"phony" poems
Oh how I hate
this time of year,
with the stupid songs
and holiday cheer...
Annoying bell ringers
outside the store,
and the tacky wreaths
hanging on the door.
Cardboard calendars
filled with waxy treats,
ice and snow making
death traps of streets.
Frazzled parents
spending more then they should
on entitled kids
who are far from good.
Fake smiles & wishes
in the "spirit" of it all,
the empty shelves-
the crowds at the mall.
The hour long line
to see Santa the phony
who falsely promises
an x-box or a pony.
Having to gather
with family who annoy,
gifting another cheap
Chinese-made toy.
Fire hazards
strung with tinsel and lights,
tensions leading
to fun Christmas fights!
Secret Santas-
holiday parties for work-
ugly sweaters
making you look like a ****
The stress of having
an enormous list
and a tiny budget
just makes me ******
No, nothing seems jolly
or merry or bright...
Oh how I can't wait
till post-Christmas night!
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
ring around the rosey
i heard you were a phony
ashes, ashes,
they were ******* right.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
It is worse for a tulip to live again and be renewed
than for the tulip to die and be dead.
“What happens when you die?”
I asked several romantic partners over the course of my adolescence.
“You’re dead,” they answered.
It is worse for the tulip to be born again,
dust to dust, dirt to dirt, true god from true god,
in a process that spiritual peers define as, reincarnation.
No tulip is an individual (that is clear), but a process.
A perfecting oneness.
I can’t admit or bend to any resounding belief that every tulip is the same.
That FernGully was a farce and Pocahontas, a phony.
That is just not going to fly.
Maybe it is the environmentalist inside me speaking,
or maybe it is God.
I refuse to believe the prodigies and professors of renewal and rejuvenation.
I can not discount individuation, even in tulips!
Tulips are victims of suburbia, they have been relegated to the lawn, to the mulch bed,
but inside of them there are remnants of humanity.
I couldn’t believe it, ever.
Not ever, even if you convinced me or bribed me or seduced me.
No chance.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.
Good, and so you ought.
Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.
Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.
You, yes, you:
Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…
A box of lies...
A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.
The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
THERE'S RUDOLPH, FROSTY, SANTA CLAUS AND GOOD OLD EBENEEZER
THERE'S CAROLS SUNG BY EVERYONE FROM KISS ON THROUGH TO WHEEZER
THERE'S CD'S OUT FROM NAT KING COLE, THE BOSTON POPS HAVE TWO
THERE'S ONE OUT NEIL DIAMOND WHICH IS STRANGE BECAUSE OLD NEIL'S A JEW
THE STORES HAVE TINSEL EVERYWHERE, THEIR TREES TOO,LOOKING NICE
THERE'S WRAPPING PAPER, CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND EVEN PLASTIC ICE
THEY ATTACK YOUR SENSES CONSTANTLY, THEY MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
FOR ALL THIS STUFF IS ON DISPLAY, BEFORE THE KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL
THERE'S A RASTAFARIAN SANTA CLAUS WITH DREADLOCKS KNOWN AS "STONEY"
GENETICALLY ALTERED TURKEY MEAT THAT TASTES JUST LIKE BALONEY
PEOPLE DON'T BUY CHRISTMAS GIFTS THEY SEEM TO JUST GIVE MONEY
SO THEY GO SHOPPING BOXING DAY, AND THIS I FIND QUITE FUNNY
THE CHARITIES ARE ON THE PHONE AND AT YOUR DOOR EACH NIGHT
THEY WORK YOU WITH SOME CHRISTMAS GUILT, AND SAY "IT'S ONLY RIGHT"
TO DONATE TO UNFORTUNATES AND THEIR FOLKS NEED IT MOST"
AS THEY FLASH THEIR SMILES, FAKE I/D'S BEFORE THEIR PHONY BOAST
PEOPLE SHOP AND BUY AND BUY AND THEN THEY ALL RE-GIFT
MOST TIMES YOU'LL GET CHRISTMAS CAKE, THAT'S REALLY HARD TO LIFT
YOU WORK O.T. AND DO YOUR BEST, YOUR CHRISTMAS CASH TO SAVE
AND YOU SMILE WHEN YOU GET YOUR GIFT, AND IT'S THE ONE YOU GAVE
CHRISTMAS IS LESS FESTIVE AND TO ME IT'S GOTTEN RATHER CLINICAL
WITH SCHEDULES MADE AND SALES AND THINGS, IT'S MADE ME RATHER CYNICAL
TO SAY WHAT CHRISTMAS REALLY MEANS, I READ THOMAS ACQUINAS
BUT INSTEAD, I'LL USE A QUOTE FROM SHCULTZ'S PROPHET LINUS
..."AND SUDDENLY THERE WAS WITH THE ANGEL A MULTITUDE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST PRAISING GOD
AND SAYING "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARD MEN.""
