To Be Your Own God

What a presumptuous notion
To be your own God
Devoid of devotion
Unless to weave a facade

Perhaps a big bang
Was responsible for creation
Or from a monkey sprang
Your genetic mutation

Such supposition I do believe
Requires a faith equal to mine
How does one likely perceive
Themselves as purely divine?

Establishing rules as you falter
Stumbling blindly through life
As for me, I’ll kneel at the alter
Praying for those so blithe

Thanksgiving

The origin of my gratuity
Abounds from a heavenly realm
No worry of lost opportunity
With Almighty God at the helm

Blessings bestowed while upon earth
Provided for service through trust
And wisdom to discern possession of worth
From those born of worldly lust

Eternally thankful for what I am blessed
By grace, not of my own
Usefully renting the things I possess
Until I humbly bow at the throne

Writers Island --------Dreams For Sale

Better times ahead I pray
Regarding those with fiery eyes
Trampled colleagues pave the way
For those willing to compromise

Youthful thoughts do fuel
Such aspirations sought in vain
Once I too was made a fool
By an winless corporate game

Perhaps it only seems
Those with lofty goals
Have sold their tainted dreams
To those with empty souls

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Only ruthless words
From soiled souls
Could inflict
Such eternal tolls

A careless tongue
Shall slice a man in half
A sharpened blade
Delivers no greater wrath

Final Choice

He cinched the rope and closed his eyes
Her absence prompted final choice
Thunderous clouds had filled his skies
Swallowing his lonesome voice

His soul entangled among his bride
No longer able to sort the pain
Now that she had left his side
Only the broken half remained

He had carefully planned the end
Attempting to find secluded place
A deserted bridge would lend
Finality to the fall from grace

His knees began to quiver
Beneath this burdensome load
He heard the rushing of the river
Calling from far below

With one final shout
The deed was now complete
He watched her flail about
With rope that bound her hands and feet

Check out Word Catalyst Magazine

Shirley has done some fantastic work. The site looks wonderful and the writing and photography found here are top notch. Although I feel sorely out of place, I appreciate Shirley accepting one of my pieces. Pay http://www.wordcatalystmagazine.com/ a visit.

Reflections of Me

The mirror stands before me, unwilling to lie.
Imperfections revealed; difficult to deny.
In my mind I’ve remained a vibrant picture of youth,
Only the reflection inclined to show me the truth.

I’d hoped she was willing to play the flattering game,
A gratifying image of success, and of fame.
Instead choosing to show what stands before,
A simple man of the world, nothing less, nothing more.

I suppose I’ll be content, with the shell I was given,
It’s only a covering for a soul that is driven.
How empty is beauty, that’s only skin deep?
A mask that conveniently hides, the soul that we keep.