PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was a time henceforth when I had ten thousand dollars to spare
Happy with what the Lord hath already blessed me with, I decided to share
Having no need for the money I called two local men to mine house
Rumor had it the second man had the reputation of a cheat and a louse

The first man whose name was Greed, came in and sat near as could be
Behind him was a man named Wisdom, but he sat far, as he smiled at me
I told them both that I had five thousand dollars to give to each
Then said Greed, "give it here now!" as he leaned closer so as to reach

While I counted the money I looked upon wisdom's silence as wise indeed
For I knew he was patient, and of life's carnality he did heed
I counted aloud the words "Five thousand" and then quickly did Greed snatch away
His half of the money, so in life's pleasures he could foolishly play

I looked up expecting a gracious word of thanks from the greedy wretch
But he was already gone without a word; it was Satan's lures he did fetch
Then I looked over at my friend Wisdom, who was never reeled in by Satan's lure
He always appreciated the life that the Lord hath given him which in itself was pure

A very uplifting man that always a smile for me and all that did pass by
For he was happy knowing our Lord whom graciously arose in the sky
I handed him his share and he quietly tucked it away
Then he went on about his business until a later day

A week later Greed ran Wisdom's old wagon off of the road with his new car
As he laughed about wisdom spreading his money to the poor afar
Then without notice the man in the sky did call
He said “The books are open, now come one, now come all!”

Greed waited in line continually bragging about his carnal things
Until he learned that he had traded them for his heavenly wings
He went to a place not fit for a man as he looked up at Wisdom flying by
He pleaded "Just one sip of water I beg you bring me from a cloud up in your sky"

Wisdom smiled and said "Dear friend, I stored my money in Gods eternal bank"
It was your earthly treasures that did demote you to a sergeant in Satan's rank
It was only yesterday that you passed a starving woman in your car so nice
I stopped in my tracks, gave her food and shelter, I didn't have to think twice

Now I am here with her in paradise, the place the Lord set aside
For those with a conscience and a heart, who in his laws did abide
Though I did have a thirst for life's carnal things
I knew that I couldn't fly up here without my precious wings

Speak to me no more from the pits of Hell
For justice is served, and I chose well!

By: Wayne Hoss

Look around you. 

We live in a world where integrity has been brutally sacrificed and cheapened, 

thrown away in favor of preordained idols perched on pedestals forged from silicone flesh and stewing toxic waste.

It seemed just yesterday I had closed my eyes and slumbered, yet upon waking, I realized with a growing terror that vulgar, loose tongues and empty minds had become the new vogue; 

a hollow religion with no guarantee of a Promised Land,

Heaven was now a place on earth that could only be entered if the price was right-

Pews and stages sat in decay, now sermon was held in the rotundas of mega malls; 

faithful stewards giving their tithes in the form of sliding plastic squares,

their loyal devotion chronicled with each flourish of a signature.

The choir left pianos and stringed instruments to collect dust in the shadows, 

now they sang praises to a melody of slamming cash tills and the incessant mouthy chatter of nearby adverts.

Frozen, glossy faces of their Hollywood gods leer from racks in every shop, 

constant and jeering reminders of how pitiful they are, 

covers silently screaming that the only chance of deliverance from cellulite pocked thighs and the absence of a six pack was contained inside those slippery pages

A cheapened tome offering shortcuts to aesthetic perfection, accentuating urgency with gaudy, bold type and far too many exclamation points

I have wandered the streets of this new world order; to my right I witness a group of women shrieking over their idols choice of clothing- 

Only silencing themselves to drown in liquid chemicals housed in a brightly colored, cheerful looking can; 

I hear their sluggish blood traveling through choking veins as it struggles to push through greasy blockades, each clot stamped with an arched, golden trademark.  

Although my worries in witnessing the creation of this disillusioned, warped Utopia has since etched itself in deep caverns across my brow, know that I do not write this as a recorded testament of the last remaining human who refused to turn over their brain.

No- rather, this message goes out as a beacon to those who averted their eyes when the blinding floodlights of pop culture first burned into the retinas of the masses, melting its way into pliable minds and slowly deteriorating free will.

I speak on behalf of those of us who stray from the limelight, and instead find our shelter behind typewriters- faces illuminated by the muted glow of  a single lightbulb, we capture on paper the rare beauty of an unbridled imagination with each falling keystroke.

I extend my proclamation to those  who can both lose and find themselves in the fluid movement of a limber wrist,  declaring their adamant freedom from the Spreading Scourge with a silent protest manifested in splashes of color against canvases of white.

I'm reaching out to tell all of you that you are not alone.

Hiding in plain sight, we wage silent war against overwhelming odds, fitted only with our art as weapons; 

Yes, we fight a losing battle and know that when it's over, our faces will fade in time with the black smoke that rises from charred battleground and scatters to the heavens

Our names will be forgotten when the last unshackled mind is finally snuffed out by The Yawning Darkness, but the works we created will remain.

Eternities will pass. 

The hordes will blindly scramble past these relics in their never ending hurry, tongues still wagging about he-said she-said; whatever thoughts were thrown into their empty skulls rattling about as they scurry.

They will forget, and the shuttered lives of the Mindless will begin and end with nothing to show for their existence, insignificant and alone, serving only as twisting cogs to maintain the system; 

minuscule grains of sand, slipping through a cosmic hourglass.

Yet our art will live on through it all.

Always in the background,  proudly singing the story of its creators.

Silent and strong, 

a tribute to the final stand of the last Free Thinkers.

Tell me...do you see it too? 

G.Bosquez

3/22/2015