Jesus – Page 35 – The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive

Why I Write As A Counterpoint

I write as a counterpoint to all the doom literature laid before me as I conduct my amateur research of the deepest subjects known to man that of theosophy and it’s many branches. Man begot woman, in the arms and actions of passions the moment life was created an innocent life evolving into millions of environments. Opinions of the young did form the pendulums of influence upon other emerging lives, sailing to larger influences, often unprincipled and so on. The children were confused many adults conveyed continuous mantra of the end of the world populations abound, but who indeed in freshness and beauty wished for the end worldwide, it’s eternal struggles and savage displays. The karmic black and white initiates pushed the battles under the watch of an all seeing God, his son the radical Jesus turned himself out, pointing to all saying let me be the light of hope and eternity, but many didn’t listen and preferred to hide under a blanket of occult spells and lies. The Lord wanted more light for his children to be kind and seek eternity through divine truths not the pious rantings of personalised religion religion.disguised as selfish personal development with greed as a heart seek and share is all I say brutality is is the beast in a bad thought by millions so I prefer meekness devoid of power that corrupts at least I am aware that I have sinned but never in all time did I want to love and life is my fairy story that is all I can say, but I still bump into men and women upon the street corners peddling forms of salvation at a cost of conformity this may not always be as pure as it seems many are bound by the devil of politics and hierarchy and as humble before the Lord as I want to be I struggle to remain free in thought and still seek friendship in the hordes of human proportion who live mainly greed and self grandiose I write in esoteric ways divine from sources unknown these words must be heard I implore for they are work of special creation and need to be seen in life.

Are We Lost

As said by Mason Cult holding court down his local pub.

Many have lost the spiritual connection even outside any religion or doctrine one may have been raised with churches that have hierarchy that can alienate many who would be so called Christians. So many turn to the cosmos and think long and hard laying down in the grass looking up to the vast cosmic factory never idle always busy, new stars new galaxies, new habitable planets . How can we be stuck in this evil political dogmatic rhetoric that serves to derail many aspects that would otherwise help harmonise the races and cultures, instead of constantly creating nationalism . The voices of the poor need to be heard wherever they may be and not controlled by a multi party political class who just wish to protect vested interests there interest will only last an allotted time and their souls in time will be replaced by poor souls some of whom are chosen through the Adept Masters, who are poised to save and steer the soul of millions upon planet earth.

English Suntan

Big tits and beaches sand in the creases, bodies cooking in a summer sun, living meat upon the shoreline. Shopping the vanity, cooking the human, what is this worship about why is it healthy to spit roast oneself, any marks out of ten for the decadent English suntan.

Empire

Empire and the colonial intermittents involved in all they can, over history armies columns high, time to control conquer and devour. The toll and legacies unfolding in present days wandering you, aiming in pointless destinies, that cause so much pain and atlas sorrow. Redemption is along a long tunnel with a vista beyond its core for those indeed who search for the land called crystal airs.

Born Again

Born again, did I wish to be a child again, once more at the mercy of a stranger upon another plain. In time the gruelling struggle to adulthood full of anxiety and pain in a future complication. In time where a weather vein, East, West, North or South life or death, what of future society, too busy to look or listen to a million cries of children pained.

Mothers and fathers and the dying cynicism of the no longer sages in their time, but controlling of every facet in their decline. So move on, a vibration curtail, the revival of perpetual misery where a sun comes up and then goes down but is intimately unaware of our unauthorised existence.