"pharisee" poems
She came from a broken family
Which had nothing to eat
As an early age she discovered
She could offer her body for bread
Shame dominated her existence
As day after day she prostituted herself
Being good in her profession
She earned a reputation
One day she saw a Stranger
And she could not help but wonder
The Man had a way with people
And spoke words like salve to the soul
Several days had past
Yet He was all she could think about
She knew the Man had awakened something
Could it be Love?
When she heard that the Teacher was invited to a Pharisee’s house
She decided she would go just to see the Teacher
In her clothing she tucked an alabaster box
Then went quickly to the Pharisee’s house
There she witnessed how the Pharisee showed no respect
The Teacher received nothing upon entering the house
Neither handshake nor kiss, nor basin of water to clean the feet
Not even an oil to refresh His head
His humiliation so reminiscent of her own
The ********** could not help but throw herself to Him
There she began to kiss His feet
Washed it with her tears and wiped it with her hair
Soon the woman reached into her garment
From it revealed the alabaster box
From this box she pulled a flask of expensive perfume
And poured the fragrant oil on the feet of Jesus
Her perfume, her primary form of advertisement and shame, was now gone
Compelled by the Love she had never known until the present moment
She gave up the primary means of her occupation
The aroma once meant to allure now become an aroma of worship
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC
Call me arrogant
and before you pull out
the bible verse on humility
let me save you the trouble
I've read it
so call me a Pharisee
but I've paid my dues
and the damage is done
but arrogance
I'd love to call it my friend
but it's a lie if it's anything
other than my mistress
There's no name for the trials
the errors and successes
no name for how I feel
when they surround me
consume me
and my whole life
becomes the comparing
and contrasting
of two human hues
of win and lose
because when I win
I see it in bold colors
shining brighter than the losses
if only to dim their light
if only to wipe the record
because arrogance only works
if there's no one to notice the flaws
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
Alright Jezebel is that not who you are? How much of your soul are you going to sell? With your chest pushed high and your **** in the air. With the smile you bare and the wink you blink. The fruit for the trick to get their fix behind blind eyes. Your secrets hidden away through your faults beauty and enticement. A walk that attracts nothing but the **** You put your self on the proverbial block. Though on the outside you converted and claim outwardly to the king of kings God and Christ. Though believe like a Pharisee. A marionette innocents for all to see.
Yet even a Pharisee doesn't hold the many lies you've told. For even they are the best known hypocrites that Christ warned and spoke against. Telling everyone your married, or so you say with a bold face. Yet you go out at night to collect your lies by spreading your thighs for material and lust. Helping to destroy families to commit adultery with theirs and your own. You lost your Grace and the Holy Spirit depart. Now you gain worldly excitement and shame. Living your life amongst the dogs. In a fad life style fed to you. Taking it as wholesome, knowing better. So it is to be said your like a lost little Lam on your way to self destruction. Without a care of the afflictions. You allow yourself to be used like a Devils tool, yet tell yourself your not a toy.. May it go to show you are becoming Lucifer's proprietary embodiment. Only to think you have the upper hand.
Shown by your eyes that is a window to the soul exposing wickedness!
Though on the deep inside is there not yet another cloak?? Do you not cry at night with heavy sorrow when you look in the mirror for the truth to be whole and despise the girl you have yet let blossom to become the ultimate woman that is there. Pretending to be some one your not. So you are a lantern in need of a new candle wanting to be rekindled. How cold you must be to have so many layers. But that's what you get when you become a player. A sweet and sour flavor. You say "Don't Hate!" Though to walk up right on the path of truth would attract in your self a better person. Why not accept your self for the real you. The one mistakenly hidden so deep inside. Is that not who you are? Instead you bed with the heartless desires you give your self too to become a trophy. The mold you have created of yourself only mocks at the real you. The inner you fading and becoming transparent. Now with out a care you have become fake, vile and foul. Yes he who has no sin cast the first stone. So it should not be thrown. Heavenly Father I pray for her!!!
