Poems about Reality
Some hunger for righteousness;
as kind and gentle as a flower;
tho others embody spitefulness;
while only longing for power.
We were given freedom; meant to love;
and never intentionally causing duress;
given power and Wisdom from above;
not ever designed that tyrants oppress.
Some seem born of the serpent’
…I learned that my writing is an obsession;
was, so informed, by a dear friend;
and I must tender a sincere confession;
I’ll likely continue it, to life’s end.
I must admit that it’s a sobering thought;
I am simply wasting my life away:
rather than doing
Time is the master of physicality;
both joy and sorrow he’ll bring;
manipulator of all earthly reality;
he sits on his throne as its king.
The obstinate one, stands at the helm;
surveying his vast domain;
for, in this earth, he is king of his realm;
nothing’s outside
Slavery and it’s minions are always marching;
they never remain devoid of their plans;
tyrants never plan to be among the starving;
even those who’ve bloodied their hands.
Beware of those seeking power over others;
their true motives are never to serve;
while taking freedoms of sisters and
In eternity past, as a seed I was planted;
only a mere thought, the Master found.
His honor and all glory, I was granted;
this mere seed; grown in the ground.
I’ve since forgotten that place of my birth;
which was always meant my true home;
since long ago:
I am a child; offspring of the King;
ageless, and bearing little worth;
doing my best, Wisdom to bring;
for it was my purpose to birth.
I’ve traveled this road many times before;
attempting to love and to share;
now, I find myself traveling it once more;
to show
There is a place, up in the air;
we learned to store information;
it isn’t really a place or where;
for it’s the knowledge plantation.
Knowledge, has always been there;
tho we think we’re the first to bring.
But, far more is stored in that where;
for
I often wonder why others plan,
those things they desire to hide;
often thinking I’d like to scan;
to discover their motives inside.
But motives are designs by others;
not made for my eyes to see;
thoughts of sisters and brothers;
not meant for the likes of me.
What
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