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This Christian Covered Life

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THIS CHRISTIAN COVERED LIFE

Words and Poems to Read

By Adrianna Stepiano

First Edition

2016

Copyright ACT+S Michigan

Be Innocent.

Each season we bring merry and cheer to each and every hearing and purposefully near.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

 

 

To live is to only know Christ within you. To die is to kiss his lips when he calls your name. To cry is to tell of our sorrow and share time with him in pain. To laugh is to borrow his kindness and share it among his followers. To dine is our worth unto his Kingdom we fall short every time but he will lift us with hands strong enough to stop the world when our time is up. To shatter his world is a sin that requires no doubt with him and exist you will no more. This is the word of his host, a kind woman who knows the love of his ghost.

Goodness Brings Life

 

 

To each his own, I always oblige and lonely I stroll beneath this rise, these Kings we see within our sleeves bring gladness and singing with thieves. Forgiveness he brings, our Jesus his name, we sacrifice all for him and wash away any stone from his skin if we were to meet him again. His footsteps we cling to, his anchor abound and wish others see all the shine from his sound. A tree for a penny a witches red heart, nothing compares to the sanctuaries’ start.

 

With glade and the stage we perform with hearts beating thrifting and calm, he grasps us to feed his kin with our knowledge of Christ from within. The words of his book, lend us to a hooking for knowing that he did exist. The sand still remains, the footsteps are gone, we weep in his shallowest grave. Our people we know with one drop of tear when tragedy strikes us so near. When bodies lay scattered and sheets search like hammers for names of next surviving. Relatives hold candles and brothers mourn sisters and fault lines crack open, when no one prays before acting.

 

Act no one for him with swords or with guns, but with rakes and hoes dig his earth. The piling of his children with masks and scraped skin do cry out at midnight for love. The frightened more often than none, are mothers and children who starve for some of the only evil who lie and rape and kindle the burning embers of nighttime until dusk. They sing to no one and hold mouths in pain while chopping at flesh that remains. Jesus holds them still, and marks them with death and forget the afterlife and forgiveness. This is not our logic, it’s only just now that things have faulted to this.

 

He was not just a man. Not just a prophet, he dined with some sinners and lust. These reasons he gave, so he could relate when our lives clocked and ticked to time up. This brings us assurance, Jesus is my kind, but never will I compare him to mine. His words are mighty, his logic is straight, to love one another at Heaven’s gate. To judge them we leave him the task. To love them we leave him the task. To hate them we leave him the task.

 

So say their name, if you can, if you will, or remain silent and stare at the air. Jesus will hear you, you know, I know, we know, he will. And if you see trouble, acknowledge it once then forgive yourself as your feet walk away, as you are not God, I am not the same, he is the only one to blame if things go terribly astray. But, blame him we won’t as we see things written as notes on a card he holds. All things will go in time. Don’t end the world in hate. Bring us to you in Love, we shall pray.

 

Amen.

A Tassle For Youth

 

Frightened past out under blankets with absent minded folds of paper to weaken the hymnals and screeches,

Finding long tailed ships sailing into the deep churns of our mind, we bind, then recant

Or renounce

Or re-announce our being unto God

 

Lord take my hand and guide me. Do you have her too? And him? And all of them?

 

They fall to their sin on knees and dirty plates that smear with butter tarts and lakeshore street.

Because money is no object but objectify me once more while I sleep and expect Him.

 

Dawn paved steps and cobble stone stores we retreat to send the Father to their grave.

 

Why do they lie so still?

While they fill their head with lies to coax the invisible sins of your past lives.

 

Through me.

To me.

Beyond. Me.

 

Capture she breathes while I sleep to hear her transition.

Elements creak and mumbles do speak his transgression.

 

What a mess I am in.

But, pray it away and I ask if it’s only to move.

Closer.

To Him.

My head rests at tips of His toe where I feel worthy.

 

Amen.

 

Pardon the excursion.

I do try to tithe with lonely hearts in a club at the nine to five.

 

LEPT IN THE BUSHES OF GENDER ROLES.

 

Deepen the seeds to use his frozen lines that tie and kiln. Smoke does circle around his eye sockets with empty lines of flowing faucets.

 

Goodness.

 

A carpenter was he who flew like a bee to the Eastern service, but he will not spin my block of clay.

 

Aba Father he is not. The only entitled sits within a further notion.

The doorbell.

You didn’t write tonight.

 

An empty box of cardstock and foil to scorch your hand. Melt in my pot. The colors that rock bring clowns to center on his frown with accusations and book signings.

The terrible truth, you are just like me, with a voice you cannot explain to beneath.

 

They’re all beneath.

Is not mine to judge.

Train and rest like the Earth to a bruise.

 

It’s not a grown, but to render growth among us. Does the you still stand alone? Can you shake his right post to see glitter?

Don’t call me, I’ll write tonight when the sanctions are lifted from Christ.

Don’t fly with me, I know you’re just them and visit with sin tonight, so fight me in glory and whistle away without Frank. That’s why you’re embarrassed of me.

Hope the top hat fits that huge ego.

 

Amen.

Early Renditions of Christ

 

Lately I have had enough.

 

To guide my hate and late with Christ to die. For his calmness does subside with bullets that flare in the innocent air we take in.

 

So take me now in sin and I shall bend forward to forbear your hearing and seeing eye dog.

 

As for my closed eyes, be it none to see you and feel you for Christ’s never sin in a shadow.

 

The earnest of all the darkness falls to you. Then men take women to course their locked legs and violet tops for just fun.

 

So cover my soul with a patch of white fabric and listen to words you know not. Befriend Christ’s son and not Lot who holds toes to death on top of hillsides.

 

Your folly is gladness, your followers sadness, your tears rake the cheeks of my Father.