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:17 PM UTC
At the end of the road to Damascus
There paved a street called Straight
Where lay the home of Judas
A blinded Pharisee did await
For hands layed on by Aranias
Saul now Paul the converted Pharisee
Again could walk the street of Straight
No longer blinded he now could see
Returning back to Jerusalem
Persecuted by King Agrippa
And perform the acts of apostles
I still seek to take my first step
On my own road to Damascus
To walk the street called Straight
Find my way out of this blackness
r 7Oct2013
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
I tried God,
I tried to be your little boy,
Your altar boy, the tin soldier for you,
Because it was easier when life was a toy.
I have genuflected just to be patted on the head.
I do not cuss, drink, smoke, or gamble,
Aren't you proud of me God? Aren't I good?
It was not easy, becoming a nice guy.
I had to trade in words like passion and faith
For words like duty, responsibility, obligation.
Because I do not love you or your children,
No, I am obligated to them, held accountable.
God my heart feels captive and not captivating,
It feels as though it has sold out and not been purchased
With blood by your Son, the first living Man,
My destiny is one of a Pharisee and not a Savior.
But God make me wild
Because this penance has left the man in me chained
And lets the good little boy, the nice guy, wander.
But set me lose upon this world,
And I will roar as the Lion of Judah!
Let my love run rampant like a wildfire,
Let passion rush from me like a waterfall,
Because nice guys are scented candles,
And good little boys are bubbling brooks,
But your Son was a hurricane
Walk through fire with me, into the Lion's Den,
Silence the voices of kings before me,
Lead me to preach to pirates and live with lepers,
Because the heart of adventure lies in your heart,
And the battle of a lifetime is your lifetime,
And my beauty to rescue is your Bride.
Let me seek your heart and once sheltered there
I'll discover that mine was made after it.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
Trying to figure out why a ***** tried to stunt on me.
While my homie fronts on me.
Triggered lie’s blasting out like bullets into your chest, golly!
Vigor dying whilst family crying that left me locked up now in a little celly.
Why did I pour out my heart to that ***** named shelly?
**** got me melancholy, casting out poxy curses.
My proxy is dropping down which got me feeling worthless.
Growing up in projects where one survives by snatching purses and killing snitches.
While society bides their time by tying nooses.
Rigged games yet we are told to give no excuses.
So, a minority got no choice but to role with the punches.
But with darker skin colour most don’t or won’t notice the bruises.
Vile nobility just loves hunting gooses.
Stark contrast idly confides and resides Inside institutionalized nuances.
Some people can be such nuisances.
Got me feeling like tony roaming through the different cosmoses.
Lonely sinking feeling, with my hope which was once flickering but is now slowly fleeting.
Reciprocal tensions pokes through my barriers like an unwelcomed greeting.
Typical tropes of under-achieving maybe it’s time I let God start intervening?
However, I’m doubtful on whether spirituality is real or nothing more than Kris Kringle.
Jingling jester choirs who always be harping on my people.
Which makes me ponder whether or not God’s supposed love is fickle.
Or if supposed believer’s have actually ever read the bible?
Religious pharisee’s not seeing the irony of praying to their falsified idols.
With their heads so far up their own *** That they don’t even realize that they’ve actually been worshipping the devil.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
"Why, you know's a spoken spell, a prayer for reason",
The magician said,
"I wanna think God's thoughts", and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
"After him". I stood the queue, knowing why, I kept silent.
Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was such a heretic. Ask any Pharisee.
Evaluation and appraisal, worship and praise,
who told you to do that? A shepherd kid?
A lonely boy under the stars in a peaceful valley,
beside still waters. Like Bob Dylan at twelve. Singin' along.
Worthy, so worthy, sang the boy, never knowing the role of
y after worth in setting the appraising price or prize
What's it worth to know death has no sting? A song?
