch of sick cowards
9/11/2001 is a monument engrained in our brain which will live there
For a very long time. The memories of the braves are metastasized
In our psychic, no one can suppress them without killing us cold
"911" is no longer three numbers but a historic symbol like Pearl Harbor
9/11/2001 is now 18 years old. 18 years of tears, fear, pain and suffering
We shall never forget 9/11. We will remember. We can never forget 9/11.
Copyright © 9/11/2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
sitting at the computer
ranting about global tragedy
but only peeking through the slightest slit
barely noticeable curtain rustle
when a physical knock finds the ominous
wooden door
the passive-aggressive activist waits –
the blog whirrs into life…
instilling motivation in others
for the terrors of GMO crops
and the vast wealth of lies
perpetrated by government officials
while quietly munching corn chips
bought on the food stamp card…
the passive-aggressive activist giggles –
buying filtered water
in plastic bottles
and organic produce
from chain grocery stores
taking out personal loans
to give to charity
the passive-aggressive activist
reads John Trudell
only because he just died –
watching CNN because FOX lies
only frequenting local coffee houses
while investing in French sunglasses
mispronouncing the names of countries
unable to be located on maps
while exclaiming the wrongdoings
of his government
after going to college on federal aid programs
promoting the second amendment
with no intention of ever owning a gun
the passive-aggressive activist
waits --
someone will one day send the letter
proclaiming the importance
of the insights
offered –
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
I am afraid that I might hurt you when I carry you
That these hands – tired, calloused, and clumsy
Might not know how to hold a gift as precious as you
Son, I wish I could show you the beauty of the world
Sneak out of the house after dinner, away from your mother
And watch fireflies while listening to the chorus of crickets at night
I wish I could answer all your questions and sate your heart’s wonder
Catch a dew as it rises and trace its path as it falls again as rain
I want you to open your eyes
See a much brighter world; not like mine which is perpetrated by my silly fears
I wish God would give you great hands
One that would be so powerful that it would not be afraid to hold a basketball or a bicycle
But one that is gentle that it would hold mine and not let go as I grow older
How I wish, as you grow older, to give all of these to you
But son, how can I teach you of courage and valor
When inside your father’s chest beats a heart of a fearful dog; cowing in terror
You deserve someone who has a heart of a lion; brave and strong like a true champion
Still, I see you as possible
I need to see your smile to dispel my many terrors
I need to see you get up when you stumble so that I may let go of my failures and always move forward
I need to see you sleep so I may sleep
Need to see you cry so that I too can cry
I want you to like me
To see me
To see me now, in moments like this
Your father stays awake, gazing at your sleeping face
Fumbling as he reaches down to carry you
Being ever so gentle so that you might not wake
I am still afraid that I might hurt you as I carry you
But I need to feel the warmth of your skin
Like my breath needs air to live for
10:18:08.23:30
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
A reverie to say the least,
a darkness perpetrated by beliefs.
Envision the entrance, a cold whistle screams adventure.
Entering the mouth of the beast, calloused hands, my fragile tips,
brushing against the ceiling, caressing and corrupting the structure,
disappearing deeper from destruction.
This grimace upon the face, this terror protruding within the gut,
an agony to be replaced,
once escaped, courage will flourish.
Expand the vessel,
***** to emptiness, given room to proceed,
phosphorescent hues exploding through my dreams.
Reaching the cusp, gather my strength,
place upon my scalp, a diadem to show defeat,
unworthy, fruitless scavengers, left to retreat.
Broken, a shattered age, misguided and abused, nothing to lose.
Words ring true, guidance for those envious of power,
wake from endless lies,
enter into an abyss, never to return,
abandoned dark tunnel.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
Morning comes late
as clouds drape below the sky
and cast disquiet
upon two anxious strangers
aware that they are not near
their designated drivers.
Last night had evolved
into a ***** romp
perpetrated by salsa dances,
smooth tequila,
accidental bumps,
and spontaneous kisses.
Shoulders simultaneously sear
beneath bed linens
as their thoughts
collide with guilt,
parch their throats and
secrete sweat across their palms.
Tabloid images flash
across the screens of their minds.
Last night’s exploit
bears consequences,
echoes of lust.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
Down
the streets that whisper names,
through lace curtains
people play their parlour games
twitching
sneaking looks from behind Gothic scripted leather bound books and overstuffed chairs
where ***** is taken and sherry drunk
and tea biscuits dunked in warm Earl Grey
and another day begins in mill house town.
Locomotives sweating steel feel their way
across the bridge
to Morecambe bay
where there's a different class of folk
used to smoke and steaming coal
to steam the fish within the bowl.
