Snooze refused

A lengthy nap, four days at rest,
His snooze refused, his chest compressed.
Death lets us go at God’s command,
It bows to Holy reprimand.

Monarch

The girl, she’s drugged, abducted.
The narratives constructed.
The victim shares your slouch.

Unflattering they picture her,
The re-enactment partly blur,
You view it from your couch.

As a monarch paralyzed,
Sedated and demoralized.
You never feel the ouch.

Ode to “medication”

Minus a needle or lance,
Declaring your head was askew,
Upon you, their mind, it advanced,
Experiment theirs, became you.

Stormy your thoughts from within,
Your circuits would cross and divide.
Resetting your ends they’d begin
With chemistry pimping your ride.

Responsiveness, yours now delayed,
Shuffled and slurred was your way.
Your mind, up for you, was remade,
Erased and re-taped every day.

Then slipping away from our view,
That evening, your final ascent.
No more “medication” for you,
You gave it all up. It was Lent.

Lies told

Lies told bold
That took us in,
Around us wrapped,
Removed our breath.

Tales grown old,
Were freshly skinned,
And left us trapped,
To sell us death.

Quiet in the night

She barked her greeting firm
Getting our attention.
Her breath, it just did last,
To see us reunite.

It had become her turn,
In death’s humiliation,
Her paws a hand at last,
In seeing wrongs aright.

Together, his return,
Our reconciliation,
Fifteen years, she passed,
Quiet in the night.

Paths of righteousness

Paths of righteousness traverse the dales of death,
Christ our shepherd there amidst the wilderness.
Fixed on Him, our selves, in spite of our distress,
He meets our every need, supplies our every breath.

Inspired by Psalm 23 and the link below

Scientism says

Scientism says,
They know what is best.
Scientism says,
We should all submit.
Scientism says.
We must all invest,
Scientism says,
Every little bit.

Scientism says,
Go and have your fun.
Scientism says,
There is not a sower.
Scientism says.
When the game is done,
Scientism says,
That it’s never over.

From the dust

From the dust of Eden’s floor,
Living by God’s very breath,
Man progressed away from God,
Choosing sin, in love with death.

Obsolete

Never absent, His befriending,
Full redeemed my soul.
Death, its patent ever pending,
Obsolete its hold.

Without

Without our God our way seems right,
When wrong we think we’re not.
Replacing Him is our big sin,
But He won’t be forgot.

Proverbs 14:12 – “There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”