Then sing, soft, don't wake the dead.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
trust in the shape of a key,
good god how corny is that?
satisfactorily nonsensical, a Pharisee phrase,
so offal illogical,
it borders on the poetically reprehensible
who has time to state this stuff,
pretend it is worthy of something respectful,
work it into a Nobel Prize awarded script,
nominated for "really bad ****
an ordinary hardware key, brass gleamy,
and the squealing grinding noise
heard while a blank progenitor is reimagined,
so so annoyingly ludicrous in this century
of plastic replicators but the noise,
comfortably familiar as a sound of
things being made
run thumb test over the cuts,
as if your thumb should know
what order the points and bevels,
the toothy gap spaces should be,
the correct disorderly order of the teeth
there are very few locks on a farm;
indeed the front door key
has not
been seen
in many a year
what's that you ask?
ok ok - I get it - in harvest time
it is early to bed and earlier to rise,
conclude this mystery key,
red winter wheat needs laying down,
stop your word seeds germinating
there may be few locks on a farm,
everything rusts so quickly anyway,
but stop to comprehend just how many locks
the human body employs -
at least 613,
maybe many more,
and only one master
for them all
a shiny gleamy thing,
strangely,
its cuts and grooves seem to
spell a word
trust
go figure
1:05am in the city
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:18 AM UTC
Vanity
Me?
Me?
Heightened sense of security
Me?
Me?
Vanity
Felt through everything
We’re the echoes through eternity
Me?
The fibers snap, snap conduct
Feverishly
Sending to benevolent web
Me?
I was there it was a ******* tragedy
You remember
That day?
Vanity
Me?
We’re more important than anything
This is the turn of the century
What we do
Echoes through eternity
Me?
Heightened sense of security
Big bro
He knows everything
Me?
We know everything
Anything we find
Quite conveniently
BLIND
Me?
A sarcophagus of time
This happened before in some other land
Before we knew of this
Time
BLIND
Me?
Vanity
Me?
Me?
Heighten sense of security
The fibers they snip snap tap
Feverishly
Conductivity
But we still don’t know ANYTHING
Me?
Vanity?
I was there it was a ******* tragedy!
Why’d they take the towers away
Did it really happen that day?
To
Me?
***** Monster
Narcissist Pharisee
Conscripted pet
Atrocity
I was there it was a ******* tragedy
Why’d they take the towers away?
Must have been vanity…
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
A Great White Throne awaits [1], your Judgment draweth nigh
There you'll be condemned, you will weep and wail and cry
-
You'll be cast alive, into the Lake of Fire [2]
Forever there you'll burn, with every **** and ***** and liar
-
The pimps and ****** and liars, will be floating at the top
Deep down underneath, the Pharisees will drop
-
Who is a Pharisee? Go to Church and see
To the King **** that is in Rome [3], they are a devotee
-
Do you think you're any better than a **** or ***** or liar? [4]
Because you go to church, and you sing in a good choir?
-
You're religious **** And so is your church too
Goody goody "christians" [5], not the Chosen Few
[1] Rev 20:11
[2] Rev 20:15
[3] Rev 17:5
[4] Mat 10:15
[5] Mat 7:21
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
We all do try and write for a reason
and each have different things to say
at some particular time or season
we've got to express our thoughts that way.
It doesn't really matter who you are
or in what part of the world living
even if you're unknown or reside far
they're likely your words to be reading.
The 'net has brought distant people to us
who now can read what we have to say
in sharing our inner thoughts between us
together spending some time each day.
At times we do touch on the same subject
which isn't surprising there to see
for then we look forward to the prospect
of helping each other better be.
Many poems posted are badly written
so are, it seems, a few of my own
and takes lots of courage if you're smitten
when you're told or by another shown.
The world has so many problems of late
that some people out there try to fix
because a lot of them are based on hate
where both greed and lust are in the mix.
It would be wrong to ignore this fact now
which is tempered by rising anger
if they don't get what they expect somehow
that reward to offset their languor.
