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Tell Me Of Your Dreams Child

Blood pyramid rising
Stood before the Christ child crucified
The solar god is dead and dying still.
Fresh from the kill.
The temples erected in his honor are sour in grandeur,
the mason’s secret concealed
Solomon's temple - Solomon's Key
Where are the prophets of our age?
Left to rot behind locked doors?
Labeled lunatics and forgotten.
Beggers are the merchants of sympathy?
Give them gold for the story told.
Take me now to a world where I can feel myself as real.
How many life’s have we lived within each others arms?
Tell me of heaven?
Tell me of hell?

The clouds are moving spectres of freedom at rest.
Barefooted, adorned in the rags of decadence
The faces of the hillside are grim - relics of an industrial age.
The dales and peaks arise before us
Tell me of your dreams child?
Elated - visions blurring towards fantasy fulfilled
The clouds are heavens forming
There is a break in the dance unheard.

poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

I want to

I want to tell you a story, And you can read about it some more,

About a wise king called Solomon, who had servants do e Rey chore;

One day he heard the Lord God of Israel talk to him and say,

Because you chose to be my child, and my words you do obey,

I have decided to give you a gift and you can decide which to choose,

You can become very rich, so money, or wisdom, which can you use?

Solomon thought long and hard, and decided wisdom was the best,

And so God said because you wasn't greedy you can have the rest.

Solomon soon found out wisdom he did receive, from the Lord,

When 2 women came fighting over one baby boy he had heard;

The mother of the one who died said its mine the child that's alive,

But the other mother whose one who lived no that's mine, she does lie.

They both argued so king Solomon said cut the baby in two,

Let them share half each, In the bible you'll see it's true;

The real mother said no give to her, please don't destroy the boy,

But the other mum just kept saying slice him, she thought it like a toy.

So king Solomon said give the child to the mother over there,

She is the real mother, she was protecting him, cause she doth care;

Only a real mother could show so much love, enough to give away,

Than let her child be destroyed, Wise Solomon knew what to say.

Yes! Solomon received money as well, but becoming rich went to his head,

When he built such beautiful buildings, he forgot God, and said t'was I. Instead;

The Moral of this story, is don't forget to say Thanks to God for everything,

Never think that you did it all, God has made. So Give Praises to God as you sing.

poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'The Child Jesus

Led by the Spirit His parents had brought
The Child Jesus into the Temple court
The Temples' to the temple had come
To keep the law and the required custom

The glory of the Lord was there that day
In that building composed of earthly clay
Greater glory than in Solomon's reign
God into His temple had come again

Few expected Him to come in this way
‘Twas not at the request of men that pray
But to fulfil the law and pay the price
A pair of turtle doves as sacrifice

Simeon and Hannah were present there
And in prophecy began to declare
That Child in their arms was the Holy one
Born of God, His only Belovéd Son

As this great moment began to unfold
The world passed by too busy to behold
For this Child Jesus was to change the way
In which man has to come to God today

The veil of the temple was torn in two
It's now possible for man to pass through
That Child in the temple became a man
And died on the cross to fulfil God's plan

(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)

poem by Roy Allen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Doors Are Locked

From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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