Dedication:
To my wife,
and to our child together.
We lost our child,
and she committed suicide.
We didn’t have much money,
but we had a lot of Love.
In your honor, babe.
May the time we had together,
be not forgotten,
or spent in vain.
{Job 6:11-14 CSB}
What strength do I have, that I should continue to hope?
What is my future, that I should be patient?
Is my strength that of stone, or my flesh made of bronze?
Since I cannot help myself,
the hope for success has been banished from me.
A despairing man should receive loyalty from his friends,
even if he abandons the fear of the Almighty.
May the time we had together,
be not forgotten,
and been not spent in vain.
The Irony Of Greed For Money:
My life is pain
It seems to be
Endlessly merciless
And ruthless
Only to end in a hole
Though some say
There is hope
In the Lord
For our souls
I too believe
This is so
For God’s life
Hurt the worst
Even God
Was cursed
By a hard life
On earth
He knows
How it goes
To suffer & thirst
To be free
Of this hurt
He paid the cost
For the blood loss
Of our curse
He mastered
Life and created
A place for us
To rest
After death
To live happily
For eternity
Is the highest hope
This much
Is a certainty
This much
Must be said
It could be
How it goes
After I’m dead
But until then
I’ll probably
Just stay in bed
I’m disabled
And depressed
Money chasing
Is for the rest
All the able people
Can hope in wealth
But I just want
To be an able person
To have
Eternal health
And escape
My hell
To be immortally well
This can’t be bought
And God Has expressed
Pleasure in life to excess
Will become your only reward
You are warned
We must pay
The admission
Of suffering
To enter heaven
So be sad
For what
You do bad
Be sad
For this world
Gone mad
Where the rich
Make the poor hurt
The rich
Have made me crazy
Their path upon
How they chase
Their money
Has caused me
Such Suffering
Some say I’m poor
Because I’m lazy
You can’t buy
Eternal rest with gold
Heaven must be bought
With pain & illness
The poor
Aren’t always lazy
Most just can’t work
In wellness
Because of those
Who’ve managed
To be rich
Have a mission
They get rich by
Destroying competition
They are the reason
I am sick & cursed
That’s not to say
There is no joy to be had
In poverty
For a grateful soul is glad
But the irony is
It is they
Who truly lack
They’re the poor souls
It is they who pay my way
They get rich off of me
In this world
But that
Makes me rich
In the next
Here I am cursed
All the way
Into paradise
By making
My life on Earth worse
Admission is paid
Passed Heaven’s gate
But they are blinded
By their greed
It’s the devil’s money
That makes
Their lives
Sweet as honey
Money that makes them
Feel so well
Is the way
They are bought
And brought into hell
And by the way
They make
Their money
As well
By making us
Suffer too bad
To have any way
For anything
To be had
This is exactly what
Pays our way
Into heaven
Too much money
Is for dummies
Yeah, my life hurts
But I’ll laugh last
Because of the way
This all works
Means God
Is pretty funny
The gambler’s greed
Makes him poor indeed
Never wager
What you can’t
Afford to lose
Some call me crazy
And even lazy
But to get money
On the bet
Goodness is worthless
Is truly crazy
You saw
Your goodness
As worthless
So you sell it
To steal from the world
Then the world
For which you sold
Your worthless goodness
Must be equally worthless
For nothingness
You fell
Into the void
You go
Into the
Blackhole
To bet
there is no God
Is the real
Insane wager
For God is Good
But you sold
Your goodness
Without God,
There is no heaven,
Heathen
So with a rebel yell
From your evil face
You will fall from God's grace
Into Hell,
That torturous place
A Prayer For The Righteous To Prosper:
God the Father,
Yahweh,
May you bless all I know
And love, friend and enemy
According to your wisdom,
May we all receive our due
For the works we do.
Few prosper for good works;
Most prosper off of the blood of
The suffering;
Most prosper in sin;
And many suffer
For their threat of good works;
Some consider all
Material prosperity a success;
Some call most such success
Systematic oppression
And exploitation;
Unholy lords over the oppressed
To attribute all riches with success
While their success was bought
In a bloody mess
Not of Good works;
The Way of the Cross
Blesses the meek good doer
Later rather than sooner
To be repaid for all that was lost
The costs of love and wisdom
Are mournfulness and forgiveness
Wisdom, riches more precious
Then any money,
Money that serves little more
Then to satisfy luxury
And depraved lustfulness
In moral degeneracy and emptiness
But from wisdom flows
True prosperity
Of righteous wealth and destiny
Our thoughts of gold so fine
From our hearts flow all we do
And if they become of God
Then surely we are divine
And we will prosper
Forever thereafter
