Wanted

It would be so splendid,
If Hell would freeze over,
So all the things that it’s said,
Won’t ever happen,
‘Til Hell freezes over,
Could come to fruition.

Like a world not predestined for failure,
One where there are more,
Saints than sinners,
And more to adore,
Than to abhor.

A way to make a living,
That doesn’t require,
Kissing someone’s ass,
And handing them half your life,
On a silver platter.

Where people don’t settle,
For whatever happens along first,
But wait for that which without,
They would die of thirst.

Oh for a world,
Where there are no regrets,
For people said what they felt,
Without stupidly waiting,
As biding your time,
Awaiting a perfect moment,
Ends with disappointment,
That realigns fates.

If only free,
Was really without cost,
But there’s always a price,
And if left unpaid,
That free thing is lost.

A place where time could stand still,
At the snap of a finger,
Or the stomp of a foot,
And then linger,
So we could just chill,
And enjoy the thrills.

If only instead of,
Employing unrelenting backstabbing and gossip,
A person looked at another,
As a soul not a foe,
And realized that’s the only way,
To make Heaven their home.

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

Your head will become,
Quite the circus,
When everything starts to surface,
It’s totally bizarre,
How it comes from nowhere,
But also everywhere.

No matter who you are,
And where you’re coming from,
You’ve seen some shit,
That you can’t forget,
We pack it away,
Until when one unexpected day,
The feelings left behind,
Spring forth in our mind.

The choicest ones,
Are always amusing,
They’ll take you on,
A wonderful walk,
You’ll smile all rosy,
As if smelling fresh-cut lawn,
Or cinnamon buns.

Some seriously sadden,
So sharply and so strongly,
When you go back there,
Bound wounds open afresh,
And you become such a mess,
That it’s a tad in doubt,
If you’ll manage to crawl out.

The worst will beat you down,
Make you good and angry,
So you wear a frown,
Your blood will begin to boil,
As you recall being treated,
Like a bed of rotting soil.

Once in awhile,
There’ll be one that amazes you,
And makes you wish to travel,
Back to when that one particular,
Was a fresh-made smile.

All the while you’re being assaulted,
With this reminiscing,
Some disappointing,
And others satisfying,
As these recollections flood you,
Mind, body, and soul,
Don’t let them take total control,
No,
Not even the happy moments,
Or you’ll end up going,
Down a deep and depressing hole.

Unbearable Mysteries

********************
Dying to know,
The reason for this season,
But it’s not for us to know,
As this show is not our own,
But belongs to Him alone.
********************

Someday it’ll be over,
And our heads won’t have the chore,
Of deliberating it anymore.

Someday it’ll be in the past,
And we won’t be overwhelmed,
For we’ll be a part,
Of the spirit realm.

Someday we’ll be on its other side,
And these mixed-up messes,
Will have turned to blessings.

Someday it’ll be worked through,
And when we’ve made it to Glory,
We can concentrate on me and you.

Someday it’ll be just a memory,
The details will be long forgotten,
Washed away,
Like dirt from a shirt of cotton.

……….But, That’s The Majority……….

Is there anything more irritating,
Than someone who lies,
To and about,
The one who tries?

One is lying,
While the other’s trying,
But who cares if the trier cries?
For sure not the liar……….

And it sure is lies,
When they say you’re loved,
Yet to the farthest corner,
Of their life you’ve been shoved.

Just be there,
When they remember to care,
Just be there,
When they’re down to the bottom,
On their mental list,
Of who might care,
Just be there,
When a slot opens up,
For them to ask “what’s up”?

Be there,
Or else!
You’re packed away,
To the backmost shelf.

Other than that,
Fuck off!
Who do you think you are?
You,
The trier,
Taking up the precious time,
Of the liar.

So, liar,
Now you’re hated,
Because the you you showed,
Has been long awaited,
But this complicated,
Hot then cold,
Is not a friend,
For on that,
No one can depend.

Shock Of The Century

How are you doing lately?
Hanging on by a thread,
Why’s that?
Because I feel like being dead.

Oh no! – Why?
Because that one’s been sly,
Doing what?
Turning his back, making me cry.

Oh! The nerve!
I hope he gets what’s deserved!
Same here!
Although that’s also my fear!

How so?
Because I never chose,
For him to become foe,
Oh, indeed?
Yes – for real,
I rather picture him,
As a knight with a steed.

That sounds like quite the conundrum!
Yes, it’s a problem!
Whatever will you do?
I shall pray,
For he’s one of the precious few.

Spiritual Warfare

Almost,
I’m used to it,
But almost doesn’t count,
Proof being when the thoughts,
Come flooding back,
With their malevolent attack.

Sneaking in,
Through the backdoor of my brain,
Causing my head to hear crazy,
I see why some of the weaker ones,
Go insane.

I get it,
How that one became deranged,
Why he chose his own day to die,
Uncaring he would cause,
Us to cry.

It’s making sense now,
Why some do things,
That make the rest of us speechless,
Except for maybe,
A “what the fuck” or a “wow”.

Things are crystal clear now,
How some people,
Seem to suddenly go dumb,
Throwing tantrums,
Like one who still,
Sucks upon his thumb.

It’s just hit me,
Like a ton of bricks,
How it is that demons,
Managed to take over,
The way his mind ticks.

