Finder's Fees
They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,
If those visits have lapses.
Dictated to keep their tithes high
To ensure,
An answer to their prayers will come.
And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.
And not understanding this...
Has a temendous price at a cost,
We suffer to deliver.
Just to keep a nightmare of sin away!
But we keep our wishes for things.
And these things wished...
Eventually are asked to have the pressure
Of keeping them,
Blessedly kept and protected.
And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.
They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,
If those visits have lapses.
Dictated to keep their tithes high
To ensure,
An answer to their prayers will come.
Or at least a developed plan to put them on layaway.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
So Remotely Distanced
Discussing reality brings many to a sadness.
So remotely distanced from truth...
A life without delusion pursued,
Is not a life lived.
And many today refused to do it.
Fed on elitest ideals and dreams,
With luxurized lifestyles...
In condos with high walnut wooden beams,
Is how many see their purpose.
Surrounded by materialistic 'things'.
And things without enlightenment,
Is a life lived incomplete and empty.
With a seeking of sympathy...
When things are taken away from them and gone.
As complaints from them placing blame on others...
Goes on and on and on and on!
Discussing reality brings many to a sadness.
So remotely distanced from truth...
A life without delusion pursued,
Is not a life lived.
And many today refused to do it,
Too.
Choosing their own sanity to maim.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Truth
They called you a failure
They called you a lost cause
They said you would never become anything at all
The love generation, With no direction
But when I look in your eyes I see the prize yet to be claimed
[chorus]
I'll say it once, I'll say it twice
That your life was worth the price
Paid for you, Paid for me
And I believe in you
And I know you'll find the truth
I know you've been broken
'Cause I've seen the abuse
I know there's a place inside your heart begging for truth
For a soft spoken answer
That won't wake your spirit
And when I look in your eyes I see the prize that's yet to be claimed
[chorus]
I'll say it once, I'll say it twice
That your life was worth the price
Paid for you, Paid for me
And I believe in you
And I know you'll find the truth
That's not what they told you
When they said they gave up for you
And your nothing
And you'll never be anything
I wait for the day when you stand up and say
I can do all things
Through Him here who strenghtens me
[chorus]
I'll say it once, I'll say it twice
That your life was worth the price
Paid for you, Paid for me
And I believe in you
Yes I believe in you
And I know you'll find the truth
..........
Life, not just any kind of life
This is eternal life
It's easy to understand, simple to get
It's as simple as ABC (life)
A - Admit that you are a sinner and that you need a saviour
B - Believe in your heart that Jesus Christ is Lord
C - Confess your sins and committ your life to Him
D - Don't wait until tomorrow
song performed by by ZoeGirl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Price
There's a price for everything.
And everything has a price.
The cost may be higher.
It is never precise.
A second of pleasure.
For a lifetime of guilt.
Destroying the house,
Of love that God built.
Innocent victims,
Are killed by the blast.
Others they are maimed,
The scars forever they last.
We walk through that door,
Our morals astray,
Not knowing the price,
That will have to be paid.
There is one thing in common.
It's what we all share.
Three nine inch nails,
And the flesh that they teared.
Silent love.
Screaming so loud.
He paid the price.
His father so proud.
The plan was complete
He said, “It is done”
I have paid for your sins
Each and every one.
To accept my free gift.
There's something I ask.
It's a couple requests,
They are simple tasks.
To just love your neighbor,
Like you love yourself.
Put yourself behind others.
Put your pride on the shelf.
When you do something wrong,
You can call on my name.
I'll show you My mercy,
And remove your shame.
My death was the price.
The price that was due.
I paid it in full.
I did it for you.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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How High a Price
Justice IS blind!
And government is to shield...
As lie is to conceal.
Eventually,
Truth is revealed.
No matter how high a price paid,
To entertain reality...
By keeping it hidden!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Issues of Race
What needs are being sought and chased,
When issues of race...
Are manifested to prioritize and take place.
Whose insecurities are graphically traced?
With constant reminders,
Of who is superior!
And who should be disgraced,
As an inferior race.
There seems to be a heightened fear,
Among those choosing to protect 'their' interests.
Those that are clearly stolen and endeared.
Significant images of unlawful immigrants appear,
To be used as excuses to monitor and abuse...
Those who have rights within the same borders too.
What needs are being sought and chased,
When issues of race...
Are manifested to prioritize and take place.
When the natives of this land,
Had been strategically exterminated as a plan.
To remove from them resources...
With false claims and demands.
Who should really command?
Upon soil that has been spoiled...
By gluttonous and foreign hands.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Easy
Know it sounds funny
But I just cant stand the pain
Girl Im leaving you tomorrow
Seems to me girl
You know Ive done all I can
You see I begged, stole
And I borrowed
Ooh, thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Why in the world
Would anyboddy put chains on me?
Ive paid my dues to make it
Everbody wants me to be
What they want me to be
Im not happy when I try to fake it!
No!
Ooh,thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
I wanna be high, so high
I wanna be free to know
The things I do are right
I wanna be free
Just me, babe!
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Because Im easy
Easy like sunday morning
Because Im easy
Easy like sunday morning
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cynic or realist
I don’t donate to charities
which may seem mean in others eyes.
