The gods are angry!
Oh, what have we done?
Our doom is coming!
There’s nowhere to run!

We sacrificed every virgin, on an altar so high.
Yet the dark clouds are still building, we are going to die.

We killed all the outsiders, who wandered into our tribe.
Yet the earth is still rumbling, the gods rejected our bribe.

We hung all the prophets, and burned all the books in fire.
Yet the volcano still rages, our future still dire.

We locked up the criminals, and punished all the sinners.
Yet the crops are still barren, we remain the offenders.

We spent all of our gold, building temples and tall statues.
Yet our people are starving, our people the gods abuse.

We conquered the heathens, only our righteous tribe remains.
Yet our flesh is still boiling, there is no rest from our pain.

The gods are angry!
Oh, what have we done?

Technorati Tags: funny poetry, ironic poetry, mystic poetry, Poetry

It’s hard to be vigilant
The distractions are many

It’s hard to remain alert
The dreaming comes so easy

The evils are hidden well
The horrors swept under view

The pleasures are obvious
The delights of brilliant hue

The work of the day is light
In light of when I compare

To the work of the needy
Those truly in need of care

The innocent suffer there
The voiceless die while unheard

But comfortable am I
The miseries become blurred

My concerns are so petty
But my mind is so consumed

My life is so hurried
I have no time for the doomed

Death is but a fairy tale
And of no interest to me

The here and now fill my thoughts
Just earthly treasure I see

It’s hard to be vigilant
The distractions are many

It’s hard to remain alert
The dreaming comes so easy

Technorati Tags: Christian Mysticism, mystic poetry, Poetry

Oh little gnat on my glasses
How your guts are like molasses

I was out biking fast and free
Suddenly, a black dot I see

I blew at you to go away
Then shook my lens, and yet you stay

You had your chance, yet you linger
So I flicked you with my finger

Now I find to my great distress
You left behind a sticky mess

Oh little gnat on my glasses
How your guts are like molasses

Technorati Tags: funny poetry, Humor, Poetry

“If you stare long enough into the Abyss,

the Abyss stares back at you.”

A man can lie to himself all he wishes,

but the mirror sees right through.

Oh the reflection how it burns and scalds us,

we cringe as finger to flame.

The world’s evil is in truth our very own,

what we see is our own blame.

There is no finger we can point nor curse throw,

that won’t even greater return.

But should we embrace pain and face our own fault,

we can then evolve and learn.

The Abyss once haunted me and so I hid,

but now I do gaze wide eyed.

I submit the dark so I can see clearly,

all that becomes me inside.

Technorati Tags: abyss, mystic poetry, Poetry

You don’t have to hurt
You don’t have to feel
Get rid of the dirt
The pain isn’t real

Just come take this pill
And go on with life
You’re not sad, you’re ill
You don’t deserve strife

Pop, swallow, and down
The medicine is great
We’ll cure all your frowns
And help you cheat fate

Do what you want to
And go where you will
There’s no consequence now
When you take this pill

Yes, ain’t life great
Now that we have the pill

Technorati Tags: bad medicine, mystic poetry, Poetry

Swimming, Swimming in the sea
Daddy, Daddy, look at me

Look! I dove into the lake
Well, very small steps I take

The fish don’t scare me, not at all
My knees are shaking so I might fall

I love to float upon the water
Everyone is my size smaller

Daddy, now I found something fun
So don’t just lie there in the sun

Come out with me into the sea
Find a nice warm spot and pee

Technorati Tags: funny poetry, Humor, Poetry

Photo by Madame Aradia

It is never what you do.
It is why you did it.
It is never what you say.
It is what you communicate.
It is never where you go.
It is why you are there.

It is never what you wear.
It is why you wear it.
It is never what you have.
It is what you use it for.
It is never what you believe.
It is what you trust.

It is never the difficulty of the painting.
It is the insight of the artist.
It is never the skill of the music.
It is the heart of the composer.
It is never the technique of the prose.
It is the understanding of the author.

It is never the historic fact.
It is the lesson learned.
It is never the experience.
It is the wisdom.
It is never the knowledge.
It is the understanding.

It is never the number of friends.
It is the depth of the relationship.
It is never the size of the family.
It is the unity of the home.
It is never a church.
It is the Body of Christ.

For man looks at the outside,
But God looks at the heart.
The path a man walks,
Spawns from his heart.
You cannot change the heart
By changing the path.
But a humbled heart,
Leads a righteous path.
For a man can do many things right,
And never right his own heart.
Gaining the whole world,
And losing his own soul.

Technorati Tags: maturity, mystic poetry, Poetry

The open window whispers with curtain weeping
While I leave my bed
A house cat prowls upon the carpet creeping
Startled, I hit my head
Floor boards moan braking my soft socks sneaking
I tiptoe downstairs
And to the quiet kitchen I go a seeking
My toe hits the chair
For my stomach is pour and creaking
It growls to complain
Into the fridge, is where my eyes are peeking
through meat loaf and champaign
Alas, my leftover pizza has started reeking

Technorati Tags: funny poetry, Humor, Poetry