It’s becoming understandable,
Why they say their head is, like……….,
But can’t find the words,
After all,
Heads are not expandable,
So inevitably all of this commotion,
Will one day lead to an explosion.

Presently it’s plain as day,
The reason one day he’s normal,
The next he’s doing shit unfathomable,
Going quickly,
From angel to infernal.

Currently,
I myself feel it,
And it’s in no way pleasant,
I want to rave and rant,
But must remain silent,
For to project this everywhere,
Laying it all bare,
What would be the point?
When without a doubt,
No one even cares.

The who and what and when and where and why,
They don’t even matter,
It’s impossible to think,
The way the thoughts are stirred together,
Like a gone-wrong batter.

Almost,
I’m used to it,
But almost doesn’t count,
Proof being when the feelings,
Won’t go away,
No matter how much we pray.

Tel Mah

So much fun,
And isn’t the attachment rare?
Even so,
I don’t care,
That was yesterday,
But as for today……….I hate you.

Will it change?
I guess that depends,
On how you play your game,
All the innings should be,
Just like the beginning,
Once you stop sowing,
You quit reaping,
As then you’re not worth keeping.

If you turn to slime,
I stop wasting time,
Better halt the acting like,
I’m some gruesome daily grind,
Rather than a relaxing relief,
For your fucked-up mind.

Everyone wants to have their cake,
And eat it too,
And here’s that chance,
Pretty much offered to you,
On a silver platter,
Better figure out,
What’s the matter,
Before it dries up,
Like a dead tree stump.

Whether the near future brings,
A sickening sting,
Or a sunny song to sing,
I guess we shall see,
Which you’ll make be.

Is staying miserable,
All you can handle?
Or can you shut that door,
And move on to what’s in store?
The unknown isn’t really,
All that scary,
I speak from experience,
And P.S.,
This thing isn’t just coincidence.

Are And Dee

Like an angry wind,
He stirs things up,
Makes people’s minds bend,
Like a tree bowed over double,
Amid a storm’s leftover rubble.

She follows him,
Like a loyal dog,
Pleasing his every whim,
For her card’s pulled,
From the same deck,
And it’s not that hard.

What a life they lead,
Nosy, nosy, nosy,
Laughing ’til their cheeks are rosy,
Happiest when meddling,
Putting on,
A Christian facade,
Thinking they’re not sinning.

Pretty is,
As pretty does,
These are two,
Downright ugly slimy slugs.

Oh it sickens those,
Who’ve been bruised,
By their ruse,
But what can we do?
Other than pray they stray,
From their wicked ways.

Solo Confidence

The little boat,
Drifts along,
In its heart,
Beats a psycho song,
Full of anger,
Full of angst,
Mad then sad,
It goes far beyond bad.

The song appears,
To come and go,
Caused by whatever weather,
Has determined,
The river’s flow,
But from the banks,
We never know,
To what extent,
It’s taken its toll.

Look it over closely,
Before taking the little boat,
Out for a drive,
Look every day,
In case a storm showed up,
And riled its waters,
While you were elsewhere,
And it needs a repair.

You can’t know for sure,
At only a glance,
So why take the chance?
From where you’re at,
There’s no telling,
If winds were blowing,
Making holes that aren’t showing,
But will be made known,
After you’ve taken it,
Away from its home.

You must remember,
The storm has no friends,
It tosses every boat,
In its path,
And some are made,
To resist its wrath,
But some just can’t withstand,
A strong storm’s demands.

Though it’s controversial,
Technically,
Boats are optional,
And it’s more than acceptable,
To let that boat,
Be for someone else to float.

Though the river is mandatory,
How one navigates it,
Is their own little story,
A boat is escapable,
If you’re capable.

What A Terrible, Terrible Man!

Maurice Michaels,
Is he cursed,
Or is it patterns and cycles?

Maurice Michaels,
Any lady,
Who’s tried that man,
Has turned tail and ran.

Maurice Michaels,
King of all psychos,
Calls cute sweethearts,
Little hoes.

Maurice Michaels,
Denies the King of Kings,
Meanwhile,
He’s got absolutely nothing.

Maurice Michaels,
Likes to stare,
At the pretty lady,
Who for him,
Will never care.

Maurice Michaels,
Sickeningly shady,
And with a personality,
Straight from hell.

Maurice Michaels,
Lacks self esteem,
What he wants,
Will never make it,
Past a dream.

Maurice Michaels,
Without willpower,
Picks on others,
Can’t do shit for himself,
So studies habits,
And makes fun of another’s.

Maurice Michaels,
A big round belly,
The rest of him well balanced,
He looks so silly.

Maurice Michaels,
Never was one more rude,
And just so happens,
He’s also a prude.

Maurice Michaels,
Has a heart of stone,
All he does,
Is piss and moan.

Maurice Michaels,
Always willing,
To lend an ear,
To someone wanting,
To laugh and sneer.

Maurice Michaels,
Sends out bad vibes,
They mirror,
Where his heart resides.

Maurice Michaels,
Is one fucked up guy,
Never has one,
Told more lies.

Maurice Michaels,
Doesn’t know how to have fun,
He may as well be done.

Maurice Michaels,
Is spiritually blind,
To the devil,
His soul has been signed.

Maurice Michaels,
A first class jerk,
Not worth the work.