AND THAT IS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT....PLAIN AND SIMPLE.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
Seduced by clichés of love,
We signed on for wedding doves,
Being at those wedding receptions,
All clichés of norms' conventions,
Having a cream puff wedding day,
An expensive way of getting laid,
All clichés for the bridal industry,
Trite cant, and hypocrisy,
BUT--the appliances outlived everyone!!
Wedding gifts when once were young,
On film noir weddings I ponder on,
As these golden years I wander from,
All that phony hypocrisy,
Cliches and norms of society,
D.I.V.O.R.C.E.
(Who didn't hate going to the in-laws for tea?)
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
My love for you is complicated.
Sometimes you make me so aggravated,
while other times I'm just fascinated.
You are always so close to me.
They make me wish we could just be free
and from this world, we flee.
It's as if you make me want to want you.
I have no clue
what to do.
Just you are my one and only
Even if you make me feel so lonely.
But is our love just phony?
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
"One lie weakens a thousand truths."
"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."
"Time heals, steals and reveals."
"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."
"Help when you can. Pray when you can't."
"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."
"Instincts over impulse, always."
"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."
"Fear is a light sleeper."
"The devil is always looking for a dance partner."
"You can't change the past, but it can change you."
"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."
"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."
"Every tear has a name."
"Write your failures in pencil; your triumphs in ink."
"Hope is always listening."
"The best companion is your imagination."
"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."
"Scars speak every language."
"Only I think like me."
"We're remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."
"Every underdog wants to be top cat."
"Love never travels alone."
"Hindsight teaches when the test is over."
"Dreams reveal what memories conceal."
"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."
"You can't spell tragedy without rage."
"Intuition is your strongest ally."
"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."
"Never trust an idle thought."
"A wounded animal always shows its teeth."
"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."
"The past and future are distant cousins."
"We're all buried treasures waiting to be found."
"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."
"Temptation always invites itself to the party."
"Everyone's story has a secret."
"Scents and songs are nostalgic reminders."
"Time is a tattletale."
"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."
"Life is a dir†y fighter."
"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."
"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."
"Tomorrow is a wild card."
"My favorite exercise is sleepwalking."
"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."
"The ego is a phony friend."
"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."
"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."
"My train of thought has no conductor."
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
I’m a woman with some attitude--
not one who will dispense a platitude.
Chicken soup won’t give you soul;
from me, it’ll get you an eye roll.
You try to mask your disapproving looks
with sanctimonious advice from large print books:
“Embrace the moment” “Be grateful” and “Breathe”
“Pray” “See only the good” “Turn the other cheek”
“Accept others’ flaws” “Don’t criticize”--
I have some advice that’s a bit more wise:
“Don’t put up with ******** “Embrace your outrage."
While you were living in the “present,” history turned the page.
God is Dead, you’ve got to take charge;
you’ve been scammed by crooks in suits, who live large.
People aren’t so good; sometimes they’re ****
They’ve pulled the rug out from under where you sit.
Don’t accept others’ flaws; tell them to go to hell.
If you’re really mad, don’t breathe, just yell.
Anger is good, it’s there for a reason.
You’re just a phony, with your people pleasin’.
Get off your **** and take some action--
stick it to the jerks, join the radical faction.
