i bLEed DaRk - Poems About Pain Life Heavy Metal and Jesus Christ Page 3
But it was not much help
Next…it is all LIGHT
I am saved!
The power of God destroyed the devil’s hold over the earth
THANK GOD!
THANK GOD!
You are so mighty
You can not be defeated, even if it was
The most powerful person in the universe!
“Did'ju forget about Hell?”
Did'ju forget about Hell?
200,000 new souls disembark every day
I was curious if you knew that
Seems to me if you really did care
It’d show in the things you say
Did'ju forget about Hell?
People slip-slide there every night
I didn’t know if you were aware
You seem more concerned about raises, upgrades
And I don't think that's right
Did'ju forget about Hell?
Souls plunge into a ghastly war
People like you and me
Who used to try and save the world
But don't even act like Christians anymore
Did'ju forget about Hell?
People explode through its iron gates
Determined not to serve Jesus
Cuz of our inexcusable hypocrisy
Which begets nothing but God-hate
Did'ju forget about Hell?
I know it's not cool to talk about
But we have teens and grandfathers
Dying with no hope
Recklessly headed for perpetual black-out
Did'ju forget about Hell?
Hundreds more turn up every hour!
Screaming steaming seeming grisly
People who used to be people
With spirits lovely as April flowers
Did’ju forget about Hell?
Souls catapult through blistering doors
Thinking they're invulnerable
Right up until the moment
They discover its fiery shores
“Don’t Wanna Wake Up”
Dedicated to AIDS victims the world over
This final escape is a dark twilight
Living’s the battle – I’m losing the fight
One indiscretion has burned my house down
Selfish pleasure relinquished my crown
If God is the bastion for scoundrel ways
If Heaven’s the honey which righteous ones taste
If Blood is forgiveness for all who desire
Then God please forgive me and save me from fire
Cuz I don’t wanna wake up in Hell
A fatal disease converts me to stone
When you’re dying contagious pals leave you alone
I’m sick of this circus – I’m sick of the clowns!
So I touched His garment and felt love come down
My body’s an altar of sacrifice
In bargain with darkness my death will suffice
Cessation of being – a demon desire
The Lord crucified; died to save me from fire!
Death’s sting is sin but Jesus, my Lord
Covered the debt which I could not afford
Healing is mine if it is God’s desire
But if/when I die I’ll fly high above fire
No, I’m not gonna wake up in Hell
“Fight On, Mighty Warrior”
For Travis Charles Allen (09/09/85 – 12/28/05), written and presented to him about six months before he passed away from cancer. He was the nephew of a co-worker, and I wrote the poem after hearing of his plight. I’m told he was deeply moved by it, and hung the poem right beside his bed, which remained there until the day he died. I only met him once, but we embraced as brothers, and the picture of our one-and-only meeting (above) sits in my office as a reminder of how precious and fragile life is.
Rest in peace, my friend. See you soon…
Travis,
If one were to look straight into your soul
And consider the wars that have taken their toll
They’d swear to the heavens they’d seen an old man
Who is worn in his spirit, yet firm in his stand
You’ve felt more pain than most ever will
While fighting the Reaper who seeks but to kill
Yet here you stand before God and your clan
So mighty and brave for such a young man
The dragons you’ve slain (and the ones who still fly)
Are tributes to how you refuse to die
But remember, young warrior, you’re never alone
There is One beside you whose Word is like stone
Commander of armies of angelic spirits
Who soar through sky. When it’s still, can you hear it?
The brushing of angel’s wings and battle cries?
The call of the One with the fire in His eyes?
It’s Jesus, the Christ, Holy Warrior and Lord!
S’got mud on His boots and blood on His sword
He laughs at the wicked who trigger your lesions
And butchers the demons who seek you in legions
Stand bold and valiant with double-edged blade
So your heart can find peace and you won’t be afraid
Battle on, warrior! Fight right next to me
And the One who fought Hell to set your soul free
“From Death to Life”
Death
Is my curse
A dreadful sinner
In helplessness I observe
My ravenous spirit grow thinner
My character bathes in wounded despair
And I reek of self-deprecating and injurious sin
Last night’s indiscretion hangs like dense fog in the air
For surely I am a horrific offender – far lower than all men
Ill-fated of my own accord? This my wounded soul cannot afford!
But all are fiends with dirty souls, having fallen short of His glory
Our Lord declared there is none worthy (no, not even ONE!)
His uncorrupted blood expunges every decadent story
Heaven’s eternal victories can never be undone
For it was right here, this very morning,
In the cooling breeze of the garden,
Forgiveness outshone mourning
And I acquired pardon
I have blessed
Life
"From Knife to Cross"
By Trey Weddle, written at age 12
This poem simply blew my mind. Trey didn’t ask my advice on it, and doesn’t know anyone who has gone through the kind of transformation his words depict. As writers do, he merely took an idea, projected his own feelings and imagination into it, and wrote it. Trey is fascinated with the show, “Gangland,” and says this is what gave him the original inspiration.
Shootouts to grill-outs
Drive-bys to drive-thrus
Gangs to churches
Cursing to praying
I was saved by God
I praise Him
And I will praise Him for the rest of my life
I love you God
I will always praise You
I will praise You
Titles G – L
“Galumphing Shlub”
Everyone has had those times when you just feel flat-out stupid. Perhaps you said or did something in front of someone that left you feeling like a real idiot; a shlub. This poem is sort of a Seussy tribute to that moment. One intriguing side note: my wife HATES this poem. She finds it revolting, which just tickles me to no end.
Some pop and some wow
And yet others glub
Yawning I bow
I’m a galumphing shlub
My gravy-beard sweats
In a bowl full’a grub
It’s as gangrene and wet
As a kankle foot-stub
Crunchy green ge
latin
Sputters and blubs
Then crawls off the plate
And goes SPLORCH! like a nub
Chubby I fall
In a thorn-sticky shrub
Gotta bleeding eyeball
Soaked in alcohol rub
Pudgy man-beast
In a ketchupy tub
Like a kick in the shins
I’m a galumphing shlub
"Gentleman Will"
For my uncle, William Stroud
Gonna tell you a story ‘bout Gentleman Will
A man who adversity cannot keep still
A man of few words and a man of the Cross
Whose faith is rock-steady through setbacks and loss
Gentleman Will flew to meet Uncle Sam
When he served in the Army in Vietnam
But he kept his cool, even through that mad war
‘Cuz he is unshakable, straight to the core
Will lost his daddy in March, '97
When cancer advanced and sent him to Heaven
And then Will lost mama some three years ago
When she went to meet Jesus, to leave us below
But Will just keeps running and winning the race
With a tear in his eye and a smile on his face
And even through surgeries, heartaches and pain
He will never surrender and rarely complain
Ole Will doesn’t chase after silver or gold
‘Cuz he's not a rich man (unless you count the soul)
But wealthy in spirit, he’s one of those guys
Whose laugh travels with him wherever he rides
This poem's for him ‘cuz I don't think I've mentioned
My love for ole Will, though it was my intention
I don't wanna live like that cowboy, Wild Bill
Oh Lord, let me live just like Gentleman Will
“Give it a Minute”
I know some long to die
And I relate to what they’re feeling
They tire in expectation
Of a nonexistent healing
They’re trapped in melancholy
And desire the “sleep” of death
They dream of varied methods
Which can steal away their breath
Their days are long and weary
And their nights are ebbing dreams
Bitterly they cry themselves
To sleep each night it seems
They’ve sampled meditation
But it didn’t help the pain
Even drugs and alcohol
Won’t make it go away
They let the whole scenario
Play out inside their mind
How and when they’ll kill themselves -
The “peace” their soul will find
So pray you find the moment
When alternatives are nil
And keep in mind that when they die
Their soul will not lie still
Remember there’s a Heaven
And remember there’s a Hell
Remember Satan’s all-too-real
And they’re under his spell
A spell of dark confusion
That has wrapped around their brain
The devil has dispatched an imp
To goad them toward insane
Tell them God is real
And what the Bible says is true
Tell them God did send His son
To die for me and you
Remember, when they die,
By the stroke of their own hand,
Their soul is cruelly dragged
To a forever-nightmare land
Remember at that moment
When the peace they long for dies,
They’ll find “sweet suicide” was all
An ugly web of lies
To seekers of eternal truth
We challenge them with this:
Can they talk to Heaven
And not shake an angry fist?
Will they whisper Jesus’ name
To find out if He’s real?
The One they thought a fairy tale
Through you can be revealed
Pray these precious children
Cry out in their way to God
And pray they’ll find this deathly lie
Is all a grim facade
We’ll stand with them today
And pray their mind discover peace
The yearning of our hearts
Is for these thoughts to promptly cease
Pray they do not victimize
Themselves with such a crime
Give it just a minute -
They’ll find harmony in time
“God/Man”
I can’t stand here and produce
Any physical proof of God, man
Like a row of thorn-bushes
Or a dented tin can
But I understand
That’s what some need
They ask, “Why should I waste
My Sunday in a padded seat
Listening to stories
Of how Jesus chose to bleed?
Why? When I can wear a string of beads
Or help the street-corner hungry to feed?”
But we know God is alive
Every vein in our bodies sings His praise
His blessed, joyful presence walks with us
All our days
It’s not simply a phase
For the phase was our doubt
When we swore that, like them,
“Selfish pleasure is what life is about”
For some, it took going through
A frightful, spiritual drought
Before we figured it out
And now we smile
While they, seething, shout
“God, I Hate That Man”
God, I HATE that man in the mirror
And self-hatred breeds when the image gets clearer
Bloated, gray and balding, skin sags
Stretch marks, bent back, scars and eye bags
A picture that sits on my desk at work
Is me at 19 with an arrogant smirk
Standing by one who would be my wife
The joy of my heart; the love of my life
But the kid in the picture (the one with the smile)
What lessons in store, what a long, grueling mile
Swelling with anger, depression and pride
Thank GOD for the young woman there by his side!
The mirror was kinder in my younger years
But the man I see now is less driven by fears
The one staring back at me has a great life
Two wonderful children; a fantastic wife
God help me not hate the man in the mirror
And may I accept him as Heaven draws nearer
For this man’s more simple to love by a mile
Than the kid in the picture…the one with the smile
The man I am now has faith like a rock
And finds simple laughter in my daily walk
Kinder and funnier, with anger at bay
Braving life’s trials like a prep school ballet
God, you love them the same, I know
But I love You more every day as I grow
So I promise I’ll try to love me like you do
And let love and laughter skew my worldview
“Gotta Lot”
I’ve gotta lot to be angry about
Of this I have no doubt
Mislaid plans
Mood-shifting sands
Back-stabbing clans
The injustice forced upon me as a child
The taunting of others, repulsive and vile
My spine bending, twisting in degeneration
Arthritic (my pain doesn’t take a vacation)
Depression, oppression…I’m tired and bitter
Unfulfilled dreams ‘cross this landscape are littered
Yesterday screams
M
alevolent schemes
Pain so extreme
I’ve gotta lot to be happy about
Of this I have no doubt
Peace and laughter
A promise of the hereafter
Life’s better-promised next chapter
The universe-shattering laugh of a child
Redemption that washes away all the bile
A ‘never die’ spirit despite my frustration
The pictures from my last Orlando vacation
The love of a woman who knows I am bitter
Yet never gave up on me; she is no quitter
A family so beloved
A past I’m finally free of
Serenity, like doves
Yup, I’ve gotta lot to be happy about
"Hall of the Funeral Stare"
Tattered walls bustle with comings and goings
While spirits are strikingly bare
Patron Saint Hope sail us fathoms away
From the Hall of the Funeral Stare…
That place, oh that place! See, it haunts us at night!
Their gaunt cheeks will zag thru our sleep!
Movies of bedrails and bedsores and bedpans
Have battered us mad as a creep
Residents who at one time were conventional
Grandparents, neighbors and friends
Watch their identities scramble away
Leaving zombies who beg for the end
Trailers, apartments and farmhouses
Everything gone, save a prisoner's chair
Saint Uninsanity shy us away
From the Hall of the Funeral Stare
Black'n'white photographs litter the place
Mocking each as they shuffle on by
Once-a-month grandbabies tickle their hearts
But are gone in the blink of an eye
What a grim circle we all must endure
Thrashing all of us into the ground
Never secede! Let us forge a new creed!
We can battle the waves ‘til we drown!
If our compassion can bully a grin