There are also many who suffer from
some kind of mental illness or stress
aggravated by their fear of that bomb
which if ever it's used cause a mess.
Such are the symptoms anyone can notice
when some of the poetry is read
that people have posted with their focus
on the internet by what they've said.
But this isn't mentioned here to scare you
only to highlight what one can see
and would be wrong here to say if untrue;
we'll try to help all those to get free.
There are also some who are harsh critics
and dispute your work to ridicule;
if it's on religion and they're cynics
asking clever dumb questions to fool.
Some of those last mentioned are persistent
and attack your work most of the time;
being doubtful poets laced with words bent
they'll try and accuse you of a crime.
They remind me so much of John X:Ten
or the Pharisee and Sadducee
that were written of long ago back then
finding fault with the One Who was free.
Being amidst them as the Living Truth;
speaking and acting with deep wisdom
He was destined to do since early youth
to help all people find real freedom.
From all of the things holding them captive
whether in body, mind or spirit
with divine knowledge, also to forgive
those who had done wrong and knowing it.
The 'net is a vast database of knowledge
and where poetry is there concerned
those who write, post, and read it all to pledge
never to forsake what has been learned.
__________________
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
Obsession of all possessions
A weakness of mankind
What God once upon a time
Ordered of the Sabbath,
The pharisee's set forth
To have control intertwined
Using God's name
To have control of days to come
Jesus came forth to the scene
To open the regular man's eyes
To the motivation of the truly unclean
Showing them the cost that they
Paid was worse than the sum
He showed them they had been led
Down a path of antagonistic fools
Their motivation just
Selfishness and mean
Jesus is our best economy
Our path for direction
He is our leader for protection
Let us relax on the Sabbath
For it is to worship God
Kneel to our relationship
With His Son
"It is Finished!"
As this piece of poetry is done!
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
A fued between parallel polarities
Inner connections, of unwavering complexity
Veiled by the naked, winds of sincerity
I can change faces swifter than a Pharisee.
Hate, cannot be measured by scopes
The devil himself was failing to cope,
With the loss of his honor and the loss of his hope
God placed his neck into the hang man's rope.
A covenant that he broke, fought hard and he choked
Existence was a hoax, he traded virtue for jokes
And in the sanctum that withers, hides at night and then slithers
The black holes draw hither, when bliss becomes shivers.
I'll place my fate, into the hands of the Seraphim
His breath stops and still I can't carry him
Eyes that bear the sorrow of a paladin,
Repressed thoughts return and they devour him.
It's all another means of control
Man's wickedness, has long since taken its toll
We observe the illusion as our essence grows cold
Loss of passion is the loss of one's soul.
Between being and nothing, I cannot distinguish
Innovative thoughts, rise up and diminish
The pride resolves, until at last we are finished
We cannot reconcile with loss of innocence.
Minds trapped in pathological discourses
Ideology imposed by the ruling forces,
Too blind to seek truth at the heart of the sources
Dissent is drowned out in a fusion of voices.
They say death is the cousin of sleep
Perhaps that's preferable to these lives that we keep
We draw blood for the profits we reap
I see all around me red, white, and blue sheep.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
Thursday, October 11, 2018
6:01 AM
I wanna think god's thoughts, and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
After him. So I joined the queue.
Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was a heretic. Ask any Pharisee.
Evaluation and appraisal, worship and praise,
who told you to do that? A shepherd kid?
A lonely boy under the stars in a peaceful valley,
beside still waters. Like, Bob Dylan at twelve. Singin' along.
Worthy, so worthy, sang the boy, never knowing the role of
y after worth in setting the appraising price or prize.
What's it worth to know death has no sting? A song?
Then sing, soft, don't wake the dead.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC
The greatest act of love
Known to mankind;
He was madeth a mockery,
Put thorns on his head
His Beard's hair ripped from his flesh;
He was scourged
Spit upon
Laughed at;
Made to carry his own cross
Nails driven through hand's
Spike's driven through feet.
