Tag: Rid

FALLEN AT HIS FEET

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I carry no fear on my shoulders
I have saved no teardrop to shed
I have left every iota of worries

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Worries? They have no rooms in me for rent
Harmony, peace and joy cram the whole story
Every other issue is backstory

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Backstory is a tale of yesterday
I spend time now swimming in God’s love
Waves of pain, illness and disease are

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Disease of the Egyptians shall not know me by name
Cancer is a raging empty threat
Hunger and starvation their powers rid

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Rid of gory garments and pierced sides
Christ rose in glory with fierce strides
Armed soldiers strapped with sleep

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Sleep in the arms of a loving mother
Tomorrow the fever with shudder
Because all the bugs in a million march lie

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

March, march on Christian soldier
Relieved of every burdensome weight
Tomorrow is certain, today is fixed, last night is
Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Rebekah E.
© 2020

And Grace Found Me

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And grace found me at the foot of the steps where I stumbled
He led me into a reverie of affections
And taught me how to make love with my emotions

And Grace found me picking doubt from my rag toothed skeleton
He asked me how I’d survived without the love of Christ
In the oxygen depleted pond of atheism

And Grace found me remunerating inside the tunnel of avarice
For the love of money is the stem that upholds deception
Broken dry Reed called Egypt that can’t be any souls trust

And Grace found me lingering about the field of blood
Waiting to retrieve the thirty pieces of silver
Instead of shouting maranatha with the 120 in the upper room

And Grace found me in the valley of mundane things
Brazilian hair, iPhone 6x, faultless make up, designer dresses
And all those cravings that sounds strange to Holy Mary

And Grace found me yet he wasn’t judgmental
He asked me why I was still babbling in unknown tongues
Instead of fellowshipping with the Holy Spirit

And Grace found me with the gift of a clean shave
Got rid of my eagle-feathered hair and bird claw nails
It’s been seven millennia wandering in the field of unbelief
I’d never imagined going through such quick transformation
Like Joseph’s speedy status change
Until I was discovered by Grace

Rebekah E.
© 2020

Prank

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Look at me!
I’m not some frail human you can get rid of
I’m not as fragile as I seem
Let that sink in, it’s a decoy
I’m planning, making significant moves you don’t see here but somewhere
More trophies for every mark
Mark my words!
What do you see when you look at me?
Those blooded eyes you see are on a rampage
I don’t come in peace
I inspect the pieces good enough to pierce your mind
Hah!
I won’t give you the satisfaction you need
I intend to become indifferent with every of your whip
I’ll strip you off your carnal confidence
It’s either the plank or the rope, so you think
Hear me now, it’s eternal life on the skin

,

Azubike Hannah
© 2020

Golden Boy

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One step in front of the other
I watch you plant them
Like a weary traveler who has lost his way
Your back is burdened with a sack full of disapproval
And a lifetime’s worth of disappointment and doubt
But you shoulder it like it’s nothing
You smile at me, golden boy
And make me believe there is beauty to
The cracked burden of the tortoise

You’re just a little eccentric
I tell myself, every time I catch a glimpse of your pain
I believed I could heal you
You made me believe I was,
And I trudged behind you gladly
Cherishing every moment you put the pack down
And opened it.
But you never got rid of anything in the pack, did you?
I think you loved the sweet torture
Of owning exquisite pain
I learned to appreciate the beauty in pain
And see the hope dressed in disappointment

So I did nothing
Till you slipped right off the edge
And scattered in a burst of gold dust
Slapping my face with the truth I should have seen
had your beautiful, golden smiles not blinded me;
That I had no power to make you happy
That love could be as strong as pain
Or could be its equal

So as I stand at the edge of your cliff
I want to hate you
But I don’t
I will remember us as we were
And I will choose to be happy, golden boy
For both of us, I will choose life.

Miracle Ifechukwu
© 2019

Lies At Dawn

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Without the stars appearing on a special
Night, the Angels singing sweet solemn innocent
Tones, jingles, praises to the mean
World that has seen eons
Of pains, love, gratitude, rejections that overwhelmed
Beauties and ugliness we see as tittle and nominal

I wish to be etched in your heart not as a nominal
Singer, but the beat you call special
The sound that leaves you overwhelmed
Our eyes a spark note of innocent
Thoughts that deified us eons
And mortals who are not mean

Men whose inclinations are mean
Can’t even have us as nominal
gods, but great fellows who are eons
Away from their realms. The one they’d call special
Species of rare grace; innocent
Warriors whose tales gets them overwhelmed

Though life may try to get us overwhelmed
It will never make us mean
Or rid us of the innocent
Company of the earthlight that is not nominal
Or make the moonlight serenade less special
Though it has romanced spirits for eons.

We seem to be overrated eons;
Cowered, callously, carefully overwhelmed
Lovely, little, lowly beings called special
Lower than the angels’ mean
Myrmidons, to the paladin nominal
Praying to be seen as innocent

But words cannot be innocent
We are actually eons
Beings that can never be nominal
Beings grave, gentle griefs overwhelmed
In their search of mean
Means of becoming special

To be as innocent as saint Simeon
The special eon that dwells
In this mean tent.

Simeon Chidi
©2019