Tag: Poetry

Stages of Spiritual Development

Like Piaget’s cognitive development

There is a spiritual development.

 

It begins that the man or woman cannot understand good and evil.

Like the Child with the cognitive inability to perceive objects

Of equal weight in different forms

A man cannot, at the lowest stage of the development

Understand what is good or evil.

 

Then, after developing the sense of what is good and evil

The man or woman still has to process what forgiveness is.

They cannot, after perceiving evil or good

Understand the aspect of mercy or forgiveness.

 

After developing the sense of when it is right to forgive

The man or woman begins to instill a sense of God

Or higher authority. They cannot, at first

Perceive the higher authority, until they acquire the discernment to perceive it.

 

After finding God exists, the man or woman begins

To discover whether God loves them,

And begins to understand the nature of divine laws and consequences

Or if the God of the Universe is disinterested

Until they perceive that the higher authority interacts with man and does love them.

 

After perceiving that the higher authority interacts with man

And He does love them, they come to the recognition of the moral law

Which best fits that divine love.

And soon they perceive that it is Jesus.

Revolution

Irish souls in ancient days

Fought war with poesy’s might.

The voices of the souls did sing

They fought for their God blessed right.

 

The press was wrought with gross intent

To make a cautious song.

Yet the Irish rebels sung their verse

And had stole their right from wrong.

 

Guns were words and bullets rhyme

The streets laid the foundation of brick.

Freedom was our rebel’s song

And freedom we sought to fix.

 

The strong have stolen our meat from us

As we chewed upon the leg.

The warriors’ verse was the nations’ trust

The battle was word for bread.

Biblical History

Did you know, oh wise men

Akhenaten was the

Cruel Pharaoh of Egypt?

The years of kings, judges

And the exiles, come

Well within error’s mark?

 

Did you know, oh wise men

That Abraham is said

To have lived during

Mesopotamia’s

Time? Hamurabi’s code

Was codified right when

Abraham’s said to live?

 

Could ancient writers be

So precise, or have so

Much knowledge to do

These two miraculous

Things? I say they couldn’t.

 

Abraham appears at

The first description of

The Law, and Aten’s Cult

Appears right when Moses

Parted the large Red Seas?

Could it be anything

Less than a miracle?

 

A Patriot’s Hymn

We at the shores of Maine

To the shores of Florida’s bays

To the California coast

And that Texas’ large host

Do not bow to any king.

We are rife to call a man

A traitor, who takes up political gains.

 

We fought a bloody war

So men could live their dreams

So men, by voice, could scream

“I haven’t, nor will I ever, a king!”

We get to condemn politicians

We get to proclaim ourselves wise.

We, being free, can live or even die

Saying what we will,

Believing what we must.

O’ Liberty, O’ Liberty,

In God, we all must trust!

 

The thunder cracks at dawn

The Liberty bell has cracked.

Yet, tired liberty, ring twice

And you shall break out at last.

The moving troops do wander

The seas carry their waves.

Ships and seamen wonder

At the shore’s of liberty’s fame.

Men hide themselves in the hallows

Women do not grind their bread.

Liberty, O’ Liberty

My face has been surely made red.

For I see the coasts are calling.

I see the airs do rise.

Liberty, O’ Liberty,

My heart’s in you invest’d.

 

Men do not know

Who’ve not tasted liberty once.

To decry each king,

To say rebellious things,

And to meet for freedom’s bunch.

To say what we will,

No matter what will or deign do cost…

Liberty, O’ Liberty, in your name let tyranny rot.

 

For the nations sing their glory

And the oceans tyrant’s fame.

But, in this land that spans the seas

Old Liberty has a name.

The Misfit Finds His Rebel Cause

The misfit finds his rebel cause.

Goes to war, defies all the laws.

How a ripe peach of which to pluck

Is the rebel’s cause loved so much.

 

I? I sit, also, misfit too

Unabashed from eternal youth.

My creative means dries so much

My country dies, the one I love.

 

Is the rifle my fated way?

To lose myself in coup d’é tat?

Will it suffice this longing heart?

Will I in glory play my part?

 

No! I say, in my angry gloom.

My vengeance shall be bloody noon.

I would rather let life depart

From my nostrils than play my part.

 

I will laugh at the wretched dogs

As my body swings o’er the logs.

I died, your hope for freedom last.

Because you’d not free me, I laughed.