As hanging on that cross,
Cried out,
Father, forgiveth them; for they NOT knoweth what they do...................
As tis he couldst hath run
From the guard's whom hath cometh for his arrest
To be put to death;
Yet,
He understood, he must die!!!!
For the sin's of thy world.........
As god's son, in human flesh, suffering up on that cross
Suffering in agony, and fear;
Cryeth out ( forgiveth them father), because the soldier's hadst no idea whom he was, neither didst the Pharisee's.......
Yet they learned whom he was
When his soul left the ninth hour;
Ànd the temple's curtain ripped in twain
The earth shooketh,
And the blood moon behind Christ's cross;
With the sky blackened....
As on that day;
The greatest act to mankind
Was done!!!!!!!
Shed by
Innocent blood....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
Must we ask an unpayable fee?
Saying “wait” just to later decline?
It now seems that the land of the free
Is a home that the brave cannot find.
How vexatious that they storm these walls
Pleading reason and asking charity.
Oh, how dare they try escaping home
To a land we brand OPPORTUNITY.
I fear the longing of millions of souls
All brimming with fury and cause
Is more pond’rous than the marching soles
Of the soldiers defending our flaws.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
your god lies dead and buried
in an unmarked grave. a radical—
a terrorist charged with treason.
for defying the Roman Throne,
they shoved a crown wove from thorns
onto his brow and called him "traitor."
but two thousand years later,
if the homeless rabbi
walked the Earth,
he'd be in the streets
with the anarchists,
fighting to end the wars
that plant kids' corpses
like seeds in the ground
that only yield new bombs.
he'd call your president
a ******* fascist.
he'd denounce Israel for bombing
his homeland and try to cease
the genocide in Palestine.
your savior would stand
shoulder-to-shoulder
with water protectors
in North Dakota, shouting, "mni wiconi!"
in the faces of cops guised in riot gear.
can't you see, pharisee? or is the log
in your eye blurring your vision?
snakes like you, who stand on street corners
preaching the "Good News," were the very same
self-righteous fools he detested.
you can't white-wash the legacy of the Nazarene.
you stand on the wrong side of history.
if Jesus walked this earth right now,
your hands would hold him down
while the State drove nails through his palms.
i only wish the fantasy was true,
that i could see your face as he said,
"away from me, evildoer.
truly, i never knew you!"
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
No matter how vile a man might be,
Even viler than ****** and more terrible
Than the devil; he will nonetheless
Have cheerers--his own people.
Witches and wizards loathe light--
Day is never their buddy but night,
Like ritualists and robbers and strumpets
Who prefer to blow the trumpets
Of their acts mainly in the darkness.
And however "good" you are, as Jesus
Christ of Nazareth, many shall be
Your foes in the Sadducee and Pharisee
Of the world. Though truth be killed; yet,
It shall undoubtedly again resurrect.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
hit the fields runnin' check back
brother sister
let me teach ya'll how to act
don't wind up shunned by the Pharisee crowd,
wave ****** flag cool colors loud
don't hold baited 'n hooked
people push 'n shove
take another look see **** ya'll do
to me us anyone
bicker clash
dustups like jabs at punchin' bags,
knock testament down inside gut
play rough balance tough ***** dumps
can't have place on run not planned or deliberate
desecration's child
dislodged drabbletailed 'n wild
daemon/cacodemon sittin' on shoulder
presses down like cinder blocks
reels 'n rocks
steps in avenue make or break
waves goin' steady backed down 'till now
up in face utter stainin'
shakedown beat down
daggers fly around
big shot judge 'n jury rapid fire sea fury
shook up soda pop foaming soft
cap off
slides down fast
slow to swallow won't last
sweet things arise 'n pass
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping ******* plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly ***** plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
Even though I have failed you much in my life.
Even though at times, I been faithless to you.
Even though I fail, to obey your Holy word.
Even though I continue to struggle with sin.
Even though , life hurts every single day.
