Wildfire:
Great poems!!!Here is one of mine and one of SheilaM's hope she hasn't posted these already!
A youthful soul with eyes trained forward to a false promise. Biblical blinders.
For one with such a promising and bright future, good times were few. Holy halter.
Innocent flesh covered with the scars of self inflicted sin. Witnesses whip.
A back bent under the burden of bearing witness to lies. Evangelical arthritis.
Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday, five meetings a week. Approved association.
Circuit and district conventions. Myriad on myriad of brothers. So alone in the crowd.
Our years are only 70 or 80 if we have special mightiness. I wasted 20.
I remained apart from the world while. No longer. The dog to its vomit?
I delved into the word and found discrepancies. I wanted to make the Truth my own.
I asked questions. They went unanswered. Accept on faith = comply or else.
From delivering talks from the platform and working the literature counter. Servant.
To bad association publicly reproved. All because I wanted to hear the Truth.
Cast aside, no longer wanted by those representing a loving God. Marked.
God hates a liar, I was that. Millions now living will never die. Bullshit.
I was a liar because I believed and witnessed to the lie. Field service fallacies.
I dont blame God for hating me. I hate myself for my part in the lie. Door to door dupe.
I wonder how many lives my preaching ruined. My wifes.
I will live the rest of my years on this world doubting everything. Color me Thomas.
I will never be taken again. Once bitten twice shy.
I traded Truth for light. Faith for fact. Living for hope is now hoping to live.
70 or 80? Maybe, but not if I have anything to say about it.. I want my 20 back.
I will however shine a light on the darkness that is the organization. Fact, not truth.
Fact doesnt need faith, it stands alone. Right is right.
My flesh is healed, my eyes wander the wonders of life, I stand tall not stooped.
Author: Christopher Madonia
_For the victims_
The world is so much like a rose, varying layers.
It takes time to see, what the true colors may be.
Yes, there are thorns, some small and needle sharp.
Seems those on the most beautiful, are like knives.
Sometimes, while tending them, after being pricked again and again.
I worry that the wounds will become infected, or that they may scar.
I wonder why I bother,
There are other things I could tend.
But none as beautiful, none that smell so sweet.
So, I put up with the needles, I live with the knives.
Because I tend the roses, not the thorns.
Sheila Madonia (Roses are the world and it's wonders Thorns are the abusers and their enablers)
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