I'd rather have you spit in my eye, than tread lightly, and politely, let you, in his grasp, die.
Alicia, was a friend of mine,
more than that,
a few, special, times.
Her radiance shone, like diamonds,
dew, on midsummer's grass,
a special, unique, beautiful, lass.
She told me of ancients,
and spirits sublime.
Insisted that Jesus, thought it, OK;
for her in those places,
to romp, and to, play.
I read her the Word, I prayed with her too,
but, she just did, what she wanted, to.
It's fine, my prince, she'd lovingly, assure.
It was almost more, than I could,
Her journeys to places, she said were,
so good, kept, keeping her longer,
than I thought, they should.
It's all right, my guide, holds my hand;
nothing will harm me,when, with her,
Come with us , and you will see,
let go, your fear, and rigidity.
I fear nothing, and rigid, I'm not!
Jesus, with His blood, my life,
He warns me and keeps me,
from going with you.
He tells me to tell you,
it's dangerous, too.
If, your going to be ,such a silly goose,
I'll just have to leave you,
cut you loose.
Two years and some days, flew right by.
I missed her and prayed, that she'd learn:
in His grace,
Then one beautiful Autumn day,
while fishing, I heard His Spirit say:
go find her, go to her, and make it quick,
they've bound her, and made her, very sick.
I called friends, hither and yon,
no one saw her, she was just,
Then, on the third, and worrisome day,
a friend, said, she'd seen her, just yesterday.
I wrote down the address, and how to get there.
Just, a few miles, and I'd rescue;
my maiden fair.
The time with the demons, had taken it's toll.
Her lovely smile, and freshness, was gone.
I knew that they, had stolen, her precious, soul.
The chanting and dancing,
the odor, of sulphur, and sweat,
gagged me, made me, remember,
made me regret.
I came in His power, I threw them all out.
I held her and told her,
His love ,would, surely.
But ,when she saw Him, there, in my eyes,
she clawed and screamed,
and began to to rise.
She bellowed in a voice,
that would shake a stone wall:
how dare, you to tell me, how dare, you say,
That I should leave, when I want to stay.
I found a mirror and begged her to look,
she smashed my face, with some, devilry book.
She picked up the couch, and threw it at me.
I managed to side step, or dead, I would be.
I sang in the voice of angels true ,
and called on His power; stood up, to their rage.
One by one, they, reluctantly, disengaged.
Little was left, of that gorgeous woman,
that I, adored.
She, growled and hissed,
her eyes were opaque, she couldn't see, but, somehow, remembered, and recognized, me.
I put out my hand, she began to cry.
She said don't touch me. I just want to die.
And with that, she jumped up,
watch me fly.
Three stories down she lay in a heap,
tattered and broken, lying dead, in that
So if I seem, impatient, and angry, at times,
when spiritual matters, are being discussed.
Please, remember this poem, and, try to forgive.
I know, you, have the right to choose,
what to believe, and how you would live.
But, the Truth is the Truth,
whether you believe it or not,
The spiritual realm, is no place to play,
for those who rule there, will:
have, their way.
The sweet voices you hear, the hands that your holding,
when you enter in, will kill you in time,
make you their slave, they'll laugh and dance,
over your grave.
I'm sure your thinking : they'll tell you, so.
You've been with them, and safe,
for all these years, what, could this,
madman, really know?
That, Alicia was weak, she hung,
with the wrong crowd, that's surely true ,
but one way or another,
they'll kill you too.
Cause it wasn't the people she chose to be with,
or the places she decided to live.
The thing that killed her, was thinking that she,
could delve, where our Lord, says:
we're, never, ever,
Cause, it may seem harmless, and fun at first.
But satan has, an unquenchable, thirst.
He wants you in: disobedience and pride,
he wants you, in hell,
by his side.
All I want, for all of you, is that you see,
what's really true .
He is the door, and the are no more.
So, enter in, give him your sin.
He'll be your friend, and is the Lord,
please try Him, and read His, living Word.
Don't let today's hypocritical church,
sway you, or cause you, too long, to wait.
Please, accept, His precious gift,
and let, eternal life,become, your
Want to review or comment on this
Click here to login!
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Click here for your Membership!
|Reviewed by Rhonda Galizia
|HALLELUJAH TO THE LAMB! YOU SHOUT IT, BROTHER ART! this is superbly written - and i wrenched with YOUR pain, having seen similar situations. THE SHEEP ARE ASLEEP! WAKE THEM FROM THE DEEP - AND THE DEPTH OF THEIR SIN! THEIR ONLY CHANCE TO WIN, MAY BE THROUGH READING YOUR WORDS. JESUS IS SAYING, "TODAY IS THE DAY OF YOUR SALVATION - HARDEN NOT YOR HEARTS!
I WILL KEEP YOU LIFTED UP IN PRAYER - THE LORD IS CAUSING ALL TRUE BELIEVERS TO RISE UP AND WAX BOLD - HE IS GATHERING HIS OWN! HALLELUJAH! In HIS SERVICE ~ rhonda
|Reviewed by Valerie Boggess
|Art, Your poem is not only beautiful, but its an absolute fact of what is the truth about today's reality. As God says "The Spirit of the Lord is upon you and He has annointed you to preach the Good News to the meek, He has sent you to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison doors to those who are bound." So sad that with all the freedom potential provided by God Himself that people such as Alicia will continue to ignore even to the grave. I believe that the Truth is that the world is full of Alicia's. Like you our only hope is to beseech the Lord of the Harvest to send a worker into the field. We must remember that as christians we are not the only ones working in God's Harvest field. He gratiously has placed two-thirds of the Hosts of Heaven and His most Holy Spirit to assist us in reaching the Alicia's of this world. Your words are spoken in truth, God bless.|
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|True wisdom and love is not born of this world, or its religious or philosophical machinations, it comes from the wellspring eternal, the Spirit of the living Christ.
As the flowers of the field are all different in their colors and shapes, and express their praise in different ways, so do the Creators progeny, those willingly born under the cross of His suffering, who are given the hope of His resurrection.
|Reviewed by E T Waldron
|It's hard to face the truth! You did what you could Art. We may sow the seed, but it's God who gives the increase.You are doing what you were called to do, and I think you're doing it well. Stay in Him, he will strengthen you for whatever He asks you to do. Sad that you had to go through what happened with Alicia,but every thing serves a purpose.
|Reviewed by Marguerite Lemoine
|That is a wonderful piece of work and every word of it is true. Don't open your door to satan - you don't have defense against a spirit. He is a fallen angel and has supernatural powers as you can see in the ending of this poem and he will hound you till the end.|
|Reviewed by Birgit and Roger Pratcher
|This is a truely wonderful poem, it grabs you and won't let go, one of your very best! Excellent work, no doubt,
|Reviewed by Susan de Vegter
|Sad Art!!! I'm sorry for Alicia!