Accommodating ******** just brings on more--
just wait, and you’ll see what’s next in store.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:44 PM UTC
I'm going to marry a writer.
How could I not?
She won't be Holden Caulfield because I'm too much of a phony.
She won't be Gatsby because I'll never be a Daisy.
She won't be the moon because I'll never shine as bright as the sun.
I won't be Caulfield, but she won't be a phony.
I won't be Gatsby, but I'll fall madly in love with her.
I won't be the moon, but she'll shine brighter then the sun.
We'll drink too much coffee, smoke too many cigarettes, stay up to late.
We'll wear sweaters and carve pumpkins and listen to Tigers Jaw.
We'll read books and we'll write poetry and we'll live our lives.
with each other forever.
We will live happily
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
The Donald went down to Georgia
He was lookin' for a state to steal
He was angrily blind 'cause he was way behind
And he was lookin to make ah deal
When he came across this Q man
Sawin' on Twitter and layin' plots
And the Donald jumped upon a hickory stump
And said, "Q let me tell you what"
"I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a Twitter tweeter too
And if you'd care to take my fare, I'll Twitter follow you
Now you lay pretty good tweets, Q, but give the Donald his due
I'll bet a Tower of gold for your soul
'Cause I think your tweets are cool"
The Q said, "My game's phony, and it might be a sin
But I'll take your bet, you won't regret
'Cause my tweets'll ensure you win
Q, fire up your phone and type your Twitter hard
'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Donald deals the cards
And if I win, you get this shiny Tower made of gold
But if you lose, the Donald gets your soul
The Donald opened up his cell and he said, "I'll start this show"
And fire flew from his thumb tips as he tweeted just for show
And he pulled his thoughts across word streams and he made a evil hiss
And a band of MAGAs joined in, and they tweeted somethin' like this
When the Donald finished
Q said, "Well, you're pretty good ol' Don
But sit down in that chair right there
And let me show you how tweet's done"
"Biden's in the Basement", run, boys, run
The Donald's in the Whitehouse having fun
Ivanka's in the West Wing makin' dough
Jared, do your thoughts bite? No, Don, no
The Donald bowed his head because he knew that Q could tweet
And he laid that golden Tower at the ground of Q's feet
Q said, "Donald, just don't concede if you ever wanna win again
I done tweeted you once, you son of a *****
Cuz my tweets will make you win" he played
"Biden's in the Basement", run, boys, run
The Donald's in the Whitehouse having fun
Ivanka's in the West Wing makin' dough
Jared, do your thoughts bite? No, Don, no
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 8:07 PM UTC
sit and listen to the quiet
it's outside the christmas norm
because now, when all is silent
it's the calm before the storm
the kids are upstairs sleeping
you're resting, sitting with a drink
in a few hours ...storms a brewing
it'll push you to the brink
the kids are up and yelling
paper wrapping all around
until the house is empty
no more rest today is found
the kids are outside playing
hockey games out on the drive
you just look around and wonder
if the day you will survive
next, arrive the in-laws
re-gifting what you gave last year
and good old uncle charlie
bee-lining for the beer
bad jokes and boring stories
arguements about the past
snide comments and back handers
how long will this all last
you sneak outside for a quick drink
grab a smoke on the back porch
if it wasn't your house they were in
the whole **** thing you'd torch
phony smiles and airy kisses
and the folks are on their way
the storm is almost over
for another Christmas Day
the kids are in and up in bed
there is silence once again
the calm once more before the storm
tomorrow, your folks come at ten!!!!