But when I see the fees they pay
to their fund raisers there’s no way.
A large slice of what we donate
is swallowed up as sure as fate.
To pay inflated salaries
and high administrative fees.
A small percentage of the whole
will go towards the stated goal.
It’s possible I may be wrong
but I have been around to long
to swallow their publicity
Which relies on our naivete.
7-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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True Confessions
Before you tell me to go, Ive got to let you know
How youre makin my temperature rise
I let you use me, you tried to abuse me, you tell me youre not very nice
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
I do things to make you crazy inside
And baby thats one thing you know you cant hide
You ask me why, whats your confession
Well baby, the truth is, youre in my possession tonight
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions (repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With A Twist Of Forbidden Truth
As if flashes of light,
These days come to pass so fast.
And those hanging onto vivid memories,
Of times that are gone...
With a taking of them family and friends,
That from 'this' world have moved on...
Seems as if the life we live,
Is just a dream in the scheme of things.
And here we are...
Illusioned by myths.
And other fantastic historic tales to tell,
About an existence left mostly to interpretation.
To sweeten imaginations with the calling of it reality.
But how much of it really is...
Reality?
And to 'whom' do we credit our perceptions?
And at what price have those paid to distort the truth?
Or...
Could it be a possibility,
We are already in the midst of that being witnessed?
As it is being described as a re-focusing of purpose.
With a twist of forbidden truth broadening the minds,
Of those wisening with wider eyes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Comforted In Ease
Appearances have kept them locked,
Into traps.
A physical existence,
Has made sure their minds...
Stay blinded like that.
Caught up and teased,
By what 'necessitates'...
A life of luxury comforted in ease,
They kill themselves for that.
And do it literally.
Appearances have kept them locked,
Into traps.
A physical existence,
Has made sure their minds...
Stay blinded like that.
And like bats living in caves,
Darkened to provide satisfactions intact.
Nothing outside of their programmed comfort zone...
Is going to convince them,
What they have is not 'owned'. It's just on loan.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Locked in a Box
I'm in a locked box
and I'm searching
for the key.
The key that
will set me free.
But wait this locked box
is like no other...
the locked box I'm
in is not made from
cardboard, glass,
wood, plastic or
leather.
The locked box I’m in
is made by an alloyed created
by my own hands.
My mind is the locked
box that I'm in.
The bottom is made from
the ghetto streets
I grew up on.
And one side of the box
is made from the violence
and abuse I suffered
at home.
Now another side is made from
the drugs and alcohol I used
to escape.
While another side is made of
my own self hate.
Now the last side of the locked
box is made from the things
that used to be my hopes
and dreams,
and the lid of this locked box
is made from my nightmares
and screams.
Now, I’m scratching the walls
trying to set myself free.
Because I can feel this
lock box closing in on me.
Closing in so tight it is taking
away my breath.
This locked box is becoming
my resting place after my death.
Wait a minute death may be
the key.
For if I die I will be free.
I'm in a locked box.
Her Truth
Your truth claims to be a reality
While her truth is the reality
Your truth is just another fallacy
While her truth states actuality
Your truth tries to call her an insurgent
Just another agent
Trying to spread hatred
When her truth really speaks for those you have murdered
For those you denied existence
After they fought for their freedom
Went to the streets to express their position
And you accused them of being destroyers
Ended their lives like they worth nothing
Your truth tried to oppress them
Suppress their voices
While her truth spoke for them
Went to the squares screaming for their liberty
Fighting for their authority
Your truth is only believed by those who shared your earnings
Those who sold their souls for the Benjamins
Used religion, race and lies to serve your purpose
While her truth refused to take it all
Her truth was so pure it refused to sell the martyrs blood
Your truth has become so little
So her truth rose above it and took over the scene
Your truth was caught out
Your truth was discovered
More and more are finding her truth
Seeing the Real Truth
And yours, of course, just wished it would have listened…
poem by Jacob Arden
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Words Only You Will Come to Know
In the silence there are answers.
When the mind is hushed.
And free of busy thoughts to think.
Sit and quiet yourself,
And you will hear God speak.
In words only you will come to know.
Heard and understood,
Within your reach.
In a language felt yet unspoken.
And with your eyes,
The truth will begin to show itself,
For what it is...
And is not!
With no one you need around,
Convincing you to believe...
What is real or fantasy.
You will come to see reality.
There...
To be found in your life to live!
If you allow these visits with God.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Undetected
The only thing left mysteriously kept,
By those denying they hide from truth...
Is what part of it do they believe,
They perceive goes undetected?
And who can be fooled,
Once being introduced to truth...
Will not suspect they have been deceived,
With a blinding of charm and flattery received.
What else revealed to eyes wide open,
With those choosing to conceal...
An obviousness as leaves on Oak or Maple trees?
What else is 'real' or not,
To those wishing to keep accepted reality blocked?
And their delusions ripened and fresh,
Yet protected from those who object.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't Be The One To Hold Onto This Molding Done
The giving of unlimited patience,
To someone in constant complaint mode...
Grows old.
Like a balding tire that needs to be replaced.