And the bowl is either empty or it is not
never in between,
Like the life we live a lot is never seen
but talked in murmurs on street corners
by former miners
agitators
free creative thinking men who know to use the pen and not the sword but they're starving all the same
all in the name
democracy.
We see it differently
a heresy that's being perpetrated to dislocate and disengage and put poor people in a cage.
In the zoo you'll come to see
democracy through iron bars
Tsars that's what these suited tyrants are
well suited to the task in hand
to strip the land of all its wealth
and let's not forget the National health which is good enough for me and you
they'll feed us anything here in the zoo.
Bupa now that is super for the supermen and ladies too who come to visit on Saturdays at the zoo.
I don't know what to do
should I laugh or cry or demonstrate
or have I left it all too late?
What a God **** awful state we're in
It's one for all or ****** all and then we'll fall
into the straw
strewn ******** across the floor in cage 3b
I see but can't decide
have I died and gone to hell?
well
only time will tell.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
~
does my horror know no ending?
will this holocaustic-cloak-rending
ever cease from trending?
to what sin of a people
could these bitter,
evil deeds
be attributed!
it is times like this
i lose my faith,
my trust,
that deep inside
we are all the same.
never!
and be it far
from me,
this pain,
this darkness
perpetrated.
i am not like you!
oh Israel,
i can only offer you
my love,
my sorrow,
my tears,
my hope
for change
tomorrow!
dear friend,
today,
i am not Charlie,
i am not Danish...
**today
i am
JEW!!**
~
post script.
all inspiration needed found here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1081943/a-bunch-of-folks-in-a-deli/ by Nat Lipstadt
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
Are you feeling scared?
It’s ok, we all let fear
Consume us,
We all shirk darkness
And monsters
And dripping pus,
But don’t forget
That just cuz you
Feel it, doesn’t mean
It’s there,
Tommy taught me that
When he found me
Swimming
In the near freezing
Water at the bottom
Of that pit of despair
I was left
To rot in,
He showed me where
To put the barrel,
To point it out
Instead of in,
To ******* shout
And give the firing
Pin
A reason for existing,
Solving one existential
Crisis
With the explosion of
Another into
Flesh colored
Splinters of glass
And a whisper
Sailing in
Through deaf ears,
Some ********
About grass
Being greener
Wherever one
Can get some ***
Or meaning
Or a sense of being
Wanted,
He told me it’s better
To be a wanton
Observer
Than to actively
Stir the fervor
That rages when
Thoughts of her
Spill onto the pages,
Let it happen he said,
Don’t make it,
It makes you
More often
Than pavement
Meets sky
Or angels fake it,
But whatever,
They do anyway,
It’s all a farce
After all,
Go ask Alex,
He’ll tell you all about
The empty show
For empty souls
Being perpetrated
By empty holes
In the atmosphere
That trick you into
Thinking something
Or someone’s there,
Feeling like someone cares,
But just cuz you feel it
Doesn’t mean its there,
So why even feel
If we’re nothing but
Forces and air?
Electromagnetic
Chaos
Under a bed of messed
Up hair
Is no justification
For the mask
We all must wear.
So choose yours with care,
They’re all transparent.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
The weight of the world
Rested on my shoulders
In six months time
My heart grew ten years older
So here I sit
Prepared to collect
On the madness and pain
In my life you interject
Infiltrating the secret plans
You sought
My words will be that of stumbling blocks
Around which you must maneuver
As I present your personality
True in form
Line by line
Black verse
Red chapter
Do you think people doubt
The truth I speak
Already they have seen you
In violent feathers arrayed
Vengeful pompous and self assured
Overlooked the snake in grass lay
Acts you perpetrated
Then had legally negated
Though the permanent copy
Oh sly one
Will never be deleted
Try as you may with tactic and diversion
Written on your face is obvious **********
Go hide tainted soul
Deep in a hole
Where all monsters of your kind should be
I wait with unlimited patience
Late into the night
In my hands pen and paper
Ever poised to strike
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Dare I dream
a vision when, the world clutches the serenity
with a zealous hand tempered by devotion
embracing all life with open arms and compassion
that suffocates the pestilence of power and greed
Dare I behold
a time when, no one notices the insignia
perpetrated in language and literature of a people
with the intention to separate the tribes even further
than the finite space between the planet’s poles
Dare I believe
a God when, suffering rules the intellect
like a never-ending nightmare twisted by meaning
to abandon and forsake hope with cynical reason
only to confide in the uncertainty of the closed-minded
Dare I dream
an episode when, the world beats one heart
of a spiritual song tempting the conscience
to seek beyond the confounds of everyday life
the connectivity we share from dawn to dusk.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.
