Читать книгу: «Pearls Of Poetry», страница 2

André Cronje

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3. Charlie’s Hell’s Angels

Holy Cow, they did it again,

whispering sacrilege at the funeral parlor?

Show and tell, how they intoxicate,

Chanel with the scent of death,

burning incense with pressing Tabac.

With sticks and stones, drums, and beat,

Harry would pot and craft Celtic chants,

to Charlie and his angels, dead and gone.

Like haunted ghost their demons,

would come to the party and cartel,

Sounds like Lucifer, the angel who fell.

Public and proud they assault,

the innocent with insults and injuries,

using blunt objects of democratic speech,

to viral hatred that contaminates,

with twisted words, deceiving open minds.

What are they scheming, no one can tell?

funneling evil artistically, with a spell.

Wondering souls, darkened by the hour,

Comical they poke obtuse holes,

to curse the blessed peace off this land.

And with games of immorality,

they build their thrones with anarchy,

to stain and profane brands and names.

Moh, they laid to rest after the terror,

Yet they keep mocking the blessed Christ.

Wicked and nasty, they post to shame,

Claiming liberty, by horseback-riding,

human rights, and the public press.

Fearing no one, not even God. Wish they

did to escape his wrath to come.

4. On My Own

I’m on my own, but I am not alone. It is crazy I know, but I am at peace. A rushing crowd would tell a different story, as they chase the wind and endless glory. Quietly I watch from the sideline. I used to be that star player. But times have changed, and my world has rearranged. I walked down the street and met a friend. His words were peace and joy, but it cut my heart like a knife. Not till I looked at the cross, and saw God's love, did I know what he meant, when he said, I am born again. Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I am found, to Christ I belong. I'm no longer alone.

5. The King of Clowns

There once was told, in times of old, of a certain story, that had no glory, of a fashion king, and his dancing queen, who lived and reigned in Forever land, who was invited to every ballroom and party, not just once, but twice as much, to impress the public and the press, with their latest show on how to dress.

And because they had a private tailor, they always posed eloquently above the rest, but pressed for time to finish by nine, the fashion guru failed to knit and sew, his thoughtless mind on this important matter, So, he went before the king to present, with magic and deception, an outfit never to be seen, with 3D vision and pixel color clarity, he then described to the king this secret array, try it on, oh king, even the birds will sing.

And so, the king did, without a pause, posing fashion cool in his daring gown, the king, crowned with only jewels, act a fool, not even the mirrors bend or cracked, for in his pride, he made a public stride, before an audience awaiting his current shine, and eager to please they bandit together, with warm applause on this icy matter, except for one small child, a brainy little boy, whose pure lips and truth seeing eyes, would not fake the adult site.

Look, mommy! the king has no clothes on, then a gasp for air swept through the crowd, you could hear a pin drop among popping eyes, as vanity fades with the hypocrite’s cheer, and because the king's guard has let him down, with private matters not for public show, the king red-faced, was disgraced, as the king of all the clowns.

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