(Spiritual Poem) Praise And Vanity

PRAISE AND VANITY

 

We praise who we are, not what we ought to be

Are we pleased with the mirror, the selfie we see

So vain, or just honesty, not really vanity at all

What we wish for most we worship, this we are

A beautiful bum, Silver Shadow in our garage

What we praise is who we be, who we really are

 

 

Put someone else first, you are an odd one this I see

DC-10, hitch us a ride onto the next large rock barge

Clone us but don’t donate a thing when were dead

So many a plastic neon star self-proclaimed as we are

Through personal praise and ego, a star we know we are

 

 

To whom or what is worthy, that we should ever bow or pray

We know we are so cool, yet we’re one heartbeat from the flame

Wake up dead with Hell’s heat licking our heartless shell of shame

To who is it now that listens to our prayers as we endure the pain

While we’re still breathing, our heart, mind, and Soul, decides today

Careful what we pray for, without humility we show the world our shame

 

(Philosophy/Faith/Poem) How Tall Are We On God’s Ruler

 

How Tall Are We On God’s Ruler

 

We’re there marks upon your Granny’s wall

That measured our years with a stick and pencil

We make our marks upon the events of our lives

But at what place we choose to spread our wings

 

 

Do you really feel as tall as it say’s you are

All our life we had to measure up, but to what

A true measure can only be done by the soul

Yet how could a man ever find a Spirit ruler

 

How high can we get upon on our boss’s ladder

At the end of one’s life, what does it really matter

Are we ruled in our sleep, by our day’s actions

In our end of our day’s, boss’s mean nothing anyway

We all lay in the bowels of the Earth quietly waiting

For the real owner of our Soul to call our name

 

Four foot or seven it does not matter in Heaven

The size of our hearts and our brain does not save

Bank accounts and big houses aren’t the measure

In the end the fruit of our Soul is all that matters

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Poem Of Reality) Too The Trees (A Soldiers Prayer Of Survival On The Battlefield)

TOO THE TREES

 

To the trees my Captain yells

Across this open field of green

Flowers blooming from spring rains

Will they be the last thing I smell or see

Are there Cross Hairs locked upon my brain

Will a gray pill be the last thing that I feel

 

 

All those trees, are those just branches looking at me

Or will this effort to reach them be the death of me

Leaving my bones to rot among the flowers in this field

Do I run as fast as I can with my breath held in prayer

Or do I play the coward using my brothers as a shield

Letting them taste first the fiery breath of Hell’s lead

 

 

If in the trees our enemy is waiting there for you and me to kill

When to the trees the Captain yells do we jump up and run like hell

Should we low crawl chins dug into the mud hoping were not shelled

Will we be a fool if we do stand up and charge toward the row of trees

Or will we die in this field of green if we raise our head above the weeds

Life is a war, every breath is a chance it will be the last one we breathe

 

 

To the trees like the charge ordered by General Robert E Lee

Like life itself no matter what we do, doubting itself is a gamble

Do we run in hope or do we cower in fear, do we die here, or there

This field to me so beautiful, there are worse places to be my grave

If we just cower here in the mud and never step out onto life’s field

We know we will never get out of this life alive, so what do we do

 

 

Hold your breath and pray, now step into this field of life or death

If in life we choose to never seek the thrills, then a cowards life we live

The fields of life we will not cross, nor the flowers will we ever smell

If we lived our life without the thrills, can we truly say we ever lived

To the trees child, to the trees, up off your ass and face your trees

(Philosophy/Faith/Poem) How Tall Are We On God’s Ruler

 

How Tall Are We On Life’s Ruler

 

We’re there marks upon your Granny’s wall

That measured your years with a stick and pencil

We make our marks upon the events of our lives

But at what place we choose to spread our wings

 

 

Do you really feel as tall as it say’s you are

All our life we had to measure up, but to what

A true measure can only be done by the soul

Yet how could a man ever find a Spirit ruler

 

How high can we get upon on our boss’s ladder

At the end of one’s life, what does it really matter

Are we ruled in our sleep, by our day’s actions

In our end of our day’s, boss’s mean nothing anyway

We all lay in the bowels of the Earth quietly waiting

For the real owner of our Soul to call our name

 

Four foot or seven it does not matter in Heaven

The size of our hearts and our brain does not save

Bank accounts and big houses aren’t the measure

In the end the fruit of our Soul is all that matters

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Poem Of Reality) Too The Trees (A Soldiers Prayer Of Survival On The Battlefield)

TOO THE TREES

 

To the trees my Captain yells

Across this open field of green

Flowers blooming from spring rains

Will they be the last thing I smell or see

Are there Cross Hairs locked upon my brain

Will a gray pill be the last thing that I feel

 

 

All those trees, are those just branches looking at me

Or will this effort to reach them be the death of me

Leaving my bones to rot among the flowers in this field

Do I run as fast as I can with my breath held in prayer

Or do I play the coward using my brothers as a shield

Letting them taste first the fiery breath of Hell’s lead

 

 

If in the trees our enemy is waiting there for you and me to kill

When to the trees the Captain yells do we jump up and run like hell

Should we low crawl chins dug into the mud hoping were not shelled

Will we be a fool if we do stand up and charge toward the row of trees

Or will we die in this field of green if we raise our head above the weeds

Life is a war, every breath is a chance it will be the last one we breathe

 

 

To the trees like the charge ordered by General Robert E Lee

Like life itself no matter what we do, doubting itself is a gamble

Do we run in hope or do we cower in fear, do we die here, or there

This field to me so beautiful, there are worse places to be my grave

If we just cower here in the mud and never step out onto life’s field

We know we will never get out of this life alive, so what do we do

 

 

Hold your breath and pray, now step into this field of life or death

If in life we choose to never seek the thrills, then a cowards life we live

The fields of life we will not cross, nor the flowers will we ever smell

If we lived our life without the thrills, can we truly say we ever lived

To the trees child, to the trees, up off your ass and face your trees