 

So fake do you stand on that stage with God like a stone you can plague, who calls you to verse, your luck has no worth, and death will see you at once.

 

All worried you are, as you know your name and poison the words of your tongue.

 

Can Christ come to your month, just maybe once. To let you breathe on the busy schedule you supposed to be too touchy for anyone unlike yourself.

 

As like yourself I aspire to not be as I can write three times the lyrics you can with one tough night of gin and tonics.

 

The sound of your fury is ever so flirty when arms fail at your side, a pigeon looks on with doe like furred eyes and inside out he will turn.

 

The wordsmith comes on from death all abound and clashes with issues he knows. The communion he knows we do need. The lion his fur we shall see, once more before death to circumvent a rising time of longing.

 

Amen do I shout while my head nods on, Let It Be So, do you know what it’s about? I do, don’t you see clearly through your narrow eyes? My wide eyes will swallow your heart.

 

A heart beats for me, and satisfies needs before he even steps near, because I can hear his laughter. His body touches through the holy spirit to flesh, because he loves us the best.

 

When he travels down, by shocking and bounds, those doubters will see him no more. The years have been plenty, the time runs so short, to complicate things just one more.

 

A daughter I am, but so is your friend, we cry to him nightly with love. A light falls upon the horizon each night as I lay in confusion and fright. The squeaking you hear is rendering fear and just a little more can I take.

 

Those words do not listen to make.

These words do not listen to make.

Those words do not listen to make.

 

Make us he does with life and a dove, the branches we see spread so clear. The knowledge we have, was given at birth, from parents who heard it from sin. Our long arms and legs, spread out to take in, the love we are meant to give in.

 

So take me dear love, as I cannot share, my words without knowing you’re near. Also when you’re far, my stomach does turn, and pray for you morning and night. A cancelled check clears, the oven is warm, and ask you for nothing I will.

 

These things I do for you, he does for you through me and only.

Those things he does for you, I do for me through you and only.

These things I do for you, he does for you through me and only.

 

Capture my tongue with ivory and dung, your lips move solid on mine. The whisper I hear at 4 in the morn will dampen my longing for you. Understanding Christ, brings me to sadness less frightening goodness why don’t they just stop killing kin. Is able alive again, where is our dear cane?

 

As Cain took our lives to satan and sat with him nearly the lifetime of Christ. Bring with him he did to heaven to torture and kill him for life. Our lives are so able and willing to serve only one man on earth. Our Father cries out for his children at birth.

 

My foot won’t near slip if your lips cannot stop the pacing of your skin.

Your skin will not stop on my lips if you cannot stop the feet of your sin.

My foot won’t near slip if your lips cannot stop the pacing of your skin.

 

Anglican and chastity we hold dear to nothing that means Jesus. He lived and died for us, that is all we need to know. A path to heaven he paved one day and so it is written for us. The logistics worked out, he tested with waters.

 

So to speak.

So to go.

Early next week?

So no.

 

Death still eludes us with fear and illumes our hearts when it’s near. Living each day within Christ will prolong our lives just a bit. Perhaps 30 more I am ready for when I’m 90. This Earth is our home, we leave it in you, the smell of the flowers in bloom.

 

The pages of this book do write. In one single night we will write. In one single night she will write. All chapters in one sitting with me.

 

Christ guide me to be the bravest they’ve seen, but hide me away when the earth starts to shake with a war. No one can tell me where to be as I hide by a pillow of love.

 

Their brown eyes are simple, no one.

The blue eyes are simple, know some.

The green eyes are mine, help.

 

The length of his stay will be only one day, as he knows the way to my heart and then causes it to stop. A candle does burn in your name every time he flies weary away. The bike that he rides sits inside of my work, the legs are in tune, the banging will start, his heart does cry out while they laugh.

 

Do they ever know love, or loss, or false idols?

Have they ever said a God before you?

Do they ever know love, or loss, or false idols?

 

Amen.

 

before you were born he lived

 

 

How simple are times like these that try at the hearts of many a one in company and see how goodness we bring when the triumphs are plenty and food not so warm but blood spills out on the ground. Life gone. Love no more.

 

These take time to write the rightness of strife and giving our all we shall. Before we knew you our pallets did split and white pearls shifted in vain, but ours still remain all the same. That isn’t to say I didn’t want. The same.

 

Just before dawn the darkness creeps on and sadness drops down off your face to see the message I took from a memory bank known to God. How did I know all those at once, when listening earth to the ground. And, sin.

 

Satisfy youth and bring into girth the single most glistening tongue. The drink I prefer is only your nod with sugar on lips I know not. The peppermint spills on my chin, the longest yards walk within us. The fear leaves.

 

Beloved his harp cries out in the night an hour my body does shift, the jerk loves to open me up while laughter from Christ like he’s drunk. Shall I stare at her the jumping let live? My wants are my needs so within. The take gives.

 

She can’t be the one, her words sting my eyes. Days I spend crouched down beneath the window pane she cannot see. In pain I do deserve every nerve that pinches the ending of life. Please take me tonight my dear Christ, before.

 

Why can’t I fall in love. The lies that I told were not none. The tickling loins I can’t tussle while I lay in thought without her but with her nearest to me. How can we be close but do know what the other is saying, the day holds.

 

Forgotten my sins the Father draws near. In judgement he trains us to feel our gut instincts follow the messages are so clear. Feel them before crawling on the land that mines are fallen between. Feel them before the tragedy.

 

Sleep in once again before noon when I need it the most, stay up to write gardens and knowledge the host will provide, the energy rides at the tips of my fingers of color. Don’t stride right on by without knowing worthy.

 

The perfect letter counts. The magistrate parties all night with the lowly and sacrificing demons with him. Just look in the eyes they tell stories of denial and judged harshly the poor, can she afford a day put away before evening?

 

Take them away from their families to suffer. Tease wenches and regular patrons he will. A lost soul should clear up this fight just one more punch will I do. So pray to me garden in bloom so no one plays God over you. Before.

 

The credit goes to the fallen one. More cash than a pile of checking gums. The drilling will begin when the coverage is known. The gentle touch will depend on the vocal who knows not to press back and forth long enough.

 

You can’t know the truth. You can’t speak the youth.

 

Amen.

The Dragonfly who flew too high

 

Let me be the first to take you into this tale of worthy beings and must see plenty’s. Before we go, though, simply write your name below so I can be sure this is the right person.

X________________________________

Before and on after we go then.

When instinct is gone and you have been trampled so often you feel only as if you’re inside of a free falling sumptuous carnival ride, we have to fall asleep. To sleep, I mean, as if to let go of being awake, and, by then we should know what to do.

To awaken the senses, I find, to be a rather cumbersome ride into a night side table full of drugs and alcohol meant to douse the sensation such an openness brings.

Or to open the mind, all these false guides try to lead you people. Take the idea of living in the moment, what a method of momentum that idea lacks. Why not try to recall the beauty of the past and the righteousness of time lapsed?

When all of your life seems dismal, why not turn to God as your relative guru? As of late there has been a terrible calling toward spirituality and enlightenment. Now, notwithstanding the Holy Spirit, which is God, or so it seems to be the cliché most try to shy away from, why would anyone want to foolishly awaken a spirit?

No guru on earth should awaken a person’s spirit, or as I feel, help them enter into an awareness of death beyond God.

Let me ask a question you may want to ponder. If God had intended for a spirit within a person to be correctly awake, then why are we not born as such beings of documented awakeners?

When a child is born are there spiritual guides standing by to witness the awakening of their insides? Not usually in a Christian birth. Perhaps, elsewhere there is, when I care not to delve in this essay.

I am a Christian based writer, so opinions that matter to you, the solid you chose to in hatred, don’t touch me when words turn to dust.

So see a spirit awaken, when Christ’s tomb does open on Easter Sunday after a tumultuous Lenten starvation. So back to sleep you go with prayer and if there are voices in your schizophrenic head, tell the dead to leave now and let Christ know they trespass.

Amen.

a pacifier of sin unto yourself

 

Be gone good and evil who parts the partial of shooting wills.

Rest calm and say to thee who remain unbroken, “Put down your wheat and oak and become the last who spoke for God.”

The treats he provides will speak for us.

The rainbow he chose does leak for us.

The sorrow he rose does meek for us.

TO INHERIT THE EARTH.

 

Lest worship the ground you walk on, then become that in which your songs end. The vanquishing rift of a doorframe, when it opens to let your ghost in.

The vine we can climb.

The light we can see.

The seven so holy will wash up the clean.

This day be it deadly and horror reveal, came without a pear in a tree.

 

Come hither she cries, with legs spread to tight and inches of goodness for him. Went walking again in your sin, he speaks once again, “Lay down your body for my cause and treat those with pause and reluctance, then see me without rightful just.”

The carrying woes of a cross.

The wedding vows cost just a hitch.

Your worry will only recant.

TO THE WEEK END WE SEEK PAIN.

 

Do trifle the recognizant. Don’t letter the vowel of Christ, there is only an I on to stand, while he remains constant in grief.

He fills me fully.

He replies me to sin.

He guards me for calm against Sufjan.

Your begging I feel within me, your spirit she sleeps within me, your heart it beats within me.

 

Have repetitious virginal lives for bleeding for many a wives and left at the altar I will see you falter when my dress is stained with a sin. Carelessly,

I loved only three and felt you did when I cried, the aura surprised the numbing my side did stroke panic.

Every night while I heated in panic.

Every day while my vision laid frantic.

How did I not know your lactic?

 

Cried out the tenth year of this decade, the most painful hills we climb silent. Your words do not tell the vanquishing spell you were under. Transpose them to love and lost all to us but hide them beneath the prophet and idiocrasy, I outcry, “I KNOW WHAT THOSE MEAN!”

 

TO THEE WE WEEK

TO THEE WE SEEK

TO THEE WE SEARCH ON HIGH

 

The pagan angel still haunts me. His Michael was loving and mighty, then sin took the wheel and promised to steal my life from Him. A garden does bloom in his honor, a dandelion garnet on heaven, a sunflower worthy of nothing, a woman worth worthy of any.

 

SHE ASKED TO BE SILENT, I ABODE.

SHE ASKED TO BE RESILIENT, I DID KNOW.

SHE ASKED TO BE INVISIBLE, I WILL NOT GO.

 

For these people need to not only hear my mental friend, but seek me they do in vision. Your beard let me cling to, my privates hide oral, with her lace between my knees precious coral. She won’t heal too soon for my lover, she cries out to you within heartache.

 

ALL LAUGHING I HEAR YOUR VOICE CALLING.

ALL SORRY I HEAR YOUR VOICE CALLING.

ALL NERVES OF WHITE STEEL YOUR VOICE QUIVERS.

 

The rat hole she hides with she slumbers, God meet her in there with a silent, beckon. My voice she does hear, but nothing to fear, she giggles and hides all our secrets. With friendship so near, she won’t be taken, the vantage you grew up too near.

 

GOURD YOURSELF UNDER MY BLANKET.

KNEE MYSELF BEFORE THE TRIAL.

LOSE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.

 

The end will regret these pages are leeks and too long to suffer in sickness. Ask me to prolong your life, ask me to be your next wife, ask me for any and all, my children I know you deserve nothing, but give to you freely creation. The spring will not freak, the fall will not crawl but summer and winter us all. The clock that ticks on, the shoes whose souls worn, the reader confused by her norm. Do read this with passion, clench fists and tight eyes. These lines are meant to follow in pain.

 

WHY DID YOU TAKE MY MOTHER?

WHY DID YOU TAKE MY FATHER?

WHY DID YOU TAKE MY LOVER?

WHY DID YOU TAKE FOREVER?

 

To this Christ’s answer so weary, “No I won’t budge of this mirror you see in yourself with my help your perfection is worthy.”

To them Jews seek only factions, Christ died for their sins too, believe in him they should, for that is not only my working opinion.

THE HARD LINE.

 

Worry she will with those line-ups, protect her I must within prison. These lives are not stolen. Youth wishes the whispers would know them. The others blind notion to mountains and valleys and lives everlasting excite them. What’s in it for us they bring gladness while God laughs and smile with sadness, they kill and they maize hark heralds the same for each will see glory in cover.

 

To glory in sin is forgiven, to noel each year rifled through, so shoot up a school he did, and exist no more he can, his mother as guilty bystander. The pink, blue, and green left untouched. A tree planted just isn’t enough. A patio table with names of the slain salted with tears of their mothers. The blankness of lives they can kill us, we’re already death in our hearts, hear us.

 

GO GOD UNTO US. DID YOU SEE HIM WITH FUSS? HOW CAN EVIL HIDE WHEN THEY STAMPEDE?

 

Three times I did cry, twice touched my white thighs, then left when I called out rape further. A sickness I thought, so I left him all, but God didn’t love the life either. So test me he’d fall into boiling hot water and chilling the heart I lift daily. This sonnet can go on forever, because I know Christ in me.

 

Because I know Christ in me.

Because I know Christ in me.

Because I know Christ in me.

 

Step foot in a Church I won’t do.

 

The stabled left hailing in routine dark ceiling and temples will crumble no more. Your pitch does not carry, your pews are not scary, and polish them with all your but halts.

 

Four seconds to spare, I won’t respond care. Give me nothing without not your words. My syndic great, my wither to task on your heart strings.

 

Play your heart strings I do.

Play your heart strings I show.

 

Please don’t go where you’re welcome has gone.

Please don’t care where your nerves have all shone.

 

Can’t you hear my listening Lynn?

Can’t years pass my anchoring Ann?

Can’t love pass this marching Marie?

 

But love the most Sincerely, Siena.

Calamity.

 

The talent reaches into guiding Grace.

The patient lashes out of juggling Jean.

 

For each will see God in his fuzzy soft beard, when called to their number to feast. He loves his dark women, he loves his soft children, but mostly he loves my own family. To this I will price less my name. Claudette doesn’t quite ring the same. As for this I go, and touch with my toes, the waves of salt beaches will warn me.

 

So end the earth you do, floors flood unto you, your anger is unacceptable Father. I won’t be your friend if you do that again, an eternity I’ll spend in spite. My arms will unfold for only a note when I breath deep and say, “End the world once more and You HELP ME, I will no longer speak to you in joyous hymns.”

 

So live on we do.

Listen he does.

For he is not lonely in anger.

Lonely he strolls with his lover, who claimed he when only a number, she thought that his wish, but silence he did when she prayed to be dead in

her thirties.

 

Protection I seek from within me. A touch of your hand goes unsealing.

 

Thank you Father.

Amen.

THe most beautiful name, adrienne

 

 

A drain on my heart she is only.

Work tending and safely net catch her.

The font is too big, the words are too small.

Critique me she downs all my sadness.

 

The glory fills silence when sought.

Reject them she does and stifle the law.

When one man ignores her advances.

He calls out the same, I am lame.

 

I read her lines poet clearly.

She won’t hear my song when she’s lowly.

She won’t know my face when I’m on her sill.

So bring me to life can go on,

and show me you love me the same.

 

I can’t write these lyrics without her.

I can’t give the gemstone those hours.

This is her life too, she hurts with worn shoes,

so I won’t eat dinner and riches.

 

Give any to poor.

Give all to the suffer.

Grant nothing to me but a pillow.

 

Make me duck when they toss them.

Make me strong when I face them.

Just do it for me, Laureate they will see,

as I hid life away for too often.

 

Why would her name offer such worthy.

Christ she uses too early.

So why not we’ll see, what she can claim me.

Smirk when she stumps us all knowing.

 

Release him at once, he isn’t my love.

Just a name without a conjunction.

Let me know friends when you see again,

will his music share loudly with tenants?

 

The capital letters are sullen.

The breath of fresh air has been stolen.

The cops just don’t care the fireman’s stare.

Flare into her arms go in madness.

 

The calling of privacy matters.

The way they stole innocence from her.

The heart attack waits, the stomach pains quake,

the judgment I see in their eyes.

So sparkle I do when she cries.

The torment I tell, she knows I’m not well.

When family gathers without me.

My love she has died, the other has tried.

 

Twelve missed months.

I buy the next coffee,

to hear of her childhood stories.

SHORT CHANGE LONG HANDED

 

Can you hear the mangrove leash that ties her to the simple breeze?

Wish the pain and useful stance white treated nothing with resent?

Careful planning goes into three turnips with roost on borrowed time.

 

Used to unwind.

The cork has legs to walk away while peepers sink down my nose.

 

You are just a whore meant to distract me.

Unraveled yarn just like your life, God sees you bully that boy.

As he strolls and begs you for a sip of love.

 

He is just a dove.

Like mine was.

 

They manipulated me, though you camped out with false accusations.

In the till.

Be right back.

The minute I left you sent the textured blanket of sin.

God held me still in his Psalm tree.

 

Is it safe?

Will they find air under all those stars meant to frost our toes?

With desire?

I won’t lust for you but simply strive to find the love you need.

 

Let me wash these dishes with the lavender soap meant to calm.

Breathe through it.

The dragonfly knew it.

The bumble-bee threw it to disaster.

The lady bug didn’t want to show too little an affectionate glance.

 

On the palm of my hand while you lied to the mass.

Pass by my own dad in his sandals.

Four bathing beauties dodged piles of goose dung.

You bit your tongue as I spread my legs to the sun.

Why is she sitting like that?

 

God said you asked since he dressed me.

 

Won’t you please Siena address me?

Though it won’t be for me but for her as she watches me paint him.

With glee.

 

Then pulls out her box of polished stones.

Treats to my toes to colorful sprinkles.

 

That’s God.

Amen.

 

those languished and torn within

 

Pardons do seem unnecessary when the sins of our rat tails come marching. When I write I never cry out to Christs’ followers but to me they hope and worry for we are all part of his holiest spirit. A punishment I seek before publications take me to stardom. This is how we think, isn’t it? We feel unworthy of his keeping eyes. We cry and say things like, “Do test me. I won’t fail you father in heaven.” Then we think back and worry that his name wasn’t in all capital letters. Did we praise him enough, did we send goodness to enough, did we seek sorrow enough on his hard half?

These are my brothers and sisters that enjoy the singing but benches do contain all of love that we cannot share and a priest doesn’t bring us to hear him and only reminds us of satan. “Do you go to search at a church? It’s a good place to start but worship in heart as the buildings are necessary to no one.” We don’t need a man to give message. We don’t need to drink or soak in his bread, we gather in feast while alone. A cross with our nose, a silly verse known, and sing to him humming we will. No sin will he ever bring us near. Forgive us he knows, we are humans with toes that sink clearly.

You’re famous, who cares, we don’t. Ask us who we fan, we will say, “I am no follower of yours, I follow only one and those I love fall apart when I cancel Thanksgiving day feasts. If I’m not the same, don’t bother with my name, I won’t share a nickel in sin.” As for falling in love, I whisper to him, “Should I be your wife, dear Christ, or do you have plans for me still?”

Just knowing he came down is enough for us to calm ourselves when enough is enough. The aunts find his name, the uncles are plain, and grandparents whistle in pain as they know their days are numbered. Though prayer does work, I know this first hand, as I should be dead without him. We all should be dead without him. Into some other’s eyes we find ourselves hurting while working beside these few fellows. The stiffness in life, the apples are pears, and don’t touch my stuff you will hear. How can greed go so noticed and accepted throughout, charge me for a penny I found a lost art. With seven death sins to live by.

So vanity creeps by my bedside and as I turn I see the marks of birth on my hips and below my own belt. Will a man ever want to touch this skin I worked so hard to be within? May he not judge me, but dim the lights I plan to do so I cannot worry in tunes of self-declamation of character. Hold me I ask Christ to do, I can do anything when I’m with you. I can be so brave, I can be so weak, my bowels can leak, my heart can jump, my body you made within love.

A heart cries in love and poetry he teaches me when sadness inside is deafening. The pain Christ will take away, just ask. The memory he will subside, just ask. The moment he will hold still, just ask. Go numb you will when you can’t see the future, he will lead you away from your will and into his hands you can steal a moment of peace. Live under a subway, climb into a saddle, drive drunk and you can’t hide from him. He knows you will sin. He follows with pain. He can’t hide the suffering loss. Don’t worry your life with loved gloves that coddle your notions and nothings. Repair your own life, you can’t even try, this isn’t your life but to be, a sinner is the only one who owns anything. Hand it all to God and repent for he watches like a clock that ticks on.

Do fear him in scorn, don’t fear him in loss, whisper his name in your head. Ask God for his voice when your tongue isn’t right and watch the miracle take hold. If you starve at night, ask him to lead you, to nourishment and due Turkey. There’s plenty of food, just knowing his love, will not be enough in your body. He designed you, He designed me. The three will explain unto many. How many forms of water do we know? Liquid, gas, and solid. It’s the easiest explanation we can come up with. The trinity is three; God the Father, Christ the Son, Holy the Spirit in us. The waters of baptism can cleanse, but nothing compares to a voice, who simply states, “God, I want to be your child.” You already are, he will answer.

Don’t worship the angels among us, don’t lay down your hands to an idol, don’t bend at the cross, the suffering loss, we know not his mighty endeavors. He knows all, he is all, he sees all for nothing passes through. So why not all live, he clings to a son and says, “I told you I would return.” The war has not ended and our kin still spread out their blood for countries and borders. I thought we all fought the world wars. I thought we all won the world wars, now there is one more who worships a scar on earth they explode in their flesh. Why can’t there be peace, in sickness and debt, isn’t there enough we strain on? Don’t these people know the war ended? Don’t they know what guns do? Can’t they see mortality? A gift of life they take heed on.

Invite me to read at your story, and watch while I say this isn’t my gig, but put him on stage and he’ll show you how ministries fail the hearts of so many, and dormant they watch with blank stares. These are not his loves but the tithers will say, “I give 40% every day.” Money is no object to Christ, it’s no object to terrorism plots, why don’t they just see the evil they are? Because it’s God’s morals they seek. So kill us they do in his name, but confusion is not the same. Forgiveness we know, and mess up behold, do it again and you’re sinning. Once is only enough to claim mishap. Repent and renounce your birthstone within when horoscopes reach out to save us. When nothing comes true, and all things are lost, a psychic you’ll leave by her lamppost. But wait one more day, and say unto God, “This wasn’t something I knew of.” The washing of sin, Christ steps into us and leads us into his blood. For imagine a day when you walk in his flesh and our sins are forgiven as costless. He is our teacher, he is our counselor, he is our best friend and fondest fan. He loves us no doubt, it’s in my own form that glistens and listens intently. When suns over there and moon can’t quite fair, is heaven and earth in them Father? The polar caps melt, is this in your plan? Why do so many innocent find you too early in life they lay dying. Do you know of cancer? Do you see AIDS a plenty? Do you know of sudden lack of breath in us? A death by design when you birthed us. One day we are sentenced to stardom, and avoid it we must so we can have love because no one worships our footsteps.

Those fools are the costly repairs of many years of countries struggling to keep up. The Eastern world they seek as peaceful, the Western world they hate as sinful. So kill us they do, and along with the Jews, they cry to God without knowing Christ. The religious are not our friends if we can’t see our glorious Lord in Heaven in them. Bring them into the old, and find the new they will, but leave before they turn violent. We travel around playing God on their land, and fight us they do with our courage. Who invited them to our village? Why do they think we don’t know our creator? Why must we show them the sign of the cross? Control us you won’t, we kill you in sleep then send your body back in a bag. That’s where we spend the night in our own homes, praying deeply to Christ for peace on Earth and good will to man, protect us on the land where we were born.

Fresh water belongs to only some. Fresh meat belongs to only a few. Farming methods just won’t do on a land where the home is on rock. Don’t rely on your heart but your gut will tell you when the situation calls for no hope. See God and say, “I can’t help, will you?” He’ll turn you away, so far from hell that you stay, locked up in your family name for centuries. Is this something we can teach, to mind our own business and pray when they need God to see them? It’s the safe way, leave their land and then let them find a way to God, even the earliest settlers reject our nods at nothing but a line full of thieves. Our blood shed on land to bring equal hands and love unto them so we do. Another we find just like you. Our opinions we share as Christ’s only we care, but wrongful to think they like us. The whispers around them will count the lives of so many they touch. Their children we take when only the sake of health matters. Leave the children alone, put your arms in the air and come home. That is not only my will, but many as we are exhausted with war and need strength in our homes for we can kill too, just step on the porch of a neighbor who yells and he’ll hit your face with a bullet for trespassing on nothing that was his in the first place.

We steal our own children, we frighten with fists, what make this land so full of the sinless? Turn to them and say, “We have our own problems, keep yours at bay and deal with them on your own time. Go home now and worship your God. We will see who leaves trouble behind. So greed and gluttony take us over, fight it with us or don’t. It matters little to most.” Then hell freezes over in springtime mass vigils and Easter pastels are a blur. The church he shot up, he wasn’t foreign, but a child of our own land he did make. His parents knew not because of their sloth and kill us we did on that day. Pay attention to your kin, that’s God’s undeniable wish, and let them leave you no more. Don’t buy them to kill, don’t buy them to hate, but buy to create something more. Teach them how we hurt when a person is ill, teach them how we touch when a person knows God, touch them with lust and die mercilessly. Christ’s innocent children you hide with your loin and your needs takes over their wants. That’s why we see pain on the faces of youth, because our church did this to sons. Those priests will die young in God’s tomb and impotence we cry for in sadness. The memories press on and ruin a woman when the future should be so bright with light. They renounce religion now, because a cardinal flew down their pants. How shameful you are in pride when you shelter in place with the Vatican. A sinful place not the same, its own law it makes, the disgust Christ left them in person. No never will I see them as family. The state that it makes is so lowly. We stand not alone against regions unknown and tempt us they do with their guilt. Baptist and Mormons, heated arguments abound. Methodist and Episcopalians can share a city block, but not a loaf of bread they can spare. However Catholics take the cake, and atheists they make when they make a young boy take a knee in front of an old man as desperate as he.

Where was God that day? He was hidden away in an Ark they called David and Goliath. Tell me you’re alright and I won’t end this strife for your pride does seem simple to most heathens. This book that I write is only to say, Christ guides you if you pledge no allegiance to religion but only to him.

I was raised a Baptist until twelve, then most to Episcopalian by design of family members needing more people in the pews, every question I asked about Christ was answered with a metaphor instead of a kind and gentle show of generosity and only one meal I enjoyed with a priest as he looked down my blouse one Sunday during communion. Christ said to me, “Leave this house, it no longer belongs to me.” So I left and have not returned. I speak to my child about God while we paint and make laughter with cakes and dinner plates that remain full. I pray to my King for comfort, she prays to her Father for silence and tears that don’t stain her book end table. Write with me, speak with me, clean with me, walk with me, show me danger, show me safety, pay my bills, or are they your bills to pay, dear father as you put me in this rent filled apartment? Those are the questions I so long to dangerously tread upon when the eviction notice comes and I hear Christ say, “You’ll be a victim no more. Five times your life has been tested, five times you survived. The only death left is the one I see you smiling through when you thank me for this time I gave you on Earth.”

Amen.

beseech me to kinship and lovE

 

Take me into your hills.

Guide me into your arms.

This poem I write in time.

When simple hearts open the mind.

 

The remote controlled venue can’t lend,

A helping hand I try upon,

The brother’s sickness leans on,

A prophet no tether will stop.

 

A pair of lonely hear me.

The second the whisper of tea.

The letters unread, the gifts are still said,

And want them back I still do.

 

I won’t send more that’s not due.

Why do I thank him for nothing?

Why do I praise him for nothing?

Why do I cry out for someone?

 

So felted my heart when pilling does start,

I won’t mention living in sin,

As he tends to dine just a loft away,

Don’t ask me to stay all nights any.

 

This ones just a page in my fury.

An amen is not all that worthy,

For these words might hurt,

And careless I do.

 

Read this to someone who cares little.

Recall shelters in hurtful crimes,

Judgement lines for poor and weak,

I feel comfort in their speak.

 

Don’t cry too lessen the burden,

Call to bring peace amongst us.

 

Beseech unto Christ. Go to him.

can i be worthy of such a dove as he?

 

 

When energy surrounds us at night, the advice I listen to is this, “Bring yourself in solitude and remark only when asked to reply to God, for no man deserves to question you.”

 

Once there sat a little girl whose first right of passage was love, she felt on her heels the sacred life while those around her typed markings. Up in a tree she remains, when justified pain is the same. Abuse knew her name, insulted for fame, and once a man cried out for her. “She’s married I won’t interfere, but bring me to her as a friend. I’ll play like I’m gay, I’ll say that’s not my name, but know her I feel I must.”

Then God said, “I see no lust in your heart my young dove. Perhaps, I should look unto her, I think she’s been replaced by a placenta young sinner, long lasting I acknowledge not her.” Then find her he did when vengeance and mazes misled him, possess her satan can’t claim her, she never let go of Christ’s robe. Frustrated in life but worthy of time, she calls to me nightly with love.

The young dove simply spoke her name on his tongue, that isn’t the name she gave firstly though the title page recalls her last maiden form. I can’t do this God, Father in my hand, please guide me away from her all. She wears colors bright, she stays up all night, to paint and to write for her sadness. I carry the weight of my sins, forgive them, please don’t, I won’t let you know that I hurt her.

Then God said to him, “You hurt me with doubt as I can clearly see her pain. Mistreated in life, calm to avoid strife, sedentary she knows no more. She asks for a friend with a hand to hold. A dance would be nice before death, she agrees while tears stream the eyes of the unloved. I can’t stand his smell, I can’t stand his voice, why did you make me marry him, Father? Was it just to raise a son and gain a daughter? So I have done both, untether me please or leave behind my love if you won’t.”

Just pay them for me as I count pennies and write the story of gladness. No one will read for cost is too little but steal my words for a feature film. That’s how she makes out, the world takes her out, and beats her hope until nothing. So my dearest son, unkindled your belt, and go to her, marry her, quickly. She’s worthy of you, you’re worthy of her, a fool will fit in without pause. He’ll trend and nod on, “I understand your pain. I wear the same name as your Father.” But hate him she will, for she sees clearly, the colorless solution he soaks in.

For he has battled, stalks of bean poles and wants just a woman to paint him. Then she did send these things for my life to worship and praise my good Father. Who went to my fight, she did without taking or giving. With simply a fatal blow to their words. No violence she seeks, she’s seen quite enough and knows you would never hurt her skin. She sings to you like a little blue bird and writes in a dairy so public, because vain does not touch her. Pride is not by her side. Greed left a long time ago. Sloth has never known her tune. Lust is apparent in nothing she does. A timeless classic is anger when she avoids those who trigger. Envious she will be but only to be curious when laughter avoids her.

There isn’t a one of the nine she can’t find for it is true that peace calms her. Forgiveness and patience are her virtues. The rest find in kindness support her. Long suffering has known her name for too long she claims to know joy, but love is her first and foremost. Standing without faith she can’t say, when goodness wraps it on her name, you’ll see self-control when others move on, as she thinks before she can speak.

Actions and precautions drive safety. The two walk gently beside me, but push him she does if she thinks God knows his voice before competitive goodness. “On the heels of Christ I will be before you, my love. Don’t try to pass me up, I’ll run ten more miles just to keep up with Our Father.”

There isn’t a saint he knows better than his little blonde suffering daughter. She can’t cry too long, she has things to do, and the doorbell with ring after two. Keep me in motion, I’ll move when you’re ready, and sleep with me Father in heaven.

And still she thinks worthy of nothing. For I write these lines and down to the time her fingertips grow ocean weary. Let’s calm his black tongue, and give him a dove, so he can grow old without worry. “But listen he doesn’t care any!” She shouts and then furrows her blameful brow! If any do speak to me in this way, I’d wipe them off the face of the planet, but she knows my name as simple saving and strengthens with pleasurable questions.

“Good morning, Father. Do you see me clearly today?”

“Father, why are you so far away?”

“Did you get some sleep last night, Father?”

“Do you want a milkshake today, Father?”

“Really God, why do you do these things to me?”

“God, c’mon!”

“Do you have my child today, God? I can’t see her right now.”

“Do you have my mom today, God? I can’t see her right now.”

“Can you sing along with me God? My voice isn’t good when I’m alone.”

“Will you stop making me cry?”

“Can we sit down and dine?”

“Why do you want ten chapters anyway?”

“When will he know my name?”

I reckon the fault in our starts and finishes and bring these two youth unto me. Fellow sinners may fall, but love lingers on as they always return to the other. “Where is she, dear God. I know you moved me. I can’t write these lyrics without her near.” My youth isn’t worthy of might such as his, in this age he suppresses nothing. None of the seven he shares with his friends and family rejects him with posture. Out to the pasture they’d shoot him because they know nothing of John and think him to be a lover of sin but he cares so little for them. “Why should I waste my time worrying, they can punch me, kick me in the shin, like that’s never happened before. Who can within stand the pain. I can. I have. I chilled many nights upon a bunk of cedar shingles when the voices drove me out of my home. Just be with me God when I read her, she answers my questions so deeply, without even speaking to me.”

Why don’t you both settle your horses. The carriage ride never tips over, when driven at a pace we can handle. Embers do carry the scent of her love and knit sheets cuddle her neck. She dreams of him only, he’s standing before her while she smiles and nods her head. When she awakens she misses him, so she mouths to him in silence. “I miss you.” The same she did for her daughter, when I premised her pregnancy for her. Those little red lips, the screaming fit fits, a princess she calls unto many. They don’t understand her like we do. Her daddy loves through her like I do. He was the best fit, for her life that’s true, but love me he doesn’t, I’m too much. To handle me takes quite the lover. I’ve known no one with that type of patience and control that I need so I’ll follow, like a good little girl, I only know Christ when I’m hurting.

