Today we started over,
And it became easier for me to breathe,
It felt like i found a seven leaved clover,
I feel completely reprieved.

Now i can work at fixing things,
Instead of driving myself insane,
Thinking we'd never be the same,
And now that we are starting again,
I hope i can take back everything i said,
Let's act like i never liked you.

We were always perfect strangers,
And now we want to try and be friends.

Let's believe,
I didn't like you in that way,
I never said I love you,
You were never the one thing always on my mind,
And you have never made me cry,
Or ask myself why,
I've never lost myself in your eyes,
My heart never held a flame for you.

All of that never happened,
Because we were always perfect strangers.

I've never talked to you before,
I don't know you like 'Where every you will go by The Calling,'
I have no clue your favorite animal is a dog,
I don't know if you like purple,
Or if you like paramore.

Because we have never talked before,
We have always been perfect strangers.

And most important of it all,
You have never seen me,
At my worst,
The incident never happened,
We never had that problem.

Because you didn't see me,
And we are still perfect strangers.

Now my dear,
We have started again,
Strike up a conversation,
After all we are perfect strangers,
Who know what we'll find out,
We might fall after all,
But don't just sit there in silence,
Otherwise we might always be perfect strangers,
And i don't know a greater loss,
Then never getting to know an amazing stranger,
Like you....

Rest with me
melt languidly into my arms
persistence reprieved

Allow me
grant this moment to pass
productivity be ******

Trust in me
my passion is passion
ambition denounced

Give yourself to me
I understand your value
progress so ill-conceived

I am a dreamer
I fulfill her destiny
*I am the place time comes to die

The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.

Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -  
between the rocks that form his cage.

His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.

Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
  
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.  

Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,  
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.

Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.  
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep

“Is this victory, or defeat?”

Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.

Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -  
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.  
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.

Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.

“The Demon’s Daughter”

Words of malice reverberate inside me,
Paralyzed by fear manifesting within,
My soul for twenty years,
Of anguish,
Inevitable tears depleting,
All remnants of bliss,
From my life.

My Fingers grip onto the edge,
Of the steep mountain,
That has become my existence,
Leaving me with the decision,
To climb up the cliff to face,
The demon of my past,
Or to let go,
Falling into the unknown.

Memories reveal the demon,
I was born to as his child,
Exposing an unfeasible escape,
When the skeleton hiding,
Within the closet is the man,
I am forced to call my father.

Fear returns to my mind,
Begging for me to stay,
With my fingers clinging,
To the mountain-side,
Where I am allegedly safe.
I refuse to fall back into,
The claws of the demon,
Yet afraid of falling,
Into the black hole of uncertainty,
Letting go of all I have ever known.

Fear is the rope,
Dangling around my neck;
I can release my grip upon the rope,
Or allow it to stifle my breath.
Instead I use the rope to find,
A way inside my soul,
To retrieve the courage,
That could not be unleashed,
Without the nemesis of fear.

Courage told me to fall;
Remaining upon the cliff,
Or returning to the demon,
Shall only result in my destruction.
If I could not fall,
Death was my alternative,
Whether or not this path,
Is the one I wish to choose.
Without the ability to let go,
Of the demon’s grasp on my body,
I shall never be reprieved,
Of his controlling restraints.

I glance up at Daddy standing,
On the mountain top smiling,
As my body lets gravity,
Take its course as I allow,
My eyes to close.
Any fate is better than,
Remaining on the edge,
Or returning to living Hell,
Where the demon,
My father,
Kept my battered spirit,
Deep inside his locked vault.


My eyelids flutter open,
Viewing a mirror directly in front of me,
As I behold the image,
Discovering the hues of yellow,
And purple coloring the upper part,
Of my right cheek bone,
Created by the impact,
Of my father’s wicked hand,
Striking my face.

The memories flash over me,
As I experience blows to the chest,
And back as I’m pinned,
Against the wall,
Confining me to his rage,
Claws thrashing upon,
My fragile body.

I cringe in horror,
Bracing myself for the next blow,
Until the Angel provides me,
With respite as her wings shield me,
From her infuriated husband.  

To my left is a path less traveled,
Leading me to a silver fountain,
Elegantly embellished with the skills,
Of a brilliant Sculptor,
Enticing the artist in me,
A trait in me that Daddy,
Often deems as useless.

The reality is my birth,
Engenders me to be,
Of his blood,
Yet in his eyes,
He witnesses the Pitiful excuse,
For a son,
Nothing but a disgrace to his legacy,
Not a daughter of the demon.

Finally I behold the cloak of clarity,
Adorning myself in the garment,
Realizing I have the right,
To neglect this bloodline,
Drinking of the water,
Sparkling in the fountain behind me.

I make my own choice,
The only one I have to bestow me,
With content I desperately need,
The relief of a shattered mirror,
No longer viewing the illusion,
The demon desired me to be!

A cupped palm delivers holy water,
From the silver fountain,
To my open lips,
Drifting down my throat,
Cleansing my blood of impurities,
From the demon.
My Journey was now my own,
Free of the reigns,
The demon desires to keep upon me,
In attempt to fill his own void.

I may be the daughter of a demon,
Yet this new freedom gives me,
The strength to not allow,
That fact to define me,
Producing my own definition,
My identity and hopes,
For the tiara of thorns,
Heavily draped upon my head.

I can savor
The taste of fear
Riding upon the wind
As turbulently
As your troubled mind
Seeks desperately
To understand the mortality of this moment

The life and death mechanics of reality
The realization
That we are to die
As evident of the staccato pant
Of your futile labour

Frivolous at best
Arouses a sense
Of ******* justice

Hard truths
Brought to bear witness of
Your infidelities
Your betrayal

Lies
Aborning of arsenic
Sputters froth
From your womb

Searing traces of bitterness
Cascades a corrupted truth
Transformed into an ugliness
That has become us

Two hearts that once beat as one
Cast fervently
Into a cold war

Unrelenting hatred
Reciprocated  
Ricochet
Unmitigated threats

Wounds
That cannot be reprieved

How did we get here?
Do you even care-
To ponder the thought?

How
I once loved thee
A dream shattered
By the realization of now

But
The now I can live with
The thought of losing you I cannot
**** this relationship

Endure
I must
For the taste of you
Is the sake of me
My sustenance

I close my eyes
In perusal of happier times
When life was bearable

Abruptly
I'm jolted out of my reverie
By hilt of your scorn
Protruding from my chest

Animately
I touch
As if to confirm its legitimacy
A reason for its being

Overwhelmed by solemn peace
I collapse in passive supplication

And as she turns and walk away
Contemptuous
Of the final utterance
To flee my lips
I forgive you

I ponder
If she ever
Loved me at all

A Fossor's Quarry

The numbers are counted
The section agreed
The time is nigh
No pardon reprieved
Iron and earth
Prepare for war
No match no burden
For toil and chore
The fragrant grass
Screams in silence
No match no mercy
From iron's shear violence
Dust and dirt
Receive their blessing
Squared in make
Honed in dressing
In husk and hue
The sun will rise
In tenderness waiting
For the fallen to lie

Ever so eager to be evil,
Only way to avenge is by revenge.
Committing sins that’s justified
When you amend
Like when men pray then “Amen”.
Convinced by the belief that you’re reprieved
When you repent.
You stick with it
Even though you know it makes no sense.
The only way to hit where it hurts is by malevolence,
Benevolence hardly hurts when it hits
So it’s irrelevant.
Why **** ‘em with kindness,
When you can **** ‘em with violence,
**** acts of kindness,
And act with vileness,
That’s about as mean and wild as vile gets.
Meanwhile, foul gets the best of you,
But what will get the rest of you?
Believing that god is still blessing you,
When karma starts addressing you,
God is really testing you,
Hopefully you catch it
Before you’re taken to hell’s vestibule.

Done…

Done, is the drink in his hand.

Done, dim are the lights,

last call.



As faces fade,

and the door opens,

lonely is the man,

that fails.



A shift in seat,

eyes wandering,

left to right.

While all the while,

he wrote;

he writes.



October air,

carries,

the man home,

to the streets.

Yuppie < Beatnik,

in public,

he speaks.



Parked,

in a bench,

his bed.

Words written, they

position his neck,

he rests his head.



Morning, glory!

Next day, reprieved!

and,

joints rustle,

as leaves are blown by the wind.

Away goes the old,

death is easily carried,

away.



This life,

his life,

carried away.

Not knowing,

that,

destruction is beautiful.

It only takes one’s self,

to realize.



To realize,

a beauty that:

Is not at the end of a bottle.

Is not an ashtray full of butts, or

of what ifs.

It’s not lights out.



It’s the glimmer in someone’s eye.

The morning dew,

that reveals,

the previous night.

It’s the ink, bleeding.

The newspaper that crumbles.

The makeshift home,

that conceals,

a lost soul.

While the birds begin to sing their songs
The sun climbs silently into the sky
Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day
The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes

He gets ready for work and puts on a tie
Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding
He sees during the day but its only a lie
Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting

As the sun creeps quietly down to the West
The dreamer lays his head down to rest
Escaping his reality to something more real
He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal

Light sets the scene as it infallibly does,
The dreamer alone but feeling no fright
Rosewood, as usual, the door appears
Gold handle glowing bright in the light

Behind the door is an unknown world
A world without convention and without ties
The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle
Indefinitely pondering a world without lies

While the birds begin to sing their song
The dreamer reopens his eyes
He could only think of the rosewood door
And how he did not want to wear a tie.

Produced the reduced use of deuced youth as well fall flat on back relapse of a matter oh’ fact there is no reason to bring back the lack of acts that have collapsed as endorse isn’t the course we force the indorsed remorse’s horse it how it sounds from the round about turned down, wrapped around the mound of wound bounds traced as we wish to erase the missed ace am disgraced to waste the space from haste it is misplaced finding grace abducted, while we are interrupted so disruptive all corrupted instructed that we be introduced to a new place to set loose then choose to roost.

Audible is honorable when placed in space of a new disgrace we haste to chase the base relate the mate is gallant, accordant abeyant to reliant now defiant why deny, when have tried to reply the unquestionable supply of high relies reprieved cephalized isn’t the aim to gain the same remains of main stained for blame, have strained the aim of shame to restrain the bargain attain then pass the refrain again the demand to stand on the right hand of man as have banned the uttermost do tend to boast then coast on to deposed what isn’t supposed to mean the most.

Regulate the agitate of will you wait till the proper date to calibrate where we have done, what have become after having won no youth refund underhung rung the reliefs beliefs in this we speak to realize have agonized the civilized tho don’t deprive for now do thrive from abrasive wise isn’t lies relented the dependent to sentence the pendent, abolishment of what was, have turned around the have does, to what wasn’t because of we lock without a knock of shock we stopped and sought to sample of what before couldn’t handle now we have another hand ful to dandle.

There is something in the spasms
Of a raccoon, crushed on one side
By the force of a tire - bucking back
And forth on pavement:
head tail head tailheadtail
head tail head tailheadtail -
There is something in this
That will not leave me. I have
Never seen a man die,
But I think I have.

There is something in the quiet
As I watch my mother try
To run over a snake by the
House, the tires going
back and forth and
back and forth and
There is something in the moment
When it escapes. I have
Never seen an execution reprieved,
But I think I have.

There is something in a little bird
Who wraps his wings around him
To keep warm and finds no warmth;
Only the clutching cold
and silence
and stillness.
There is something terribly hollow
In his tiny song. I will
Never hear a man so broken
In my lingering life.

I’m broken down,
I’m broken to the ground
I look around and see people like me
Carbon copies that can walk, talk, and see
I keep thinking if I will die like this,
I’ve been thinking if I will live like this.

I don’t understand
Why my life is so bland,
Everything is banned
Nothing is in my control
Nothing is in my hands
I don't know my role
In the undiscovered land of the future
What is my goal
My life is made in a factory,
Canned.

As my knowledge expands
With mastery
I withstand
The worst is firsthand
It's on demand
Unplanned
But with one action
It starts all over again.

During life, I lost my traction
Almost inactive
Maybe it was some distraction
Quite attractive
Some kind of transaction
That was the start of my putrefaction.

I was chained
I couldn’t leave
I was restrained
I tried to believe
Yet, those thoughts couldn’t be maintained
I was naive
It was Ingrained
That I wouldn’t be reprieved
I was shamed
Called names
Of which my own was stained
I remember it frame by frame
Bad thoughts reined
And the rainstorm came
And it remained
But changes forms
And extinguished the flame
That burnt inside me
The punishment was still not relinquished
I still was anguished,
Fallen,
Forgotten,
Trodden,
Rotten,
Broken.

And on he goes like one who rose
To walk a sea of spiders’ lace
Along the fields, and seems to sense
The breath of heaven on his face

And now can see a lovely thing
To charm his blinking eye:
An opening, a sky of blue
With cloudlets coasting by!

The fragrance of the morning!
His sense unto him shows
The Earth, and springing from its dew,
The grass with sweet winds sighing through,
Bushes and trees as yet wet through
Borne with the happy air into
Both channels of his nose.

And to his ears now comes the tale
In which all this is said,
The treetop finches descant high
While on some low spray growing nigh
Blackbird both murmurs lowly by
And frames the melody’s reply.
Eager to bring this to his eye
The good man gladly runs,
The tunnel opens to the sky,
He issues forth at once.

All in a woodland clearing
The small, unresting bee
Visits each offered flower,
The breeze each offered tree,
The dandelion thrusts forth his head
With yellow fire upon it,
The trim, demure anemone
Her neat, white, modest bonnet,
The little winking violet
By light unvisited
And tiny-fingered stitchworts
Their dainty napkins spread,
Within the wood the bluebells
Their peals of colour ring,
He knows the place – Old England.
Also the season – Spring.

His long, perplexing journey seems
No more to vex his head,
Like one condemned and now reprieved
He leaps for joy instead,

And shouting runs and waves his arms
With unrestricted mirth,
And throws his face down in the grass
To kiss the reeking earth.

We come from utter darkness
And soon return again,
Why is it, in this fleeting life
Of grief, of loss and pain,
The fit of bitter sorrow
Outdures the weary Moon
While joy and with it comfort
Dissolve away so soon?
Just as the pecking sparrow
At Winter’s scanty scraps
May not enjoy his morsel,
The short day’s last perhaps
For fear the shadow of the hawk
His business overlaps.

No sooner goes the good man
Upon that meadow blest,
No sooner is his outstretched back
Upon the rich earth pressed
Than all his limbs go tense again,
His brain can have no rest.

Once more into the tunnel
He has to make his way…

Look.
In her eyes, you can see a deep pool.
Something. Deep, bottomless, but not abysmal (terrible word).
Spacious, where you can be lost within;
Yet drawn in deeper.

Ah,
But look again at the surface of her eyes,
(Coming closer and closer),
Reflecting the look of awe within your own.
Feel the fear of your own trepidation,
(Is there even truly a word for that feeling?),
As you draw in together.
(Coming closer and closer)

A curl of brown slides down over her face.
A momentary distraction (momentarily reprieved); the world in the moment,
Moving even slower.

That lock of hair, beautifully demure;
Had shifted my focus, just for a moment.
I return my gaze to the window of her soul,
While I reach up to brush it back behind her ear.
My touch, causes her eyes to blink;
A flash of lashes that briefly feign the ignorance of what lies beneath them.

Moving even slower still,
(Coming closer and closer),
Her eyes are revealed with all the grave of an opening act; purely, art on an increasingly grander scale.
Slowly looking up at me.

My hands trembling slightly, insist
(Casually),
That I may move with all the magnitude of my heart.
(Casually)
So intense now, as I draw a breath;
She feels it. Intensely.

(Choose. Left or Right)
I lean in,
pulled as a force by an irresistible object.
(To the right)
My lips part with trembling bravery
And move in,
To a meeting of meaningful joy.

I feel the sharp intake of her breath
Rush past her teeth,
as her nose moves to brush against mine.
(So close now)
Her lip quivers as we meet,
And now
(Before/During/After)
I am lost within Her.

Her words are better spoken
Or see sad spell of desire broken
Reading them does no justice
But feeling them in hearing when
The speaker seeks to fill the air
With all the meaning they can muster
Vibrates me
Shaking loose the inner me to see
Dead emotions retrieved
Sadness reprieved and then restored
As I long for what was lost
As I weep for all who do not speak
With such grand poetic designs
The speaker owns my mind
For mere minutes in eternity
Not my enmity nor my solemnity
But the better passions of me
Desires not the speakers physical form
But the bounty that her spoken words explore

King Ahasuerus desires a mate
'One chooses Esther one thinks she's first rate.'
Later he's soppy and showers her with kisses
Then honours his promise and makes her his missis.

Haman gets an earful ; the King's in a strop.
'You're history you hear us. You're for the big chop.'