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
i cry to feel emotion
to sympathize
to confirm my mortality
to express joy
to release bottled up
hate, sadness, guilt
but the worst is when i cannot cry
i beg the tears to trickle down my face,
only for me to wipe them away
the absence of them
makes me feel like
my sentiments aren’t true
they’re fraud, phony, insincere
if i can’t control or understand my own tears
why should i expect someone
to dry them for me?
because i can’t explain
why they’re present in one instance
and absent in the next
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,
what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler,
and yeah Love gives life,
but she’s also a killer,
stupid Cupid’s got me dreaming lucid,
still I feel salty as a Biblical pillar,
like Lot’s wife in that one verse,
in Genesis 19,
yeah I guess lots is how much love hurts,
get healed then hurt again,
kinda like my life on Tinder,
swipe left swipe left swipe right,
kinda like Duck Duck Goose or Musical Chairs,
not looking for a lifetime just looking for a night,
a temporary solution to a permanent problem,
some foreign aid in the form of a band-aid on my bleeding heart,
can’t fix the problem but sure can relief the symptoms,
at least for the night when we forget this earth and get lost in the stars,
so I’m searching,
swiping on that Tinder app,
hoping to find true love,
or at least something that resembles that,
because my hearts got some holes,
and I’m hoping someone can fill them,
like my souls got some demons,
and I’m hoping someone can **** them,
what’s happened to society,
and how’d we all get so lonely,
especially in the age of social networking,
everything seems superficial even this poem feels phony,
like when I get liked on Tinder,
and I reply with “We matched want to meet up”,
and I pretend I’m fine with no worries,
when really I’m feeling totally beat up,
Jesus,
don’t know if I can come step back from this ledge,
feeling frozen paralyzed like a bad app,
when you can’t scroll so you just refresh,
and get a whole new lists or prospects,
a whole new set of potential matches,
another chance to build something grand,
out of the burned past and all it’s ashes,
and that’s when,
I come back to the present,
now where were we oh yeah,
it was Valentine’s Day and I was on Tinder again…
Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,
what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler…
∆ LaLux ∆
The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
I'm tired of these ****** having down females they don't appreciate,Females who are willing to catch a case just to make sure your living straight Not on no phony **** like ya homie **** The realist one on your team isn't always the one ur smoking with.But the one you can stay focused with.The one who's proved she's a rider through the ins and outs nd not looking for any hand outs. The one holding it down through thedrought. The ones who's gonna help you stack, not just spend your shit.The only one you share your business with Now that's a real ***** and it ain't to many. Money hungry birds disguised as bad ******* they come in plenty, always talking bout "gimme" Most of these good girls turn sour when they give ****** to much power. "These ******* ain't **** I ain't doubting it, that's why you need a woman,who your proud with,settle down, start a family,build a house with. @fvckalexia
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
The wise head becomes a fool sans money,
While the goon with quid around to throw
Assumes a sage - the mayor of phony county.
Why should the prince of letters anyhow
Be in want - lacking in substance great,
Flourishing instead in some wretched state?
Yet the politicians who run down the economy
And men of baser thoughts that make heaven's
Hallowed eyes drop tears by their steamy
**** businesses and those of unholy deals,
Do seem to prosper much in this awkward
World,with those who daily vaunt at the Lord.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:11 AM UTC
Devastation
Exhausted
Phony
Redundant
Evil
Sorrow
Shallow
Inconsequential
Outlandish
Noxious
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
What is your beauty?
Is your beauty a pool of deceit or honesty?
Is your beauty a phony display or sincerity?
Beauty is how you say what you say.
Beauty is how you perceive what you see..
Beauty is how you receive what you hear...
Beauty without virtue is like a rose without scent.
Where is your beauty?
Is your beauty in the mask you wear or deep in your heart?
Is your beauty in the words you say or in your action?
Beauty is in your understanding.
Beauty is in that kind word you speak..
Beauty is in that encouraging smile you give...
Just like the petals of a rose your beauty blooms from within.
True beauty is a source of light
True beauty is a source of life
True beauty is a source of strength
True beauty is a source of hope
The question is ARE YOU A TRUE REFLECTION OF BEAUTY???
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
God made us brown so we'd be hard
to spot upon his fertile soil,
to hide from the birds...which he made as well...
to cower, dodge, to postpone hell.
But slug does not hide, or flinch back.
His coat? Uncompromising BLACK.
He turns defence into attack.
Oh slug – oh glorious slug.
God gave us shells to weigh us down.
Without them, we would HURTLE round,
so common sense suggests. Who'd beat us,
across a distance of ten metres?