Even though, I at times looked like a hypocrite.
Even though I act like a pharisee at times.
Still your Love covers and wash me clean.
Still your Holy word works on and within me.
With the aid of your Holy Spirit cleansing me.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
In that the wandering was aimless
pain though quite painful was
painless in comparison to what had gone
before me
and after came more pain but by then
I was used to the injury that history
had bestowed upon me,
gifted though none too bright,
taught how and what to write
by the Pharisee,
was God ever good to me?
A desert came
more pain
visions in the freezing night,
and in all the wandering, the
******* and squandering of my
youthful days,
finally to fitfully gaze upon the
one
and the stars shone on
and the light appeared
what we fear the most
is not fear
but the fear of fearing
who fears the tearing of their skin
when the pustules burst
is that not relief you feel?
the postulant turn to a burning cross
with a fire in her eyes that cry for the loss
of a saviour she knows from the book.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 5:45 PM UTC
A child sang of timeless stories
About a King and his bride in pain
His love for her stretched across the seas
Yet her wild heart led her astray
Time again she faced her end
Crying out to her beloved
When all was lost and nothing left
He returned to keep his promise
Beautiful satin gowns for his beautiful faithful Bride
A filling feast where all would feast from far and wide
A home to keep her safe, with no fear of wicked thieves
Who storm and raid and overcame her in her darkest dreams
I await the promise of my king whom no words can describe
My king will rescue me in stride
Just as the serpents head was cut, so will it be for Rome
And finally we will win back our home
Here I stand, face to face
With my mighty King
The one for whom I have lived
This man he claims to be
He tells me that he is he
And my heart is rotten and cannot see
And what I do, I do not for me
But devils in their devilry
Who do you think you are?
That you would free me from slavery
From which I have already been made free
You are not what you claim to be
You are not what you claim to be
The King to lead us in prosperity
When the glory days flowed with wine
And this Kingdom used to be raised high
Mount Zion to shine for all to adore
And our enemies would mock us no more
No more
Our hope is weak, but it still stands
But it will not stand for this blasphemous man
Who do you think you are?
To mock who we know we are
The bride for whom our King would die
To keep his promise to mankind.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
will you, won't you
will you, won't you
will you, won't you xchange
reality, we believe, we take agency
we agree aggressive will to cohere,
be here,
on point, first respondent, codefendant,
mental, pause and reflect, what can matter,
what remains unexplained, mere must be there,
dark materials essential for the data we share,
all knowing humans never in history have known,
just, what,
justice, instantiated, on the cross,
wait, face reality, what one man doubts,
another testifies, was what we all must just
believe, like tov ra means nothing more than
good, and evil
and any child can tell the difference,
as if, in reality as made aware we are, among stars,
incredibly arranged in patterns appearing, to us,
as more than any before us could imagine, and we,
first live Earthian sapient writing species, wrote we
lieve be the faith of the ruling majority among us,
as the good books makes many believe, we do, too,
believe that whatsoever and whosover are general
artfully designated pre posed ever what or who
may once upon this very time feel drawn into
the greatest story ever told, on earth, unbeknownst
to any mind let be in Jesus, the fixer of Judaic flaws,
mostly along exceptionalist matters of archeological
reasonings remains from the prophets sawn asunder,
for reasons all Pharisee degrees deny worth under
standing
as if the actual lines attested
to as literal interpretations,
of genuine wisdom manifestations, sought
by the loser, found
by the browser
in ancient cesspits, pearls shat
and left un re discovered
for someday,
someday,
some
day
but likely not this one, this is sleep, not death,
I shut my eyes and think a thanks, truth prevails.
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 2:11 AM UTC
I think Ptolemy
was fond of me
and I,
a Pharisee
from some distant
geography
travelled willingly
to give gifts to the
ancient Greek.
In Alexandria,
she
beside the fallen arches
where the goddesses held
once a court
it's the forgotten and
the infamous
that let me pass
away.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC