The feast of St, George

Smith Shine Poetry's avatarSmith Shine Poetry

Never to recant his faith in the Lord.
Advanced, gifted with the sword.

Soldier of the Christ. Fought courageously
in belief.
compelled evil to hell as angels roared
in raw relief.

Onwards to the realm.
Converging from afar with Godly squall
and brush of helm.

Under his pennon they forge.
Chanting 'Jerusalem'
for the feast of St, George.

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Night Sky

I stare at the night sky.
Beyond the abyss.
Patterns produce beats calling me into action.
Shedding a light into my soul. 
Sparking the reaction.

Good and evil crossing fine lines.
I now graft like I'm dancing.
Embrace responsibility like rhymes.

There's victory in a rock pile.
Smash, smooth and stack them.
Offer them and smile.

An answer I now know.
Developing in our suffering, 
until it's time to go.


The Otherside

One day felt longer than a week.

I now no longer hide. But what's behind
the waterfall I seek.

Looking in from the otherside. Old and Young.
I want the knowledge of the departed.
With air still filtering in my lungs.

When you're alone pass by one time.
Help make it mine.
Lets collaberate, I'll make it rhyme.

The feathers in the morning.
Those significant days, the fox's I see.
The eye in the cloud, the pistashio tree.

Your laugh blows like music with the wind.
How can I not follow?
In the quick glance of a sunset.
It's eleven years tomorrow.

Free Speech

Sit or stand. But lets talk freely, find out
what we think.
Stamping our position in the world. It's the
antidote we drink.

Listen learn, then them you can teach.
Utter what you believe. Even if foolish
in your speech.

Swallow your errors let me criticise.
You will move forward. We learn nothing
in our lies.

Say what you got to say. Don't loose your
tongue and mind.
Your reputation will not save you. Do not
be willfully blind.

When the world overwhelms you, speech is freedom, its necessary!

Or blood will exude from the olives in Gethsemane.

	


	





	

		
Iron Sharpens Iron
	


	
	

		

I prayed in my perplexity.

There stood a woman, blessed with beauty
a slave to her integrity.

My complexity shook her for a moment.
I watched a tear roll down her cheek.
We spoke of why I act.

Now it's my thoughts I speak.

Iron sharpens iron. Now for them I can
stand strong.

The synthesis of her and slog, I take my
stand where I belong.

	


	





	

		
Pretty as a Picture
	


	
	

		

We stared without words. I was lost in your eyes.
A connection without words. Not fabricated with lies.

The joy of heaven shone uncomplicated.
 
Without need for St. Paul to convince me.
Nor did I need the code of Da Vinci.

Now one less tear in my heart. A rose petal taken the spot.
Hard to pluck it was not.

Through alluring eyes I saw the soul of a saint.
Though pretty as a picture.
This girl, Leonardo himself aint worthy to paint.


	


	





	

		
Screaming
	


	
	

		

Screaming on the point of key change.
Where laughter salutes tears.
There, joy and sadness grapple. And
you run towards, despite your fears.

When pain kisses pleasure, the passion
rejuvenates the truth.
In the developing motifs of the fifth,
the old man kisses his youth.

In harmony with the sublime, we believe
what we act.
On the bounds of one's sanity, is where
the cosmos makes it's pact.


	


	







	

		
In Christ I Stand
	


	
	

		

Again I start the ascent of repentance'
steep climb.
Orienting towards what is mine.

I contemplate and lay all at the altar.
I have no offerings to burn, all I have to
offer is my heart.
For your supreme honour I present this in
my words, my art.

I look towrads the pitty, following the cross
which has served.
My garden is now in bloom.
Though I'm aware it's undeserved.

As kings fall, in Christ I stand.
My light and strength as I walk this land.