But slug, dear slug, you have the grace
to not rub freedom in our face,
to slow your stride to match our pace.
Oh slug – oh glorious slug.
God made us quiet, thoughtful, wait.
He taught us manners, and restraint.
He taught us not to stay out late,
we're model garden citizens.
But slug, he DEAFENS when he speaks!
He goes out seven nights a week!
Beer-swilling, hard-living, party beast.
Oh slug – oh glorious slug.
I'd sell my soul to be like him.
Vacate my shell, and dye my skin.
I'd go twice weekly to the gym,
if doing so would let me in
to doors in town that say 'slugs only.'
But slug accepts no fake, no phony.
I'll love, but I will never be
a slug – oh glorious slug.
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
iPad Love
4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon
and our iPad screens turned down low,
we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each,
each of our own devices, this technique,
it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being.
No need to tell you in sound, out loud,
how you turn my heart upside down,
I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook,
you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and
could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition.
The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" -
no longer will do we venture outside in
pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts,
a legal gesture of neighborly disdain.
Americana, losing another icon, as well as
insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers,
boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent.
Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine,
the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem
that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight.
your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love,
but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and
I don't even have to move!
Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth
of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of
this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision,
you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined.
So baby,
shut it down,
turn me on,
make me warm for real,
glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek,
whisper a phony "ugh,"
cause I know, you will read
this iPad love poem
and cherish us for evermore.
Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!)
will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of
the human touch.
2011
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians
(Caesar non supra grammaticos)
I am licensed to drive.
I am licensed to broke.
I am licensed to be birthed.
I am licensed to marry, divorce and someday I will be
coroner-permission"end" to die.
If I so choose, I can be state approved to cut your hair,
have my own business, weld, own a dog, panhandle, play tennis in Central Park, dance in my own cabaret, even commit suicide legally.
These United States were a refuge for my foreign born parents,
Bless you both for privileging me such,
you gifted me a country where my voice, clear and unashamedly,
unguarded can speak here unafraid, for our
Caesar has no authority over the grammarians.
Tho the IRS gonna come after me, and king phony Barack,
Gonna eavesdrop on my privacy,
As long as I can write my poetry free and clear, untaxed,
won't ever mortgage my soul to any government hack
I will carry my U.S. passport in my left pocket over my heart,
Till they take my freedom to speak away.
Then I will get a gun for free speech is worth dying for...
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
The sunlight passes through
the shadow of my smile
Leaving the singed remains
of the fools that I beguile
Heaven sent praises
I keep locked up in a box
All of my Earthly worth
I keep in the drawer hidden in a sock
I am suspicious of every
hello and have a nice good day
I check out all of the closets
I'm sure you're out to make me pay
Your laugh and smile is rubbing
away at my phony bone
I know you're certainly up to nothing good
I can't wait until you leave me all alone
Your sunshine gets lost in my
shadows to your smile
Your hardly honest words just walked away their last lonely mile
So don't mind if I pull the blinds down
I prefer the shadows here within
This emptiness deep inside
will always be my friend
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Church
A place we call sacred
Though it is far from holy
Plagued by the lying,
Fake, judgmental, deceptive, wannabe,
Overly religious, ignorant, bigot, crazy,
Hypocritical curse upon society known
As Christian
A place said to be filled with love
So sadly love is not the first thing seen
Rather, we feel the ever-watching eye
Looking down because our clothes don’t
Seem as clean, our shoes are not free
From dust, our scars, they bring disgust
But not all who walk these golden
Streets of Christianity bring hate
Some do not raise their head so high
These few who know love
This minority who is actually true
They are the church
Even though these phony haters
Infiltrate the lovers’ ranks
They are not Christian
They are not the church
They’re nothing but arrogant imposters
And close-minded fools
A tree must bear fruit to be a fruit tree
Likewise a Christian must bring forth
Faith and hope and love
They must bear their fruit
Otherwise these Christians
Are not so Christian after all
So remember, the church is this group of
People who love, not the building
Filled who those who destruct
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC