It’s not My will, but Thy will,
Let Me die on the cross for their sins,
And My blood pave way to eternity;
Yet My Soul is sorrowful unto death.
Abba, take away this cup from Me;
Yet if it’s Thy will, and not My will.
Father, Thy promise Thou made with the serpent
That Thou would put enmity ‘twixt him and a woman,
And I should bruise his head;
Nevertheless he should bruise My heel.
For this is Thy eternal promise for man
Who been formed in Thy image;
But been smashed himself with the deceiver.
Flesh is weak and tempting;
Yet the spirit is willing and godly,
For Me too passed thro’ the way of the tempter;
Yet cursed him with Thy Eternal Word.
Unfelt agony runs into My soul,
When I bear the sins of the world,
And who on earth knows it,
Except Thou and Me, Who are ONE?
Do men know Me, Who is in Thee,
And Thou in Me, hath stripped off Glory
And hath become a servant to them,
And made in their likeness with all humbleness
Carrying the cross of shame and abuse?
My sweat is as it were great drops of blood
And Gethesmene I pray turns red.
Who knows but Thou ought ought to reveal
That My blood be shed on the cross
Which is the symbol of the new covenant?
Father, in the beginning I AM,
And all things made by Me and for Me
Who hath come unto earth as the Light,
And I AM Thy Glory, full of grace and Truth.
My Father, here come My betrayer,
For his time hath come to strike Me
As he has to bruise My heel,
And I should then bruise his head,
For it’s Thy Eternal plan of mystery.
Here comes he with the spirit of darkness
Carrying lanterns and torches and weapons
Of unrighteousness and ungodliness.
Father, let Me finish Thy work,
But strengthen Me with Thy Spirit.
Now the betrayer hath sneaked  unto me.
Look, he kisses Me amidst the mob.
Am I his beloved for his kiss?
Yet he is My beloved.
He hath dipped himself in My cup of blood.
It’s Judas kiss bought for thirty silver.
He hath sold his soul to the roaring lion
Which devours the sons of Adam.
I made Judas My apostle;
But he  made himself the liar’s instrument.
The night I am put in chains in the realm of darkness
And I am left alone with none to share mine.
Where are My apostles, My disciples?
I remember Peter’s words
That he said he would go with Me,
And I know the rooster should crow
After his denial of Me thrice to go.
He is a mere man who knows not
That things written be accomplished in Me.
They drag Me, kick Me with their boots of sins,
I am chained by their unrighteousness,
And am whipped by their blasphemy of My Father,
For when I am rejected My Father is rejected
As My Father and I are ONE,
And who hath seen Me hath seen My Father.
My people spit on Me all the way
Where blood from My body sheds.
The thorny whips tear My flesh;
Yet I rejoice in My Father’s will,
But their sins sadden My soul.
I am dragged unto the high priests
Who’ve been awaiting My trial.
Even My disciples have forsaken,
And left Me alone, but My Father in Me.
Am I held ‘midst people of the law
Which was the schoolmaster awhile
Until I finish it with My blood.
Their trial with Me hath begun with bitterness.
And Peter is seen with a mob at the fire.
False witnesses spewed on Me, yet contrary,
Whose arrows stuck on My statement
That I will destroy the temple,
And in three days I will build one.
Behold, And they’re spiritually blind and deaf.
They spit on Me blindfolding My eyes,
And play prophecy of hide and seek.
Each spit on Me is a sin of  theirs
And their hurt in not on My body but soul.
They kick Me with their boots with spikes,
And the unrighteousness of My people bruises.
My soul bleeds not of Me but of their doom.
The father of lies mocks at My Eternal plan.
The liar can bruise but My heel,
And his head is already beneath My heel.
My people strike Me with the palms,
And they slap on  My cheek with prophecy;
Yet I hold peace to defeat the liar.
No man is found to paint the pallor on My face.
I am denied thrice as of My mysterious plan.
I am tried till the sun sinks at the horizon,
And I become the laughing-stock of My people.
I thirst, but not a drop of water I ’m offered,
Where found midst earthly meals the disciples of the liar.
To liars My Truth seems blasphemy
For professing themselves to be wise and godly,
They’ve turned scoffers strolling in lusts.
I’m ‘gainst the mighty liars,
Who’ve forgotten I AM Almighty
Having denied the Power of the Most High
Whose Eternal plan of salvation is for them
Whose trial against Me is vain;
Yet satan in disguise kicks My heel.
My angels were struck in pride in Heaven,
And so were drained off into hell
With their filth and lust in darkness.
They spit on Me Who is the Lamb.
The trial ‘ere Pilate take its roots,
And no roots of earth are of Mine,
For My Father breaks off every branch
That beareth no fruit in Me.
For they wear attires of pomp and pride
With no clothes of righteousness.
Hidden in the mask of flattery
Pilate hath no way to mark justice;
Yet it hath been the Eternal plan of salvation
In Me Who is the Lamb of sacrifice.
Who knows My kingdom is not of this world?
I’ve come down to speak the Truth
That hath made the governor question Me:
‘What is Truth?’
And who believes I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life?
For all have eaten the forbidden fruit
Which hath set free the son of peridition
Who is the father of lies of all ages.
And Pilate sets free a convict as is the custom
Which hath a way in the Passover.
Truth sets free the blessed souls from Death;
But falsehood sets free sinners from Life.
I’m whipped in flesh to bleed;
But I  am whipped in spirit by their sins.
I’ crowned with thorns and twigs:
The metaphors of sins and iniquities.
They throw around Me a purple robe
And cry against Me in sarcasm
That I would live long as the King of the Jews
Whose minds are darkened by worldly wisdom,
For My kingdom is not of this world.
They slap Me on the cheek with arrogance,
I remember Judas’ kiss on the same cheek
Who hath drowned in the lust of silver.
I make neither complaint nor not of repulsiveness,
For it’s My Father’s will to bear the cross.
Back to the porch of the palace
I’m made the season with withering leaves.
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who cried against Me riding on a colt.  
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who carried against Me riding on a colt,
They threw their cloaks of praise and shouts
Across the way I trotted upon on the colt,
They laid branches cut from trees,
And I knew they were clothed with filthy attires.
Their praises and shouts now turned to curses  and abuses.
I’m now thrown into the hands of disciples of the liar
Who is a like a roaring lion to devour.
Their faulty law plays in their hands
And laughs at My Father’s Rock of Salvation.
But I laugh at the liar’s defeated victory on Me,
For in My resurrection Death hath no victory.
Who knows death took its roots since first transgression
In Eden with the consumption of the Forbidden Fruit;
Yet in Me Life is sealed in Him to Eternity?
I’ve longed for Judas’ godly sorrow like the prodigal son,
But he was bitten by the serpent on the Tree
Where the betrayer tasted the Fruit and died.
He took himself to the tree of death
For the taste of the Fruit turned bitter to him.
Power of this world hath blinded Pilate’s conscience
Whose power hath been predicted over Me
With My self-will hidden in the Most High.
The Eternal plan of salvation hath tied Pilate.
Who washed himself in his self-righteousness
And throws Me out for want of  pomp and pride.
Now I’m in the arms of thorns and bushes
Laden with the cross of the world set out;
Yet My journey thro’ human darkness is for a while,
For the Reward of Eternity is awaiting Me
And the ones who are rooted in Me.
Each whip lashed on Me is the multiple sins of the world,
And the spikes of the whips tear My flesh,
And I bleed with the agony of lost souls,
Whom I’ve made for Glory with My Father.
Behold! A toll strikes this hour
When I hear the hellish roar at a distance,
And I know the traitor hath flung the silver
Which have no price for his destiny.
I shed tears for him but he’s lost
For his death is certain in My Eternal Plan,
And who could change it but Me;
Yet it’s all My plan of mystery in the Father?
They hit Me with a stick o’er the head,
And mock lat Me saying ‘Long live the King of Jews.’
A scepter of stick ****** into My palms,
A game of mockery is played  ‘gainst Me;
Yet I am as innocent as a lamb led to the slaughter,
As writ in the Scriptures with the design of My Father:
I’m oppressed, and afflicted down to death on earth;
Yet I open not My mouth to charge complaints,
I’m brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
And as a sheep before her shearer is dumb.
All the way I’m kicked to fall on the stony path.
Look! My knees bruised and torn for you,
Still are there moments of repentance from hypocrisy.
**! Here am I fallen on the thorny twigs.
Behold! My clothes are torn with blood flowing out.
They tilt Me with their pompous boots.
I try to lift Myself but laden with the cross.
Pity of sacrcasm plays in their hearts
And in turn a man from Cyrene is laid with the cross.
I carry the sins of the world for crucifixion;
But he’s made to carry the wooden cross behind Me.
Is it My Word that says unto you:
‘Take up your cross everyday and follow Me?’
Nay, but to forsake the world of sins
Be My doctrine with the love of My Father.
You cannot carry the cross I bear;
Yet you can carry yours beside Me.
Shouts of abuses thunder into My heart
Amidst the cry of lamentation across the way.
They hook Me up with scornful epithets
And the liar of the world bruised My heel;
Yet I walk the path of obedience to physical death
That My death on the cross shows Way to Eternity.
I hear the cry of My people,
Why do they cry with wailing?
Do they mourn over My trial on earth
Or o’er their sinful attires.?
Who knows, but I know?
They shed tears of emotions,
And who knows their sins crucify Me?
Behold! I hear the Nightingale’s song ‘cross the stormy breeze.
Is it the song of melody unto My people
For they murmur Nature too mocks at My trial?
But I know My creations are under My power.
They’ve painted the day’s sky with glooms
As their pilgrimage on earth smeared with sins.
Back on Me the cross is ****** and I’m knocked down,
And My face dashes ‘gainst rocks on the way.
The spiky rocks tear My skin to bleed,
I bleed and bleed till the last drop.
Little children kiss My bleeding cheeks
And they take the mark of My sacrifice.
The sun soars higher and higher
And each phase of My journey is of My Father’s plan.
I scale ‘gainst the steep hillock with lashes on My back.
The fiendish serpent laughs at Me,
And strolls with the exotic steps drowned in hellish dirt.
And I know he bruises MY HEEL:
But he ‘knows’ not I’ll bruise his head.
My disciples walk apart with arms tied,
For none can break the design of My Father.
The sun strikes the altitude and I reach the slaughter.
They drag Me unto the ‘place of the skull’.
Who’ve thought I would sleep ‘neath the grave
Which hath no future for death is once for all.
Their conscience is buried in darkness by the liar,
Like dried-up springs and clouds blown along by a storm,
Their thoughts and deeds lie in vain of glory,
All bundled in filthy rags of lusts,
Whose promise of freedom is spoken by the father of this world,
The mighty trap hidden with baits of freedom of slavery.
Who knows but My Father of My destruction of the Temple;
Yet be rebuilt in three days in glory?
Behold! They strip off My clothes to naked.
The serpent sneaks onto the Forbidden Tree
With a cynical comedy of errors;
Yet it bruises My heel with its bitten fang.
My Father drove out Adam and Eve from Eden
Who had turned unholy committed themselves to the liar.
Now the liar, he thinks, drives Me out into the grave.
But I will destroy him with My dazzling presence.
My garments  they part and share ‘mongst themselves,
And My robe made of single piece of woven cloth
With no seam found in it, thrown at dice.
Do they know it’s of the Scriptures foretold?
They lay Me on the cross down on the earth.
I recall My infancy couched on the manger:
How I was cared and nurtured by My human parents.
I was in the safe arms from bitter cold;
But now I lie sans comfort and in blood.
My arms are stretched across to be nailed,
Lost of strength My legs are pulled along.
My people watch the gory sight of crucifixion.
They nail My palms and feet ruthlessly.
How I healed My people from diseases
How I fed My people from starvation!
How I walked to listen to My people’s sorrows!
But they watch Me now lying on the cross.
Do they know of My death on the cross?
The nails are pierced deep into veins and nerves,
Streams of blood flow down unto My people;
But they kick My blood splashed ‘cross My face.
Unfelt agony and untold miseries crushed My spirit,
For they repent not of their sins but die
Forsaking My Father’s promise unto those who believe Me.
When nails are pierced Mine My Father strengthens Me.
I bear the pain for the promise of My Father.
They raise Me nailed on the cross.
Curses and abuses lashed on Me,
And they shout they’ve cut the root of the tree.
Alas! They do not know what  they do;
Yet My Eternal Plan of  these shall happen.  
I look at My disciples at the Cross
Whose darkened hearts I perceive.
Full of heaviness with a doubting hope
Of what will happen to Me and them.
They’re petals turned pale in the evening,
They’re the garden of Fall with no fruits bearing,
Like distant stars with faded light they look
My people fling upon Me mockery:
‘He saved others; let Him save Himself
Who claimed the Son of God!’
Not to save Myself is My advent to the world;
But it’s My Father's Eternal Design in Me
That salvation is for mankind in My Father’s likeness.
It’s written above My head of the Kingship:
‘This is the King of the Jews’
Who know not of My Eternal Kingship,
Not of this world, but of the Heaven.
Behold! The criminal on My left hurls at Me:
‘Are You the Anointed One?  Save Thyself and us!
Is he the son of Cain who turned a fugitive?
Is it not like “am I my brother’s keeper?
The convict on My right is another prodigal son
Whose sorrow of his filthy rags turns his blessed.
‘Lord! Remember me in Your Kingdom!’
My promise unto him hath crowned his a hope of glory:
‘This day shall you be with Me in Paradise.’
It is the prime of the day with beams of fire splashed across:
The sun is in its meridian lashing unforgiving rays.
Behold! The sun is darkened by the clouds of glooms,
It’s day but turns night as a premonition
What happens to the creation in My Day in Glory.
The temple of the city trembles at My Word’
And the curtain is torn in the middle,
Yea, Moses’ law turns unto rags with no price,
For I make the New and Eternal Law of love in Me.
Nightly day survives until My Last Cry’
Troubled with the heaviness of My people’s sins:
‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?
‘Yet it’s finished. Thy work on earth is done,
Father, here I commend My spirit unto Thee’.

I Am Peter the Apostle

Just an illiterate fisherman
Before the Holy Spirit spread
Even my shadow had power
To heal and raise Dorcus from the dead

Jesus called my brother Andrew, too
When we both toiled as fishermen
To follow Him in God’s mission
And learn how to be Fishers of men

I witnessed his transfiguration
Meeting Elijah and Moses
A prelude to Jesus Risen
He knew he faced no bed of roses

Jesus taught me how his days on Earth
All were numbered to the hour
He transfigured on the mountain
I saw His magnificent power

I proclaimed, “You are the Messiah!”
I assure you God loves us all
Angels tapped me on the shoulder
To be witness to His mighty call

I was there when God spoke lovingly
“This is my much beloved son”
I’ve not been telling fairy-tales
In the light of Eternity Won

I was ordained by Jesus Himself
And founded two churches of hope
Spread His message of salvation
To Catholics I’m the very first pope

I am warning you ahead of time
Surprise, like a thief in the night
He’s giving more time for sinners
Who are trying hard to get it right

Believe that day is surely coming
So while waiting for His return
Achieve closer union with God
Holy, Godly lives are your concern

Live without sinning and be at peace
With everyone-it’s not too late
My own eyes have seen His Glory
Let His light dawn in your soul-don’t wait!

Remember I walked on water, too
Following Jesus in His wake
All ungodly men will perish
So follow him, too, for your own sake

Those who fall in love with money
Always doing wrong to others
Beware false prophets who tell lies
Destroy their unrepentant covers

I remind you all so solemnly
Of ***** and Gomorrah’s end
And yet God saved that good man, Lot
And He can rescue you, too, my friend

A man’s a slave to what controls him
“Do what you like, be free”, say men
False teachers are fools, don’t listen
For they really are slaves to their sin

I remind you He came to save us
From the rottenness all around
Demonstrating His character
To the Golden Rule you should be bound

A dog coming back to his *****
Or a pig wallowing again
It’s worse than not to have known Him
For those who turn once again to sin

When a person escapes wickedness
Then tangles up with sin once more
By turning on His commandments
He’ll be worse off than he was before

No woman escapes their sinful stares
They proudly boast of sin, no giving
They’ve gone off the road, useless and doomed
Luring others to wicked living

God delivered us from the old life
Put aside your own desires
Gladly be patient and Godly
Living the good life He requires

He’ll open wide the gates of heaven
You are among those God has called
Into His Eternal Kingdom
I’m reminding you what prophets told

In the last days he warns of scoffers
Who cleverly lie about God
They laugh at the truth when taunting
“Where is he? Why so slow?  He’s a fraud!”

Is His promised return slow for you?
In a day or a thousand years…
To God is just like tomorrow
When Christ our Savior again appears

He’s given us all blessings promised
Let God have His way, not a whim
Find out what God wants you to do
Become fruitful and useful to Him

Yes, I know how I denied Jesus
And recall the rooster crowed, too
Three times I said I don’t know Him
Ask yourself how many times have you?

Written in April 1798, during the alarm of an invasion

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell! O’er stiller place
No singing skylark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling *****,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely: but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal cornfield, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh! ’tis a quiet spirit-healing nook!
Which all, methinks, would love; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly as had made

His early manhood more securely wise!
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark (that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best),
And from the sun, and from the breezy air,
Sweet influences trembled o’er his frame;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature!
And so, his senses gradually wrapped
In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark,
That singest like an angel in the clouds!

My God! it is a melancholy thing
For such a man, who would full fain preserve
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel
For all his human brethren—O my God!
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring
This way or that way o’er these silent hills—
Invasion, and the thunder and the shout,
And all the crash of onset; fear and rage,
And undetermined conflict—even now,
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle:
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed sun!
We have offended, Oh! my countrymen!
We have offended very grievously,
And been most tyrannous. From east to west
A groan of accusation pierces Heaven!
The wretched plead against us; multitudes
Countless and vehement, the sons of God,
Our brethren! Like a cloud that travels on,
Steamed up from Cairo’s swamps of pestilence,
Even so, my countrymen! have we gone forth
And borne to distant tribes slavery and pangs,
And, deadlier far, our vices, whose deep taint
With slow perdition murders the whole man,
His body and his soul! Meanwhile, at home,
All individual dignity and power
Engulfed in Courts, Committees, Institutions,
Associations and Societies,
A vain, speech-mouthing, speech-reporting Guild,
One Benefit-Club for mutual flattery,
We have drunk up, demure as at a grace,
Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth;
Contemptuous of all honourable rule,
Yet bartering freedom and the poor man’s life
For gold, as at a market! The sweet words
Of Christian promise, words that even yet
Might stem destruction, were they wisely preached,
Are muttered o’er by men, whose tones proclaim
How flat and wearisome they feel their trade:
Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent
To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth.
Oh! blasphemous! the Book of Life is made
A superstitious instrument, on which
We gabble o’er the oaths we mean to break;
For all must swear—all and in every place,
College and wharf, council and justice-court;
All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed,
Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest,
The rich, the poor, the old man and the young;
All, all make up one scheme of perjury,
That faith doth reel; the very name of God
Sounds like a juggler’s charm; and, bold with joy,
Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,
Cries out, “Where is it?”

Thankless too for peace,
(Peace long preserved by fleets and perilous seas)
Secure from actual warfare, we have loved
To swell the war-whoop, passionate for war!
Alas! for ages ignorant of all
Its ghastlier workings, (famine or blue plague,
Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry snows,)
We, this whole people, have been clamorous
For war and bloodshed; animating sports,
The which we pay for as a thing to talk of,
Spectators and not combatants! No guess
Anticipative of a wrong unfelt,
No speculation on contingency,
However dim and vague, too vague and dim
To yield a justifying cause; and forth,
(Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names,
And adjurations of the God in Heaven,)
We send our mandates for the certain death
Of thousands and ten thousands! Boys and girls,
And women, that would groan to see a child
Pull off an insect’s leg, all read of war,
The best amusement for our morning meal!
The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers
From curses, who knows scarcely words enough
To ask a blessing from his Heavenly Father,
Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute
And technical in victories and defeats,
And all our dainty terms for fratricide;
Terms which we trundle smoothly o’er our tongues
Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to which
We join no feeling and attach no form!
As if the soldier died without a wound;
As if the fibres of this godlike frame
Were gored without a pang; as if the wretch,
Who fell in battle, doing ****** deeds,
Passed off to Heaven, translated and not killed;
As though he had no wife to pine for him,
No God to judge him! Therefore, evil days
Are coming on us, O my countrymen!
And what if all-avenging Providence,
Strong and retributive, should make us know
The meaning of our words, force us to feel
The desolation and the agony
Of our fierce doings?

Spare us yet awhile,
Father and God! O, spare us yet awhile!
Oh! let not English women drag their flight
Fainting beneath the burthen of their babes,
Of the sweet infants, that but yesterday
Laughed at the breast! Sons, brothers, husbands, all
Who ever gazed with fondness on the forms
Which grew up with you round the same fireside,
And all who ever heard the Sabbath-bells
Without the Infidel’s scorn, make yourselves pure!
Stand forth! be men! repel an impious foe,
Impious and false, a light yet cruel race,
Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth
With deeds of ******; and still promising
Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free,
Poison life’s amities, and cheat the heart
Of faith and quiet hope, and all that soothes,
And all that lifts the spirit! Stand we forth;
Render them back upon the insulted ocean,
And let them toss as idly on its waves
As the vile seaweed, which some mountain-blast
Swept from our shores! And oh! may we return
Not with a drunken triumph, but with fear,
Repenting of the wrongs with which we stung
So fierce a foe to frenzy!

I have told,
O Britons! O my brethren! I have told
Most bitter truth, but without bitterness.
Nor deem my zeal or fractious or mistimed;
For never can true courage dwell with them
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look
At their own vices. We have been too long
Dupes of a deep delusion! Some, belike,
Groaning with restless enmity, expect
All change from change of constituted power;
As if a Government had been a robe
On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged
Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe
Pulled off at pleasure. Fondly these attach
A radical causation to a few
Poor drudges of chastising Providence,
Who borrow all their hues and qualities
From our own folly and rank wickedness,
Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, meanwhile,
Dote with a mad idolatry; and all
Who will not fall before their images,
And yield them worship, they are enemies
Even of their country!

Such have I been deemed.—
But, O dear Britain! O my Mother Isle!
Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy
To me, a son, a brother, and a friend,
A husband, and a father! who revere
All bonds of natural love, and find them all
Within the limits ot thy rocky shores.
O native Britain! O my Mother Isle!
How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy
To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills,
Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas,
Have drunk in all my intellectual life,
All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,
All adoration of the God in nature,
All lovely and all honourable things,
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel
The joy and greatness of its future being?
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul
Unborrowed from my country! O divine
And beauteous Island! thou hast been my sole
And most magnificent temple, in the which
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,
Loving the God that made me!—

May my fears,
My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.

But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad
The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze:
The light has left the summit of the hill,
Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful,
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell,
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot!
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
Homeward I wind my way; and lo! recalled
From bodings that have well-nigh wearied me,
I find myself upon the brow, and pause
Startled! And after lonely sojourning
In such a quiet and surrounded nook,
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main,
Dim-tinted, there the mighty majesty
Of that huge amphitheatre of rich
And elmy fields, seems like society—
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought!
And now, beloved Stowey! I behold
Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe’s mother dwell in peace! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature’s quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart
Is softened, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.

It was one of those rare and beautiful sunny days the kind that is so bright it enriches every visible living thing. Still there was a lie being lived and told in this captured moment she stood straight and confident her dog set by her she was looking at the natural wonders in awe and appreciation. It was plain to see she was healthy and lived in wonderful surroundings had an all around good life. What I saw I fought forest fires in the service one in particular in the Los Padres National forest. For five days over half of the California division of forestry assisted us plus hundreds from fort Ord were called into help at times there was ninety foot walls of flame. That’s what she was really looking at her needs she would never see in her privileged life the flames of life’s destruction are forever growing closer. We lost a cat operator as he went south to fight a new fire we risked our lives he gave his. The alternative hike up to the secluded pine ridge in this pristine national forest set and look across the great valley that ends at the far horizon where mountains rise to tower in there majesty without sacrifice and risk this would be your view a charred blackened destroyed environment dead displaced wildlife as far as the eye can see filled with sadness you stumble back to your car racing to get clear of this natural disaster. Now bring the true reality of this girl’s situation into view knowing that at every turn she is being bombarded by modern life for the ultimate goal of keeping her from the most important thinking she will ever undertake. Where do I stand with my creator between her and this all important and should be all consuming endeavor. But there is a den of noise arising from modern convenience of every kind then the choking effects of materialism. If this isn’t enough then you face the greatest threat there is one true Word. Then the imitators act as interference the static they produce drowns out the true flow of guidance that can’t be duplicated the answer the enemy uses begin the erosion use the echo of men’s philosophy effectively sounds sincere truth varied ever so slightly but as it continues its course over distance and time you end up with the same damnable truth that our boys are fighting and dying to defeat in the Middle East. Truth sooner or later requires sacrifice and death to preserve it that is the true test what did it cost the one who desires to lead you and your family on the most important course you will ever under take. Take this journey with Paul one who was enlightened as much and truly more so than any other in ancient times. Follow him to the most sacred ground made so by unerring truth amidst gainsayers and scoffers and some of them came out of that darkness to light everlasting. Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: “Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: To an unknown God now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you.”

…When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some of them sneered, but others said, “We want to hear you again on this subject.” At that, Paul left the Council. A few men became followers of Paul and believed. Among them was Dionysius, a member of the Areopagus, also a woman named Damaris, and a number of others. It’s your choice where you invest the rest of your life the wise have no hesitation the only drawback this cost everything many will not pay that price so they join the ranks of the deluded. Outwardly sophisticated inwardly they run with the pack of ravenous wolves who crucified the true eternal one. Go ahead judge if these words are true you will hear them again sooner than you will ever wish to hear.

The theologian's heart sits heavy in his chest.
He has searched, sought, and out-thought the best.
Yet, he has nothing to show for his quest but gray hairs and a book nest.

Scoffers scoff as scoffers do.
Such is expected, for the Way is few.

The theologian needs not a pat on the back.
Nor gold, for he has no lack.

He knows that of making books there is no end,
He has no credit by which to lend.

Still he writes, and still he reads
Still he taps, and still he kneads

Until his heavy heart stops beating.
Now he'll see if his theology was fleeting.
Such it was if not God he's meeting and if not Christ he's greeting.

(A Tribute to Ted Slade - poet, 1937-2004)

This new friendship. This journey on which we were just setting out.

How will we work it now you've...well...gone?

It was going so well. That's the way I saw it anyhow.

It had only been a year - we two - back in each other's circle...

Same planet - different orbit. Though I'll never know now what your thoughts might have been..



This 52 year gap in our 'acquaintance', for that's all you'd ever say it was
,
it closed at dad's (your Uncle Bud's) funeral - as he leapt 'on-flame' to the ether.

He didn't half want to go..."Why don't they just let me slip away?"
And then it was you I wanted to know amongst those finger buffet scoffers.

Those ribboned aces never knew that Bud just kick-started their Lancasters and 'Spits' at Leconfield and Liberia.



Bud's morphine muted passing proved positive, and thankfully at last - 

(he might remember now) - he helped kick-start too this belated kinship between us.

Jack would have been pleased about that...(Bud too I know)

"a good trade" he'd have called it. "I'm knackered anyway".

I was always curious about our respective dads - they only ever sent Christmas cards...no letters. No love.



Bud gave me a book  before he swapped "heaven's hopper" for the "take & bake".

"Eer-yar" he wheezed...this is more up your street than mine..."

"Yer what?..."Poetry?...No... I can't make head nor tail of it. Like Shakespeare...Where's me glasses?"

and, with that ,the "Last Arm Pointing" welded that closing gap between us tight shut.

I read 'Mystery Tour' to Bud...about Jack's 'motorised passing' and he cried. So, it was up his street. after all.



Your words filled me in on distant memories...made solid.
Missing chunks I'd seen but never written down
.
Of Withernsea and its winter isolation

of Jack, his life - and how it intertwined with yours.

I've not found too much yet about Phyllis. Is there a darker story there? Who'll tell me now?



Your final work, tireless as ever, from your New Malden 'crow's nest'...

was steering your second collection to print...and then...

Your literally-literal Mugs and Sweats - flying off the shelves of a California warehouse.

Disabled? Pah!  Why should they ever know the what & why behind the who and when?

Your 'disability'...would only 'publicly' let you down if your trike sustained a puncture in Richmond Park.



"Hi Cuz...Where do I go to get mugs and sweat shirts printed?"

And then, whilst I was looking through directories & old invoices,

you whizzed across the earth on the wings of your laser guided mouse.

By the time I'd got the phone numbers of long distance, half remembered contacts -

you had designs submitted, distribution and royalty deals sorted and were planning the next big thing.



Your freehold on the planet was the web...your very own super-short cut.

Who needs invalid cars when you can 'fly digital'?

You were a lover of the dub-dub-dub which loved you back in floods.

Now, even when your body has deserted you - it still throws us pages and pages - of you - and about you.

The Noddy Holders and Wes the Western Gun-slinger, pale by comparison, they'd envy your PR knack.



Instead of trying to phone, (these heavenly BT - or is it ET-connections often end in wrong numbers)...

and, because a lot of the time talking took it out of you, I'll keep writing like I did before.

Replies would be good. But I often used to write out of turn anyway.

So yes, things could get a bit one sided...forgive me if I 'go on', and... you don't!

But I'll keep writing to Ted@poetrykit.org and read the answers in your books and old e-mails of the family's past.



Cheers Ted...Lots of love Chris (Cuz) Slade.

It was one of those rare and beautiful sunny days the kind that is so bright it enriches every visible living thing. Still there was a lie being lived and told in this captured moment she stood straight and confident her dog set by her she was looking at the natural wonders in awe and appreciation. It was plain to see she was healthy and lived in wonderful surroundings had an all around good life. What I saw I fought forest fires in the service one in particular in the Los Padres National forest. For five days over half of the California division of forestry assisted us plus hundreds from fort Ord were called into help at times there was ninety foot walls of flame. That’s what she was really looking at her needs she would never see in her privileged life the flames of life’s destruction are forever growing closer. We lost a cat operator as he went south to fight a new fire we risked our lives he gave his. The alternative hike up to the secluded pine ridge in this pristine national forest set and look across the great valley that ends at the far horizon where mountains rise to tower in there majesty without sacrifice and risk this would be your view a charred blackened destroyed environment dead displaced wildlife as far as the eye can see filled with sadness you stumble back to your car racing to get clear of this natural disaster. Now bring the true reality of this girl’s situation into view knowing that at every turn she is being bombarded by modern life for the ultimate goal of keeping her from the most important thinking she will ever undertake. Where do I stand with my creator between her and this all important and should be all consuming endeavor. But there is a den of noise arising from modern convenience of every kind then the choking effects of materialism. If this isn’t enough then you face the greatest threat there is one true Word. Then the imitators act as interference the static they produce drowns out the true flow of guidance that can’t be duplicated the answer the enemy uses begin the erosion use the echo of men’s philosophy effectively sounds sincere truth varied ever so slightly but as it continues its course over distance and time you end up with the same damnable truth that our boys are fighting and dying to defeat in the Middle East. Truth sooner or later requires sacrifice and death to preserve it that is the true test what did it cost the one who desires to lead you and your family on the most important course you will ever under take. Take this journey with Paul one who was enlightened as much and truly more so than any other in ancient times. Follow him to the most sacred ground made so by unerring truth amidst gainsayers and scoffers and some of them came out of that darkness to light everlasting. Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: “Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: To an unknown God now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you.”

…When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some of them sneered, but others said, “We want to hear you again on this subject.” At that, Paul left the Council. A few men became followers of Paul and believed. Among them was Dionysius, a member of the Areopagus, also a woman named Damaris, and a number of others. It’s your choice where you invest the rest of your life the wise have no hesitation the only drawback this cost everything many will not pay that price so they join the ranks of the deluded. Outwardly sophisticated inwardly they run with the pack of ravenous wolves who crucified the true eternal one. Go ahead judge if these words are true you will hear them again sooner than you will ever wish to hear.

What dost thou hope in, O' lost man,
Materials, the temporal; castles of
Sand?

Wherein is thy hope, O' children of
Hopelessness, in good deals, fast
Meals; lust of the filthy rich.

What dost thou hope in, being free
From labored chains? Art thou
Burdened with bloodied stains,
From the pains thou hast given
And taken.

What is thy hope? Liberated ***,
Bags of dope, needles, hard liquor
To make thee sicker with needle
Pokes.

Wherein is thy hope, somewhither
Beyond the stars, with razors to
Release the angers and pains,
Cutting wrists making pools
Of blood to feel alive
Once again.

Wherein is thy hope, for hope thou
Canst hath, from the free gift of
Christ's blood that was shed,
From the crown of thorns
Placed on his head. From
The holes by nails driven
Through his hands and
Feet, by his tears in the
Garden he didst weep.
By the eternal life he
Didst offer; even to
His murderers, to
His scoffers and
Mockers.

If thou art a lawyer, or a doctor,
Or peasant or slave, one man,
God's son, died for all men,
Yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus
The Messiah is his name).
So all may enter heaven,
Yet only by his name, if
Thou shalt confess him
As Lord, open thy hearts
Door to let him in thou
Shalt be saved. Romans
10:9-10, go read that
Hopeless reader, and
John 3:16, he gives life,
As tis he's the son
Of the creator.

Wherein O' writer is thy hope?
Is it the world that is hopeless?
Or Christ Jesus who arose.
Wherein O' reader is thy
Hope? I tell thee today
Jesus Christ offers
Thee eternal life.
Where thou shalt
Never thirst again; wherein
Thou shalt be with Christ in heaven
After this dreadful life.

© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poet's poetry
©Hope series

Inspiration from a fellow writer
And a chance at contemplation on a peaceful Saturday afternoon
Have led to a quest for forgotten moments
And thoughts of pleasant abstractions.
A hint at appreciative visuals
Carries the thought to a fig tree
Growing majestically in its place in its earthen patch.
Words fail to describe the abundance of life that exists
As sparrows flit through branches heavily laden with fruit
While the wind gently rustles leaves shaped like green hands outstretched,
Casting gentle shadows on a silently bustling anthill.
A hummingbird zooms in to smell a fruit,
Squeaks twice, and exits with the soft thrum of its wings.
A lizard skitters through the jungle of grass and snaps up a mouthful of ants
Bringing chaos to the ant kingdom.
Yet tranquility is soon restored to the fig tree soaking in the solar rays,
And the tomato quietly ripening under a cloudless sky.
Under that same sky, countless battles rage
And boiling chaos tears at its leash.
All of creation groans with pain of labor
As the fallen dig deeper in their graves
And are consumed by beastly desires.
In a forest, countless leaves gently whisper their sorrows
As warm light dances through the shadows.
The surface of a pond, as smooth as glass
Is only momentarily broken by ripples of activity
While the beholder stares deeply into the reflection.
Below the surface, ghoulish beings lurk in the mire
While deeper still, the mud of hypocrisy churns wildly
As the unworthy tongues set in and will clash in unfathomable violence.
There is something desperately wrong
Yet churlish scoffers ignore the signs
Blinded in selfishness and greed.
Again and again they play games of chess
Where all the pieces are pawns
Replaced with fake queens
While the kings of value are forgotten
Set aside until they are shot to pieces.
Yet all this is hidden, beneath the surface of impeccable glass
As devilish turmoil roars beneath the skins of men.
There is but one hope for a life of meaning
In which true peace can be restored.

You and I have become a house on fire, a thousand hoses cannot douse us
we just spark up again, like a Phenoix of desire.
Rubbernecks scoff and say we will go out any second
yet we're still burning, and we will glow white hot
long after all the scoffers go find another house to stare at.
Their voyeurism only feeds our carnal flame. I suppose that we should thank them.
Our flamethrower love cannot be snuffed, slingstones and swords will never be enough
to tear down this house, even our own heat will not destroy it.
Our love is made of the toughest materials.
So we will dance in the bonfire that cannot burn us,
their hoses cannot douse us.
All the hoses fire fluff, that evaporates without ever dimming our light.
This Inferno of ours, is composed of coloured myriads
of lust and passion,
always blended with equal parts love and tenderness.
Because tenderness, it tempers us
it turns our lust to loveliness,
nothing is as perfect as us, standing in our pyre
when we realize we are not the ones being burned.
It's our passion that radiates, our love will never hurt us.
Our bodies aflame, they can't take their eyes off of us.
I can't say I blame them,
for I cannot take my eyes away from you either.
So lets stoke the heat between us, and we will stay together,
living inside the fire of our passion, free forever.


A Burns 2012

Around the world untold mysteries await
Carefully sealed behind hidden cryptic gates
A few brave adventurers who know the truth
Have fearlessly become God’s secret sleuths.

They are searching for things that to the world are unseen,
Looking for the buried proofs of the chimera and the Gibborim.
Enduring the elements and the government spies
Clandestinely placed to protect the lies.

Lies protected and told for centuries in order to hide
Those things that would surely open men’s eyes.
The truth upon which these adventurers are fixed
Was revealed long ago in Genesis six.

It is a journey into mystery upon which they have embarked
Without fear of the shadows they stand firm facing the rulers of the dark..
They brush off the attacks of the scoffers and enter even the realms of tyrants
In order to find the protected and hidden remains of the giants.

Who are these men who search for the artifacts of earths earliest ages,
Who can decipher the clues with the wisdom of sages?
Searching the world’s most dangerous, hidden and secret places
Uncovering every stone and uncovering all the traces.

Deciphering the clues that have survived now for centuries
Then sharing the truth in revealing documentaries
Following a plan conferred by heavenly instruction
These men are the men of Gen 6 productions.

Take heed to the reports given by these men
They will guide to the Alpha and Omega the final Amen
Through exploits and discovery they have but one burden they bear.
That man will see truth and for the future prepare.

The dark alleyway glimmered with sighs.  
The lost, the weary, and the agitated gathered here for meaning.  
Those who had found nothing and those with nothing to lose stood shoulder to shoulder in the cascading rainfall. Waiting, the waiting was always the worst part.  
The walks, the receiving, the humiliation, none of it compared to the waiting.  

There was no certainty with the waiting.  There was always a certainty with the walks, as long as your legs moved and your feet could withstand your weight you could walk, and as long as there were the cursed there were the scoffers.  


But waiting, waiting has no agenda.  

With time misery etches its name into the souls of the wandering in the manor of strife and downcast faces.  Those who had forgotten the wandering blotted out the memory of fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters.  

Sons and daughters and former flames were cast out into the din, possession was no more.  Any possession would be an enlightened experience even if it meant the wandering were the possession.  
Love, compassion, peace, joy. None.

Lost...


The only virtue was humility.  Humility and self-control.  What the wondering seek is to be found. And to be found is to live. And to live is to have faith. And to have faith is to experience joy. And to experience joy is to find meaning.  

The wandering-found.

Precipice
Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

They will teach you to scoff at love
from the highest, windiest precipice of reason.

Do not believe them.

There is no place safe for you to fall
save into the arms of love.

Keywords/Tags: precipice, scoffers, skeptics, windy, hot, air, fall,  arms, love, safe

Bored poets write ennui
Sad poets psalms
Bad poets penning's
Are made into songs

Silly poets write limericks
And limericks they read
Drunk poets write scribbles
Drunk on their mead

Angry young men
Write rants by the hour
Wide-eyed young girls write
Of bunnies and flowers

Idiots write nonsense
Off the seat of their pants,
Got news for you, scoffers!
So do savants!

Gays write of rainbows
Saints of sonnets of old,
Storytellers write
pirate plunder and gold.

Broken poets write humbly
Strong writes unadorned,
Happy
write of roses

 Bleeding poets of thorns.


Soul Survivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc

Lawmen oversee the old day's hanging's,
Exit signs designed only for those who wear worn out tennis shoes,
Conquered,
Overcrowding as if only cattle can fit through!!!!

No salt nor pepper to design creation meals of home,
Fall is near,
Plumbings far to clogged,
Days passeth night,
As night begins to freight!!!

Wolves on the outside trade fur's with ferrel dogs!!!

Clenching of teeth siren off as oven's they bake,
They brew,
Country town folk with rod and ungodly staff they overtaketh and rule!!!!

Crises of all temptation,
Bleeders to readers,
****** deviants get out to put down their own indignations!!!

Desire all thou wilt,
Desiree's,
Empathies,
Chalkers, scoffers , doctors of deaths pill!!!

Read on,
Read on uneducated pillar,
For thy hooks art thy scrolls,
Thy eyeglasses maketh thou gnomes of such readings to bring thou thrillers!!!!!!

Fragrant destiny resistant to all microbial force,
Accusation's humbling,

Sovereignty is a mystery to us mortals!!!!

Dragon's slayed to stature founder's ditches of war dug out of centurion portals,
Wreaking architecture drawn out of mapped whirlpools lies,
Some groweth deathly,
Sweet talkers are refusing to trust their own worried minds!!!!

Black coated tuxedoed hosts delighting their own escapes,
Some window's stay open,
Some stay closed in the fortress,
This inescapable place!!!!!!

Tis,
This human landfill,
Dump,
Waste!!!!

You may cover the stench with a potpourri—
while you gag, as you finger your rosary.
Sacrosanct nourriture…
or decayed pourriture?
(Other patrons might label it Popery.)

Though the tepidly Protestant matron
of a church that is stagnant and state-run
does not care about Luther,
We’ll bother to truth her
with Calvin or Knox as our patron.

Though the Vatican’s bottomless coffers
make some very un-Lutheran offers,
I would rather talk Tetzel
(with beer and a pretzel)
and drink with the rebels and scoffers.

We forget that the birth of the Kirk
was a vicious, un-Catholic work
One recalls ****** Mary…
and Knox was no faerie.
His doctrine drove Satan berserk.

Many chairmen, deficient in wit
who on flimsy theologies sit
with no justification
hate predestination,
reviling it more than a bit.

Barthelemy (in French: St. Bartholomew)
was unpleasant, as most of the martyrs knew
Roman Catholic correction
or violent deception?
In heaven, they’re getting the overview…

People gag, and then murmur the rosary
seeking solace in incense or potpourri
you must pardon my French
but this damnable stench
smells like nothing so much as like Popery.

A little boy sits alone, with a world before him to explore
soon this boy grows up, not that same little boy as before
when reaching adulthood, feeding his curiosity becomes his goal
but he has not yet learned, true wisdom to maintain that control

Now a young teenager in a crowd, he senses he’s different and feels sad
so he inquires of others, and is given answers that to him just don't add
not long after this young man marries, happy and with a family of his own
he becomes overwhelmed with this depression, and feels like he is all alone

The challenges of marriage were too much, on him taking their toll
reaching that point many of us get to, he begins searching his soul
in time a transformation takes place, a degree of serenity he finds
his life slowly becomes focused, confidence and belief now shines

How many of us at one time or another, fall into this melancholy and start to wonder
is it possible that we were so deaf and blind, unaffected even from the noise of thunder
all our lives heaven sent us those messages and signs, to wake us from this our slumber
yet we chose to satisfy our materialistic desires, priorities on our list, each with a number

Skeptics and scoffers evade the logic of their folly, ignoring the truth hidden from within
unwilling to change their ways, acknowledging this truth means having to admit their sin
they err lacking the knowledge, G-d does not treat us severely when we repent while alive
but if we fail to mend our ways, love and forgiveness, for ourselves alone do we deprive

I learned this lesson myself many years ago, praying for direction from the One above
never again to put my faith in man, I was rewarded with the wisdom of truth my true love
wisdom is within the reach of all, patiently awaiting those willing to drink and draw near
with but one condition which all must follow, to acquire true wisdom, sin you must fear

Where there is fear of sin, there is enlightenment, and wisdom has a place to call home
without fear you cannot control yourself, unhindered, your evil inclination is free to roam
your hopes and desires they can really be achieved, but remember to always remain true
that road to ultimate happiness, is to acquire that wisdom, a gift understood by so few

Scoffers, skeptics, fools,
too far away from God
laugh at my convictions
and often call me odd.

Because my faith is solid
because my faith is strong
I laugh right back at them
and call them wrong.

Morals have been lost
values down the drain
ethics out the window
intolerance...insane!

The devil throws the dice
and wins most of the time
most anything now goes
what's done is just a crime.

It's too late to save them
from the lake of fire
they've tossed it all away
by the flames of their desire.

Have you surveyed the wondrous Cross... like Christ's disciple John?
Considered such traumatic loss... and thought all hope was gone?
Watched Jesus as He wore a crown... of callous thorns that day
While blood was pouring from each frown... as that crowd chose to stay?
Or heard the scoffers full of doubt... when Christ was called a King?
Or Mary's sorrows crying out... while kneeling, wondering?

With John still staring at his friend... condemned at Calvary
And asking... if this was the end... must Jesus die for me?
Those in the Spirit have been there... they've seen the Roman swords...
Yet every day they say in prayer... Christ is the Lord of Lords!
Christ is the King of Kings, indeed! The Word of God, for sure...
The Saviour sent... so He'd succeed... like none God sent before...

Amazing grace came through God's Son... His Name's worth more than gold!
The Bible says what Christ has done... is the greatest story ever told!

Denis Martindale April 2018.

Scoffers and fools
wasting away
chafed by the wind
ruined, crumbled
stolen from, rejected.

The poverty of the poor is their ruin,
I am in poverty.
A rod for the back if you have no sense,
I make foolish choices.
I worry and dread,
and yes, it comes true.

How much more of me and mine will be destroyed?

Turn me around, O Lord.
Make my mouth, my lips, my words righteous.
Guide me with your instruction
and keep me only along your path
that I may find men and women,
brothers and sisters, to learn with,
to pace my life with, to encourage one
another towards your solid way.

Bored poets write ennui
Saintly poets write psalms
Bad poets pennings
Are made into songs

Silly poets write limericks
And limericks they read
Drunk poets write scribbles
Drunk on their mead

Angry young men
Write rants by the hour
Wide-eyed young girls write
Of bunnies and flowers

Idiots write nonsense
Off the seat of their pants,
Got news for you, scoffers!
So do savants!

Gays write of rainbows
Heros epics of old,
Storytellers write of
pirate plunder and gold.

Broken poets write humbly
Strong writes unadorned,
Happy bards write of roses
Bleeding poets of thorns.




Soul Survivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc


But what makes a true poet
Is simply when
They type on a keyboard
or write with a PEN