Vanishing Point


Turning courses

Letting you loose and letting you go

in an effort for you to experience the errors of your ways

 Still, you remain hell-bent

Blind to the consequences of your actions

You pursue destruction, not reconciliation

Unshakable in your pursuit

Committed only to yourself

When you should be heeding the call

of the beggars at your gate

Your house is full of riches

but your heart remains poor

Hardened by unending greed

You seek to punish others for your own misdeeds

Destined to live in long lasting exile


Day 25. This post was inspired by a chapter in a book I’m reading, “Love Wins”,  by Rob Bell.  I want to express my gratitude to him for giving me the words for this poem today. He’s a dynamic writer about faith, and as I understand it, an even more dynamic speaker. Looking forward to seeing him in May!

Tilting at Windmills, Still


A reluctant visit

An obligated progeny

You don’t want to know, he said

The shirt a dead give away

A tidbit told

More evidence of the continued decline and aberration of your soul

The story spins

History repeats

You cannot connect

Instead you show and tell

Gifts for yourself that accent your wealth

While your heirs labor six days

Scrimping and saving

They are neither envious nor angry

Merely filled with abject apathy

And a lack of respect born only

through the silence of their responses

Your brackish bravado

Your quixotic quest to fill the hole in your soul

An obvious attempt to hide from yourself

and the endless moral lapses that once cast a pall and plague

over any who dared to trust you

Void of remorse

Spinning a prevaricating tale

Unaware, Unrelenting

in your pallid pursuits

Practicing your art of deception

with the vapid Senorita at your side