His cloak's foul tent is what supplies,
The darkness for the craft he plies…
His lair, 'The Father of ALL Lies.'
Victims who enter there 'to cope, '
Soon find themselves bereft of hope,
Like insects caught in toilet's slope.
Their fear becomes a coward's rush,
They quail with new found wisdom's hush,
And contemplate the final flush!
Oh my dear friend, reject his tent,
Whose shelter is so glibly lent,
God's pain worth more than Satan's rent!
Such pain may lead you to the light,
You often miss with man's insight,
Live on dear one and fight the fight!
With all your soul God's path embrace,
And when you meet Him face to face,
You'll know that Heaven IS His Grace!
Well said, Brian. We all have been warned now to keep our distance from that guy with the funny name. Great poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's wisdom delivered in Brian's style! I like the way you made this poem funny, as in here- Victims who enter there “to cope, ” Soon find themselves bereft of hope, Like insects caught in toilet’s slope. ! ! God is always, a way better than Satan, though he may delay, but yes he'll respond (just like Brian!) ..From the day I've met you, your poems are becoming wonderful steadily! I loved this one, which delivers wisdom in such a fun manner! Kudos!