'Oi, Haman, I'll miss you
Just Like a used  tissue!'
Mordecai's very cheerful
Though once he was fearful
'Oy vey,  I'm relieved
The Jews are reprieved'

Jeer and boo with a passion
Nibble hamantashen
(Poppyseeds are the filler)
That's the gansa  megillah



Miriam Troth 2016

a love that's grown boring
two hearts...unattached
   wandering eyes
     watching with intense longing
a need that goes unfulfilled
   a want that becomes desperate
an act that cannot be reprieved
   a separation
a departure
the end of something
   at one time cherished
a new beginning
in the wrong direction.

When basking in the early light,
and closing off all doors of night;
Thoughts generate a mighty grasp,
on wondrous imagery of the past.

Enriched by nature's sounds and sights,
we lie in evening's waning light;
The day has come and gone too fast,
and memories break away like glass.

To signify the worth of days,
and nights when angels are at play;
Eternal truth retains its power,
in honest souls from hour to hour.

And rising from a lily pond,
are moments chaste in earnest bond;
No longer lost in illusive rhymes,
reprieved from weariness of our minds.

Time moves along in harmony,
each beat commands a symphony;
Which signifies each valued life,
relieving hearts' intensive strife.

And standing at the water's edge,
self-esteem becomes our pledge;
To honor all that's gone before,
as we enter heaven's open door.

You gave,
you loved,
you lost,
you received,
you reprieved.

A cycle I thought you were going to keep on repeat.
But I forgot the most important step,

defeat.

When the door slams they put a name and number card outside,
it has a large red F stamped on it.
This is  called “F-Watch”…it means they think you’re suicidal!!!!
They check every 15mins…
..fif..teen minutes…
.try to stay calm!….focus on a constant!
…OK….focus
Right…..focus….every 15mins I jump out of my skin!
What causes that?
…..it feels like a habit…
BANG!
There it goes again…
the eyeball in the door…
unblinking…
staring at my shape on the floor…
little does the eye know…I have dug a tunnel…
it reaches beyond the wall and the fence…
it reaches far past the range of the CCTV……
it surfaces deep in the forest
all I need to do is close my eyes
and I’m running down that tunnel
which increases in size every time I use it…
the exit is via a door in an ancient oak tree…
above the door, neatly carved is my family name
and an hour-glass of salt
that is always 15 mins from running out…
I create a mind-map that helps me
find my way back through the forest
to the tree in time to keep my appointment
with the eye…

the unblinking eye…
assesses my body
sprawled on the rubber mattress,
unaware of the trees that surround me …
that protect me
that shield me from its Gorgon gaze…
and days pass into months
and the months flutter toward the light
which lays on the other side of the darkness…
darkness being a measure in old money.

Then just as suddenly
I find myself reprieved…
relocated for two eternities
to the Mirrored Halls
of the Black Widow
to absolve the sins of my forefathers…
the eye in the door blinks
something is different…
the eye now has the a sense smell!

and it can detect female pheromones
3 days ride away by horse…
it smells Norse…and Celt……
it smells ……
it smells…
its own mortality…

15 minutes pass……

it blinks again…
it breathes deeply and detects children…
two born of royal blood and one of angels…
it blinks…
the body on the mattress moves…
it stretches…
turns over…

now  the eye can hear…
it hears the rustle of leaves,
smells breast milk and skunk
from the sweat of the punk…
an assault to its senses…
it primes its defenses…
and…
releases a tear…
a solitary tear …
laden with just enough salt
to take its pain away…

time passes…
the hourglass releases one more grain of salt

Nest of fellows
arguably more inclined
to do more harm than
the ex-wife's final remarks
before pseudo-suicide

Den of citizens
comparably less deceived
and less fallible than
our glorious senator's last yearning
in anticipation of regret

do as one does
and ye shall be reprieved
do as thoughts should
and ye shall be crucified
hope for man a flickering screen
white noise television

like hordes of bats
in white sky,
spoke my youth
lethargic and weeping
demonstrating lost causes and futile preparations
for a moment
or two...
so supreme and devastating

indecipherable!
a calamitous set of expressions
one withheld and others withdrew
and now, ultimately
scabbed over

we would continue this place
we would forfeit our cruelty
our good intent
and our willpower
in order to cherish our Earth
and let ourselves sink back down into its sultry soils
once more, and then again.
And once more!
and then again.
Like a lion attack!
a million exploding suns
a million bubbles bursting
and then everything is done.