And has run out of valuable tread.
Get real with this!
Don't wait until that tire blows.
To believe it will assist instead...
In the delivery to and from,
With you in safe passage.
Get real with this!
And slow down to examine it for what it is.
Make the necessary change and be on your way!
With a sigh of relief when you leave.
The giving of unlimited patience,
To someone in constant complaint mode...
Grows old.
Like a balding tire that needs to be replaced.
And has run out of valuable tread.
Get real with this.
Slow down to examine it for what it is.
And make the necessary changes.
Don't delay speeding away,
From that which has been corrected and fixed.
Get real with this quick.
The giving of unlimited patience,
To someone in constant complaint mode...
Grows old.
Don't be the one to hold onto this molding done!
Get real with this.
Slow down to examine it for what it is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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True Truth Can Not Be Bartered
Have we been too wise,
In the closing of our eyes...
To walk away from situations,
As if those realities...
For us did not exist.
And today with too much reality,
Staring all of us in the face...
We wish to keep most of it edited.
For fear that truth for what it is,
And reluctantly accepted...
Has a way of blocking out deceit,
But welcomes denial to pamper as a pet.
Leaving those shadowed by conformity,
To realize true truth can not be bartered.
Or left to anger those putting away their tap shoes.
The ones no longer choosing to be fools,
For the sake of keeping stereotypical images active.
True truth can not be bartered.
Or be bothered by the pondering of it,
That come for some to sit to discuss benefits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Elated To Have Been Distanced
From which side are those with kept delusions,
Would 'they' say are most difficult to view?
Those on the side witnessing their values diminished,
By the ones they've entrusted to keep them endeared?
Or the ones advocating the others to be fools,
To dismiss those standards hyped as reality...
When both sides refuse to accept reality as it appears,
With a denying of its existence?
And those censored as nonconformists,
Who continue to offend them with truth...
Are defamed on a daily basis,
For their attempts to introduce truth to them.
From which side are those with kept delusions,
Would 'they' say are most difficult to view?
When both sides refuse to accept reality as it appears,
With a denying of its existence?
And those censored as nonconformists,
Sing their praises to be the ones isolated...
To view all of this from a higher consciousness.
And elated to have been distanced.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Letting Go
I rise from my death.
My old life is done.
My new life is hardship.
The old life was fun.
Gave it all away.
Not the things that I owned.
The old seeds of my life.
And the things I had sown.
My life was about me.
And the things I could get.
At the expense of another.
In my ways I was set.
I had to lose all I loved.
It was then I could see.
All that I had been.
And not all I could be.
I think of a Man.
And the truths that He’d taught.
He’s the meaning of love.
And love I was not.
Maybe love of myself.
And I got what I gave.
Not the freedom I sought.
But the life of a slave.
I was a slave to the system.
I was chained to the soil.
My spirit was dying.
As my blood it did boil.
Only anger, resentment.
And bitterness remained.
As my spirit lay dying.
I was going insane.
Expectations of others.
What could benefit me?
But my truth was a lie.
And His truth set me free.
If you want the gift of the promise.
Put your life on the cross.
Give your life for another.
And you’ll find what you lost.
Accept others as they are.
Just like God did with us.
Let their path be their choosing.
In the Lord put your trust.
The price has been paid.
For your debts in advance.
So true love you could know.
If you give Him a chance.
His live he gave up.
For you and for me.
Not for who we are now.
But for who we can be.
You are not what you think.
You are more than you know.
If you want to find out.
Then you have to let go.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Anger does not pay
Anger is red danger
But a familiar stranger
So It came as no surprise
At the times I have paid the price
More than the usual thrice
Before becoming very wise
The judge said
I should have been put in a cage
If one considers all the damage
I brought on with my rage
I knew
My anger was unreasonable
My anger was invincible
My anger was uncontrollable
But still very reversible
You see
In anger I always surrender
To the pressure I am under
In anger, I ungraciously lose
To the one I righteously accuse
In anger, I immoderately protest
Instead of letting things rest
Then trying responsibly to digest
And deal with issues best
So I say, So I say
Anger does not pay
Anger does not stay
Delay it from display
In time it will only go away
Now I know that
Anger does not pay
Anger does not stay
Calmness you should play
Before you begin to fall astray
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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I refuse to be a clone.
From birth to death it seems to me.
That we are never truly free.
To be what we would like to be.
We are expected to conform
to what’s accepted as the norm.
Dictated by society.
WE go to school where we are taught.
To memorise the things we ought.
But no one spares a single thought.
About what we would like to be.
They do not care apparently.
We can’t escape too firmly caught.
Though some of us a very few.
Rebel and we refuse to do
What the system wants us to.
But most accept the status quo.
Because they aren’t allowed to know.
That they are entitled to pursue.
Their cherished dreams in their own way
and no one has the right to say.
That they cannot but they will pay.
The price for their rebellion
against the states opinion.
But some. still do it anyway.
I’m happy to defy the state
and take control of my own fate.
Because I don’t appreciate
being told I must obey
When I can see a better way
than that dictated by the state.
Sunday,09 January 2011
http: ’’ blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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