Tag: Stain

Righteousness

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Company man, my company’s manned by God
Heavenly HMO, I’m chewing his curd
Doing the Word,
He washed off my stains with his blood
I still pray my lust would just get lost
And I forget the things that he carved off
I just trust and lay hands with my hands off

Life is like a big book, everybody’s breathing ink
And we sign with things we do, say and think
And the righteous smile at the last blink
That’s a benefit of being in divine sync

Bibles are selfies of God with his Aloba
—throwback
Christ is still the capital and turnover
All over the world, bent knees still pullover

And I’m never switching off my inner light
Mark 4 velocity—shows you how a winner fights
John 3 & 5, one meeting healing many nights
Bread of Life,
Lord, let me get another tera bite

Righteous? Yes
— that is Christ’s success
I confess,
We are the truly blessed
Wherever we’re sent, they are blessed to receive
Oh, if they only believe

Godzniel
© 2025

Mary’s Cross

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Scandal has tingled the villagers’ ears
And engendered the gossip mother fears.
I find her, alone, dissolved in tears
From what she’s heard in the marketplace.

When I go for water, my ears start burning,
As I shop for fish, my feet start turning
To run, but I’m gradually learning
That their hisses can’t rob me of God’s grace.

They tell my father it’s a shame.
They tell my mother she’s to blame.
They whisper to others that I’m a stain
On the high reputation of this godly place.

A swollen belly can’t be hid
Nor the depths of disgrace into which I’ve slid.
Next, my marriage vows they’ll try to forbid
And work to see me exiled from this place.

In the angel’s words it was God I heard
He’s wiser than the scoldings of this world.
I’m told if I faithfully follow His word
I’ll hold the Creator of all time and space
In my arms.

Pamela Urfer
© 2021

Take My Hands Instead

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One pill…
Two pills…
Three pills…
And another…take my hands.

Isn’t that a perfect metaphor for how you go bananas, dig your feet into those coloured clips, stain your teeth with the feel, stain your fill with the filth, and assume the other filths fade?

Isn’t that how it makes you feel? The peel? No?

Then talk to me.

I want to hear it…take my hands.

This time, get high on the drug of my attention, snort on my love and exhale passion, and if clasping my hands will help, take them, let the tension go.

At first I didn’t listen because I thought it wasn’t you speaking. Your liver called out to me, your lungs did too, your strained heart cried out to me, I heard a million tears fall from your triggered body.

I don’t know and I probably won’t understand you. But I know that nobody puts a gun at his throat and expects to survive.

Give me the gun, and take my hands.
Dear Amanda

Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
D. Niel Quchi
© 2020