If all the wrong doings and doers that have or will come to me
Were to hand over a key to their destruction before they leave
I'd melt it down to nothing so they never again feel that initial fear
I'd never allow such weakness to remain in these moments tied to pain
For from within every weakness either strength or evil is released
So as I melt away the demons fears, so too myself have I reprieved

Once upon a time
Reprieved as a rhyme
Flirting with shadows
Forest paths that bend and wind.

Keep close your hooded veneer.

A masked face of autumn leaves;
To stop them from finding the bloom
That has not withered yet.
Hiding in the shallowed light.

There are so many wolves.

Once upon a time
In the house with the open door;
Lustful longing of a lovers call,
Deep in the blackest night.

You're not scared to walk alone.

Without a pack
You are no wolf at all.
Merely a stranger;
An irritable secret.

You didn't see his teeth.

Theme - Inner Speech

Unsolicited tussle in the days of misery
contemplating the meaning of life
stopping the boat to the shore in a peremptory, manner
the waves reprieved the oarsman's knife
Perpetual suffering of one is the reason to strife ...
-js

You are hereby sentenced to,
happiness for all eternity,
and reprieved from your servitude
to spelling bees and other state championships.
Our adolescent addicts are addicted
to arithmetic, statistics and computer degrees.
Marginal efficiency, reductionist literacy
and formica counter-tops,
have all got to be kidding me.
I’m out y’all, returning to the garden;
so please send me your resumes
and i’ll happily plant them in the radish beds.
The hypocrisy of symbolism
is when the riddle solves itself.
Wealth is just an abstraction,
truly its your health that’s worth preserving.
I’m serving this rhythm,
making use of its momentum;
for we are all blazing beings,
trying to break free of boredom's tyranny.
Some storms are worthy,
some storms are holy,
other storms are dangerous;
and we all know the hurly burly.

Caution in his voice, apprehension in his lungs
Up the rungs of certainty & into solitude flung,
Off the coast of Chile
Of the utmost regret feel he,
A dilly plea and yet there be,
A castaway of the Pacific sea

If misgivings in him swelled
And yelled aloud of his misdeeds,
News of Cinque Ports' downfall
Would call to mind his wise decree

But not for several years
Would this privateer be reprieved,
Until the long awaited day of Duke
Awaited him where he once had grieved

Four friends have I, four men of truth
Four pillars strong this honored group
Words of wisdom you can count upon
Mathew, Mark, Luke and John

The song they sing is one of hope
As they guide you along life’s slippery *****
The homage they pay is to one alone
Whose Father sits upon Heaven’s throne

Christ they serve and he alone
His humble wisdom they intone
Their words they write to glorify
The One Lord of which they testify

Make a choice they say, do not be deceived
Choose the Son of God and be reprieved
To choose any other heart's desire
Leads only to Hell’s eternal fire

The one and only chosen one
Is the one and only chosen Son
He’s the one to put your trust upon
Say my friends Mathew. Mark, Like and John

It’s idea is preconceived that the
suffering is reprieved-
Those that deserve the burn in turn
eternally lie with others scorned-
That hell is earned.

But I see flames here on earth.

What does my sister think as she buries her child from the latest bombing?
What does my brother think when he is being pinned down?
Are we to believe the devil is not present in that knee?

And what is my sister to think when she awakens to gun shots entering her innocent body?
What do we call the place that allows my brother to die at the hands of another?
How do I explain to the child that hates himself there may be something worse waiting for him?

Where are the rules with which to live by that I can give to the little boy that was touched by his pastor?
The very same pastor that informs him of this place called hell-
What should I tell the mother who buries her child without knowing why?

I see flames here on earth-

Perhaps hell is not a place to
go but instead-
It is a place we know.
And the devil that we fear-
is here.

When you thought you’d heard it all
Something else comes along
To challenge then the psyche—
Robbing life of its song.

One very distraught couple,
A husband and his wife,
Were found in their vehicle.
They seemed to tire of life.

The car was set and idling.
From its window ran a hose—
Attached to the exhaust pipe,
Drawing the carbon close.

They drunk a last cup of wine,
Perhaps life’s final toast.
There, embracing each other,
Was the one they’d loved most.

The couple had prepped their home
For such—their final hour.
Fridge and freezer all cleared out.
All disconnect of power.

A note stated that their home
Should go to charity.
And asked that neighbors feed some cats
The couple had reprieved.
(Revised 2018.)