The philosophical definition of "Knowledge"
Is a "Justified, True, BELIEF."
And perhaps the cat is sitting on the chair,
Or perhaps you are hallucinating it.
Some people do.
Therefore, it can be credibly said
That any amount of knowledge
Rests on the belief that it is so,
And then the justification by witnesses
And the verity of its objectivity.

Jesus is the LORD.
I can believe in Him
And also Know He is LORD.
As John says several times,
Which you failed to point out,
"Now this is eternal life: 
"that they know you, the only true God, 
"and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent."

To know God and Jesus
Implies that salvation comes by way
Of having knowledge that He is LORD.

Aphorism 7. The Quran: It reads like someone took the Book of Mormon and the Confucian Analects, and slapped them together with a B Movie rendition of some badly plagiarized Bible Stories.

Aphorism 8. If the Bible is the Blockbuster, the Quran is the corny B movie that came out decades after it, but somehow managed to get a cult following.

Aphorism 9. I was told by a friend to read the Quran, and I'd see that the Bible and it are perfectly similar. From what I've read of the Quran, the two books have the quality of being crafted by an expert literary genius gifted in storytelling, poetry and aphoristic wisdom, over that of the ramblings of a sub-genius, oriental philosopher.

Aphorism 10. What I read of the Quran doesn't make sense. The Bible, its tougher laws make sense in lieu of the whole book. But, the Quran, being written by only one man, isn't half as composed as the Bible, which was written over the course of three thousand years.

Aphorism 11. The Bible has its roots in the very first religions, which Dons will call the "Cult of Righteousness." The Quran, like the Book of Mormon, was a paranoid plagiarization meant to supplement one man's doubt.

Aphorism 12. Somehow, being written over three thousand years by some forty or fifty individuals, the Bible comes together and every detail can be coherently described by a wise man. The Quran, one man wrote the entire thing, and that is why there is nothing miraculous about it.

Aphorism 13. The Quran, as a literary achievement, is sub par. It is a cheesy reworking of more ancient materials, often completely invented by the ravings of one man bent on political power.

Aphorism 14. When I read the Quran, I can't enjoy it like the Analects. For, Confucius never said he had the word of God. It's also no where near as wise or insightful, and is cardboard as opposed to flesh and blood.

Aphorism 15. The Quran has the texture of being false. It doesn't sound wise to my ears, nor does it have the complexity of something genuine.

God the Father,
God the Spirit;
God the Son.

For God to be all Omniscient,
Omnibenevolent,
Omnipresent,
And Omnipotent,
Philosophers have credited these attributes
To be contradictory and incompatible.
Except, that God exists in three Persons,
Then those divine attributes are reconciled.

The Father is like the Mind of God,
The Son is like the Word of God---His Voice---
The Spirit is the Life of God.

The Word of God became Flesh
And tabernacled among man.
It would be like our Vocal Vibrations
Taking a bodily form.
For Words are vibrations of air,
And the entire cosmos is energy---
Energy is vibrations
And must be vibrating because of the Son
Or Word of God.
That Word which became flesh
Died for us on the cross
And raised.

Distinctly, Genesis even says in the Hebrew,
"The faces of God"
When describing God.
The "Faces of Elohim."
Meaning, the Trinity is and was and always will be.

The Spirit is the breath---
In a man, spirit is our life,
Our breath.
It is our life force.
And in God, His Life Force is Holy
Because it can animate flesh
Bring the dead back to life
Prophesy
Heal
And speak and interpret tongues.

I believe when I go to heaven,
God will exist in three persons
Whom I can talk too.
The Father will sit at His Temple by Ezekiel's river
And the forests of the Trees of Life,
All the sacrifices made which will ever need made,
The Son will walk with us in the garden and city,
And dwell with us in our mansions,
And the Spirit will fill the whole Kingdom like a fire in a paraffin.

China, your skies are bloody red!
What do the astrologers and soothers say?

I say, it happened once before, the year of Boston's bloody massacre.
And from that massacre, America was freed from the yoke of tyranny.

Thunder, hail, storm,
You shall be pestle
And turned to the sea.
Your odor shall waft abroad.

The child's heart within all
Feels so much larger than it actually is.
It feels like all laws bend to its will,
That it is of a greater importance
Than the Great Pyramids,
Than the Mythic Stonehenge,
Than the Swirling Milky Way,
Than the Eifel Tower,
Than Democracy,
Than Free Speech,
Than Patriotism,
Than History.
The child within all feels like the creator of all worlds.

It feels so important,
Like a king,
Like it were great at every which thing.
A great skier,
A great chess player,
A great teacher,
A great writer,
A great builder,
A great artist,
A great singer,
A great champion and hero.

The child in all believes itself to be great...
It feels entitled to all good treatment.

It feels as if the world revolves around them.

I don't know how we ever grow up...
I look at people, in their self importance,
And I find each one a world swirls around their minds,
I can tap into it by listening to their words.
I can feel their feelings, know their thoughts
By the words they speak, and the mien they imbue.
I can know them, and so can you.
Yet, not many care to know them.
Not many care to look at the dramatic obelisk of Other
As a friend once wrote in a poem about a man named David.
That there are obstacles hindering us,
People, places and things.

I look at myself, and my wisest thoughts
Came from other minds much wiser than mine.
It came from listening, from tasting,
From touching, from smelling,
Through the descriptive tense
Of another's words.
Not my taste, not my touch,
Not my smell, but my ear.

The greatest pieces of wisdom
Came from the greatest adversaries.
For, I could poke holes right through them
When I became undaunted by their words.
When it became interesting.

In practical matters I still feel there are foolish men---
Yet, they find a more practical lifestyle than I do.
And I feel their swirling world as they speak---
It is offensive. It soon becomes my world
A swirling kaleidoscope of thoughts and inventions.
I've learned to embrace it, for such is their freedom
And such is mine.

Yet, my brother told me today,
"Do not seek to persuade me."
Can democracy flourish without persuasion?
My inner child likes to reach out and touch other worlds
But it often gets burnt. Thus, it still reaches,
It still touches, it pries into the deepest held beliefs.
Politely, I can have a conversation with a woman
On Dharma, and she enjoy it.
Yet, her husband---for he ought to be by now---
Scolds her, offends her, doesn't listen.

"Buddhism is more optimistic."
I agree, it's not the torments of Caste systems.
But, really, there must be something better after this life,
Than having to live it all over again.
What cruel deity swirls us in this cosmos for eternity?
Hell is a comfort to me, for there is no wisdom there.
No activity. No planning.
Meaning, no thought. For, with thought
There is wisdom. Hell seems less cruel
Than tormenting someone on Earth
Over and over again,
With a reincarnation of past lives
Rejuvenating and swirling like the Milky Way.
That is immoral.
And at last, it is simply to die?
I cannot  believe death is the sum of life's choices.
I believe there must be more.
I'd lose hope, if all I had to look for
Was another life like this.
Yet, her thoughts are interesting,
And he---very sure of himself---
Tells me I upset her.
Something tells me she was telling the truth
That it was not me.

Rather, I live to listen...
Do not be offended if I cannot agree,
But that is core to our freedom
Even to have heated arguments.
If I could not persuade,
If I could not gain access to the worlds which swirl around me,
I would be despaired, and lonely.
I would be, as the Woke Mob wishes me to be,
A solipsist, constantly reassuring himself with his own thoughts.
And there I would be, no one to challenge me
Suffering in the hell I created for myself
By telling someone I thought was wrong to, "Shut up."

Offense is necessary in a free society.
For, in a free society, we are free to share our worlds
With one another, and burdened though we be,
The child within us touches the scalding, red-hot
Iron of another's world---if we cannot sway them to ours
Or be swayed to theirs, then there is no freedom.

I know it burns. But, there is no better joy any other way.

While reading a poem, if you ask a question, assume the poet has it answered and your job is to find it

Talk to people in England, if I were right.

Or anywhere, really.

Just not in America, where you are, like 4. No, 4 1/2.

The primary thing to understand
About poets, is that "Love is not All"
By Edna St. Vincent, I understand
That when she wrote, "I do not
"Think I would", it meant she wouldn't.
There is no might about it.

Also see it hopefully,
That though love is not everything,
It is still as necessary as all the rest.

You are my poetry.
I listen... what do those thoughts inspire?
I know not anymore what they mean---
Only what you say about them.

Do not come to me, and ask,
"Does your poem mean, thus..."
I do not know.
I want to hear your words
And interpret them like I do Eliot or Wordsworth.

I want to listen.
Do you not understand?
I wrote so much to listen to you
Tell me what they mean.
I know what I meant by them...
What do you see by them?

I can listen, and understand you.
You listen, and understand me.
I wish to listen to you...
Just tell me your honest thoughts.

Know only one thing about me.
I believe in Christ.
But, tell me what you see in my poems
And reveal to me mysteries I had not even fathomed.
Reveal to me the hidden parcels of wisdom
I did not see, nor conceive.
Show me what they mean---
For do you not understand,
Words have meaning?
I say this over and over again---
Thoughts have meaning.
Precise meanings.
Do not shy away from telling me your thoughts.
I will think over them,
Mull over them...
For that is what I want.
I want you to think
And speak important words.
Not sit idly and talk about nonsense.
Talk about something deep,
And if poetry draws that out of you,
I wish to listen and see the chrysalis of your thoughts.

See, those reading my poems,
You are my poetry.
To have never had an audience
To listen to,
To never hear you tell me what they mean---
I am tired of my own thoughts...
Do not make me blue.

I wish to place wisdom
Onto your lips, and make it rain forth.