Turn him into the back end of a stationary page and he will hand you a bill to pay, but write to him daily, miss one small piece, and he’ll stalk you with a keen eye of silence. “That’s him then I feel, like eavesdropping eels when I write on top of my lapping wave. To him I greet like I’m cunning, and smile he does without something, but bitter he knows when neglected too much, because he does so much love attention.”

Am I to be cruel with you two? Am I to be loving beside you? Confusion sets in and retreat to their nest, but chickens and hens are enclosures. Lift off your feet, my little sweet tweets, your wings will carry you both home. The hunger I feel when both draws too near, would send most in frantic tip curvy. This sonnet plays on, when book two draws on, and write for you simply to settle. The landmine disputes, the friends know the truth, and root for you settlers do.

The end, for now.

Amen.

WORTH MORE THAN LIFE IS DEATH WITH GOD

 

 

Emotional ways will follow the hearts and cautionary tales, do woe without him and listen to shock and awe factors.

 

I don’t know the rhyme for the second time, you go to the longish hurtful ways to silence and base fractions.

 

The piano I listen to weeps while chords I feel so weak, his heart doesn’t beat the steps are all wrong and see through my skirt without worry.

 

Come to me once more, or stand at my door, without a knick or a knuckle.

 

These lines do make sense to only the love who consciously drives her away.

 

Too stubborn to know you that way.

 

To waken the greatly shone kindness.

 

If you kill today, let it be only one.

 

Yourself do within a blank sea.

 

The commandments do clearly state these things.

 

False idols you hold way too near.

 

Adult lust will vanish with time.

 

But murder my kin, and heartache you’ll know when you look upon Him at his locked gate.

 

Forgivable sin if only taken in haste, not in hate. Stand outside you will for only his grill will be visive.

 

Take over your plate with gristle and cakes while sharing with loving deaf neighbors. The thoughts do not count It’s action I seek, humility braves quite the younger. Discourage you won’t any longer, protect her you must from those strangers. So speak you Christ does when heartache is lost and voices to quite to hear me.

 

Oh worship you will, with ourselves in tone, but bury your heads in the sand. When he walked upon this dear land, he knew too many a kind whose swearing to him left untouched, kept coming and bruising to death. Do we part this good day, or shall I stay away, until dust settles unto this kind earth.

 

Mother earth is no one, you worship a leaf, how silly to think he need plenty. Mislead you they do, with thoughts of equality, but you’ll never know supper without me. Give yourself to three, in one we shall heal, ask him to be brains and white matter, when life takes your memories from you.

 

Paint your finger nails, sort through old photos, ask for stem cells and he will leave for good, for nothing comes from death but suffering and sadness as a voice goes unwept from God.

 

Give me my children back, quickly.

 

Praise to forgiveness need plenty.

 

Your youth is excuse, your greed is not worth, the words that fall from your parents. To raise my own child you do it with style if nothing your breasts but to feed her. I provide the rest in due time. Excuses I know not to find. I brought you near lush, you turned it to lust, responsible parties I know few.

 

Consequences will be darling, if only your eyes could see clearly. My children you’re not when you stand by and idly end a life of a baby.

 

Amen.

A Warning from the book of jesus

 

Let’s just pray together for this chapter brings us back to forgiveness and faults not our own.

 

Dear Father in Heaven.

Hear our prayer. Seek us in youth, find us in life, be near us in our old and rotten age. May we pass by sinners and foe without getting in the way. May we find gladness in homes, with our kind and our family again. May we not be frightened when loud noises shatter the silence around us. May we not fear change, as let downs are all around us. May we not leave behind our children from love, or trespasses, or lost-and-found stories around us. Keep us in your spirit, guide is on your path, lose us never for we are slippery when tempted. Take us away with you in thought and pattern our lives before no one but yourself. This prayer I ask with all greatness, and gratitude for you I am not worthy to see, but show me your face in a dream, dear Father, and watch as joy streams down my face.

Amen.

Adrienne and many who follow you

.

The AUTHOR

 

 

Adrianna Stepiano grew up in a small town just south of Detroit, never really knowing the journey of life she was led on, she sought God in her everyday life. The lives of many she shares in joy and laughter, the innocence that surrounds her does bring softness to family and friends. To her we go when needs out supply wants, that is our motto.

 

Struck by violence and held witness to three workplace shootings, right under her anxiety level is where you’ll find her. She walks just a little and tip-toes through life, the news she can’t bare without Christ by her side. So her advice to those who feel confused by life, seek Christ in your daily waking hours. Lay down when he calls, move only for him, impress no one around you. He matters little to sinners, so when they doubt you, press on like to care, he’s the only one given in death’s knocking.

 

Amen.

 

 


This Christian Covered Life

This revelation of Christ is written through artistic poetic lyrics and jointly created to create a listening tongue when read with love. The season of God is upon us, the fright of our lives still does haunt so seek Thee through soft words of love and joy, in this book you will find many. It's not meant to decorate book shelves, it's not meant for money and value, it's purpose is to hear the laughter and praise of God. To plentiful harvest we will go when we heal fully to know. If your illness is death, if your illness is life, keep calm and know we all struggle. "Real are these hopes I pass on. In love I share quickly with one. My stories are true, I write them for you. In love I hope that you'll read me." -Adrianna Stepiano

  • Author: Adrianna Stepiano
  • Published: 2016-03-14 02:05:13
  • Words: 10004
This Christian Covered Life This Christian Covered Life