Some people are beneath contempt
Puff out their chests, think they’re exempt
But at the bottom of it all, they’re ****
They count on people at large to be dumb
And deaf and blind to their ugly tricks.
People give up thinking they can fix
The atrocities perpetrated on society.
They get physically sick at the impropriety
And villainy these criminals get by with;
Two tongues in each mouth politicians lie with.
Many of my poems are painful
And I know it.
Some things make me disdainful
And I show it.
I’d perhaps take up haiku poems or calligraphy
If there wasn’t so much ignominy around me.
My trusted representatives are lying to me
And are doing so daily with total impunity.
It’s disgusting and even more, its treason.
And most of the time, they have no reason
Other than rampant compulsions and greed.
So, what better excuse would they need
To betray every concept they claim to believe?
Is that why there’s never going to be a reprieve?
Many of my poems are political
And I know it.
Some things make me analytical
And I show it.
It works because we reward tinhorn crooks
And let them alter all our history books
To either pretend they never existed
Or to act like they ever have resisted
Any momentum to remove the rights
Of those who were not born white
Or rich, or straight, or Republican
Then, the next Congress starts again.
I’ll stop being a ***** about all this
When they stop offering their *** for me to kiss.
Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
Colossae
April 28, 2016
Oh Colossae, where have you gone to hide yourself from the Lord?
Colossae, why have you wandered away from the fold of God?
Have you forgotten the words of St. Paul, the man who brought you the news
Colossae, why have you departed from the ways of the Lord?
Oh Colossae, where hast thou gone?
Colossae, have you forgotten the Word which became flesh?
Have you Colossae, a city of unholiness, forgotten of the promise of newness
Oh Colossae, how quickly you have fallen into uncleanliness
From dust you came and to dust you shall return
But must you, oh Colossae, so quickly descend to the dirt of the earth?
Oh Colossae, you cut off limbs afraid of the flesh
As if less flesh could make you more holy
You believe that this gnostic theology saves you from your sins
But only God incarnate in flesh can save
Oh Colossae, forget not the Savior who made you new
Colossae, forget not the Spirit of God, the very giver of life
He descends upon you and makes you holy,
He proceeds from the Father and the Son, and is worshiped and glorified
He is not one to worship alone, or to give identity alone
For that you have been united with Christ, who proceeds from the Father
Colossae, remember not this heresy of mysticism
There is this flood of culture and thought
Oh Colossae, be not drowned by this flood
And forget not the great unity the Body is to be
Forget this heresy to which you have come to love
Oh Colossae, you worship angels and men, yet too God
But you know, oh Colossae that the Lord on High is worth the worship
For these messengers from heaven may bring the Word of the Lord
But certainly, oh Colossae, they are not the Word which became flesh
Oh Colossae, forget these ancient heresies, and raise up the Lord Jesus
Oh Colossae, you partook in the Holy Communion of His Body and Blood
And baptized in the death and resurrection
Anointed with oil like the kings of old
Engrafted into the marriage of the Lord Jesus and His bride
Oh Colossae, you are one Body, abandon it not
Oh Colossae, return to the Lord!
Come back to the land of your spiritual fathers
Where they worshipped the Lord in all goodness
Come back to this land of orthodoxy
Oh Colossae, repent of this heresy against the Lord!
Oh Colossae, how we have followed path you have trod
To forget the redemption by which we are saved
To remember not the works of the Lord, perpetrated that we might freely live
That we have forgotten to live holy lives
Oh Colossae, how we have fallen in line with you and the Church of yesterday
Too have we, this Church of the modern age, departed like you, Colossae
We have succumbed to these heresies of forgetting our Lord Jesus
Oh Colossae, we have fallen, like you, and dirtied ourselves from holiness
We have descended to the depths of the sea like the rest of the world
Too we are drowning in our sorrows and our sins and unholiness
Oh come Lord Jesus
And redeem us, like Colossae, back into Your holiness
Come Lord Jesus
And renew our troubled lives, bring us back into Your holiness
Oh come Lord Jesus
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
Forty days
to get rid
of a habit
People say
Missing you
is that kind of habit
no 40 years
could ever fix
Such a perpetrated habit
many times a day
puts my toothbrush
daily to shame
Forty years?
The kind 'you don't say'
graceful habit!
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
A memory not your own is a lie with legs
A story perpetrated by the soul
For its own amusement
It thrashes like a fish on a line
Seeking to breathe life with every gulp
And as time continues on its incessant journey
This memory finds a home
In the permanence of a weak mind
It becomes your truth
And the lie loses its legs
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC