I lie awake at night
wondering about what
will and could be.
Although I've come
to terms with not being
able to expect anything,
I still can't seem to stop
remembering the
late nights talking.
You were so easy to
open up to when my
days were cloudy.
I abused the power though,
which is why you slipped
from my fingers like
water sliding down skin.
I remember almost
everything, even the things
I don't want to remember
because they bring me
pain to think of...
both good, and bad memories.
I suffer through remembering
bad times, and I recollect
and sadly sigh over the
wonderful memories.
In the past few days,
I've come to terms with the
fact that part of me
cannot and will not
let you go without fighting.
I have time though, lots.
A little less than a months worth.
Then we meet again and
discuss how we want to
go about our lives again.
Like I said, I can't expect
anything, and I won't.
But for some reason I can't
let you go, and that's the
hardest thing about all this.
I read The Notebook and
wonder if we truly had that
Noah and Allie love.
I think we did, and still do.
But only time can tell if
that's true or not.

I felt like the sea.
waves of emotion, turned,
tides inside of me.
Shells scattered shores and hid beneath the waves,
yells, and places torn, and water beaten caves,
salt tears overflowed from places in the deep,
my blood still swam through me, despite  my slight heart beat,
i buried inside the crimes,
bodies lay where i lay, as i killed from time to time
but loved i also many, though many were not mine
I felt like the sea, powerful, and powerless,
i ever run and ever rest,
waters violent in my chest
i suffocate and became escape
a place where deep trenches hide deeper dreams
and some have become nightmares afraid of what they mean
I felt like the sea.

One ordinary day at the temple,
Jesus purposed to watch people go by;
He observed their heart attitudes,
without them… even knowing why.

He watched the gait of the proudly rich,
dressed in their expensive clothes;
they jingled a portion of their wealth
and drew attention with uplifted noses.

Christ properly noticed and judged the scene
of them depositing their offering coins,
disappointed that they collected their reward
(of pride) below the temple’s cornerstone quoins.

Along came a widow, who gave her last two mites,
a reflection of a poor and impoverished state,
unknowingly falling victim to the scribes’ greed,
as she quietly suffered under poverty’s weight.

At the moment, Christ exclaimed to His disciples
that ‘she had given more’ than those preceding her;
for the others offered a pittance of their wealth,
although possessing an abundance of gold and silver.

For the misguided woman was improperly taught
that God would replenish her monetary seed,
when pressured to extreme and unholy sacrifice,
as she clung to the belief of His meeting her needs.

Unfortunately, she failed to recognize the false doctrine,
being perpetuated under the malpractice of the scribes.
For near to her was the Christ - the One who provides
the Living water, upon which one may graciously imbibe.

Please note that this story is not about giving,
but about learning to observe false Pharisees.
The widow’s unhappy sacrifice was for nothing,
since the Christ’s presence… she did not see.
.
.
.
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Mark 12:41-44; Luke 20:45-47, 21:1-4; Matt 23:37-38

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr11?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.

Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Riding on a train choo choo choo choo
Picking up some negroes choo choo choo choo
******* ride the negroes choo choo choo choo

There's nothing pretty inside her head
Lips are shiny, eyes are dead
No one hears a thing she says

Her fake smile makes my skin crawl, teeth clack
Sun colored hair braided back
A painted doll all dressed up

Skin's like caramel or ***** cream
Hands float dangerously close
Air for brains and dirt for soul