The Confessions of a Christian. Book 5.
Lord Jesus Christ had resurrected not in vain.
He resurrects each moment in our hearts.
He preached and taught and finally was slain.
And it's where history of new religion starts.
He was the Prophet, Son of God and God.
He never laughed and wept a lot.
And when I die He'll bless me from His Throne
Because my heart was torn by all His Crown's thorn.
Saint Mary blessed me once when I was young
And song of life was still had not been sung.
She asked me “What you wish to see in life?”
I answered “Wife of lyre and lyre of wife.”
“You will have all.” She said and angels smiled
Not mockingly but only meek and mild.
So now I wait the gift me promised then.
And years go and soon they will be ten.
My mother old and wise or young and pretty
Was always righteous, always witty.
She saved but not once us from misery
Of bondage human priests tried to decree.
And now we're free and happy and in Church
And sing and read and staying at the porch
I tell to new-borne souls the story of
Unrighteous priests and mother's love.
Who do not know the Mother of The God?
Her name is Mary and she did a lot.
She cried at Cross of Son, and then obtained
Saint blessing from The God to make us saint.
It's true. But if despised by you
She'll bless you with the vision of the true.
It's love forever without any loss.
It's love of Jesus on the Cross.
I love my God, it's secret from the all.
The Heav'n is far but I hear call
From there to sing about kings and monks
In many songs, in many tongues.
I sing and think – o why through world alone
I bear my gift as precious stone?
Why others don't feel Christian when to sing
Their passions them do move, do draw, do bring.
I hope I die when finish all
I'm due to do by hand and soul.
Unfinished toil is spoil for reader
Who Providence to reconsider.
I don't want tempt immature hearts.
The love and wisdom are on charts
Of poetry of mine that was
No perfect gain, no perfect loss.
My duty is to sing the Lord
Who's Jesus Christ, Who's Truth and Word.
But world despised His grace and love,
His Gospel given from above.
I try to reason with the world
But I'm unknown and unheard.
But when I die you read this verse
With prayer honest, sweet and terse.
So many churches on the earth.
There's Protestant, there's Lutheran,
Catholic, and The Orthodox.
But where to run? But where to run?
I Russian Orthodox am Christian.
It's not occasion, it's my due.
And if my faith is shared by you
We're both on mission.
So many times I tried to learn
The wrong from right, the right from wrong.
But now I'm taught to be the man
That nothing could and nothing can.
I'm helpless. Sorry if you worry -
It's perfect reason to be sorry.
The science of the life is try
Be standing by or walking by.
My monstrous heart - it ever wants
The dreams come true whichever haunts
It by its presence – it's no question
Of righteous thinking or perception.
My dreams are foolish – happiness
Is all they ask for. What a mess!
I know not peace of soul so long
That I suspect there's something wrong.
Deny your soul! Deny your dream!
The God is here. All for Him!
Your love and home and friends of youth
Will never match the simplest truth
That sacrifice and saint and pure
They can be to your old heart cure.
We live by rules of misery
Of men from sin who're never free.
The song on radio to tell
That we are here for shortest spell.
And timespan of life is grief
Of the misfortune in mischief.
I look around and what I see
The raucous choir of tombs to be.
And all we do is our donation
For the perdition or salvation.
I took my notebook to write few lines
Not tearful – so away with brines!
I write of life that's income of
The hatred gone and coming love.
If just to balance this equation
We will find way to salvation.
If forget the grace of years
We're to live – it's all the tears.
The death is awful scaffold for
Our life and love we had in store.
The Judge to sentence each to go
Whichever one deserves. I know
That mercy is not to be bought
It can be merited with God.
I like to think that finally
I'll have my paradise of glee.
Christmas comes it's time to drink
To the health of healthy think
Of the life and what be after.
It's not subject to the laughter.
Darkness ever or the light
Is our choice by inborn right.
I choose life but someone else
Can pretend he's chosen death.
Untrue to rule of poetry
To plead one guilty of the spree
Of the rhymes and lines and measures
That are all poetic treasures.
Prosaic verse is to avoid
All these by which this poem spoiled.
I plead me guilty of the spree
Of merchandise of poetry.
Whichever happens I'm to dance
To sounds of triumph that immense.
It's triumph of the poet who
Was true to life and life was true
To him. His lyre was instrument
Both of content and discontent
With all around. The Glory knows
Which way it stops, which way it goes.
It's fishy how I did succeed
In simple my poetic creed.
To be prophetic simpleton
Is way my glory I have won.
Destroying glamor of the sin
Is way my poetry has been.
I'm prophecy of better way
Whatever all my poems say.
I did not take into account
The sin in deadly an amount.
I took the song from Heaven where
Is everything and kind and fair.
My song's my treasure all I have.
It gave me life and still it gave
To me the right to live forever
Till reader will be blessed be clever.
What will happen to my book?
I don't know. But look! But look!
It has nothing with malign
Worldly wisdom. It has sign
Of Divine the inspiration
That was doom from the Creation
To sophisticate the truth
Till the death and since the youth
To demystify the reason
Of the sin in all precision.
Liberty of line of mine
Is good omen of benign
Way that poetry to go
To have own part of show.
Liberty of line of mine
Is the outspoken sign
Of the love to fellow being
Till the end and since beginning.
Look – I'm poet. What it is?
Never mind, it's rare the bliss
To deny pecuniary
Job, and to be poor and free.
Sing with me about the love
Which is rare and hot the stuff.
Sing with me eternally
It's my last and final plea.
On pretext of being next
Glorious genius of text
I implore you to conceive
Righteous creed of the belief.
Now it's snowing in my city.
All around turns out pretty.
Be our souls pure like a snow,
Never mind of friend or foe.
Love is happenstance of life -
Occasion can become the wife
To bear the children manifold
To look and scold, to look and scold.
Love happens ever everywhere
To look and stare, to look and stare.
Love to decree new rule of life -
Occasion can become the wife.
Sometime I speak or write in French.
It's not to hook some easy wench.
I love this language tragic so
That there always tragic show
In Paris and it's not alone -
Racine, Corneille are not all gone.
French poetry is tragic thing
But soft in moods up to the brink.
Don't. Don't try me even more
To forgo to distant shore
Of oblivion. I'm to stay
With the human race to say
That there's God, there's Truth, there's death.
I confess what I confess.
Poetry of my to live
Ever after to reprieve
Those ungrateful to the Heaven.
It's a gift that I've been given.
Italian song of times of old
Will do me good. So I've been told.
And truly tunes of airs of these
Has nothing other but to please.
In Moscow winter I attune
My hearing never less immune
To song of Italy of old.
It does me good. So I've been told.
The jazz of new, the jazz of old...
When wind is so unkindly cold
Boil my blood with glint of wine
So the poetry of mine.
Jazzy to the scale of hot
It had brought me what it brought.
Namely it's my love for peace
Innermost of heart to please.
Fairy tales of happy love
Flying on the wing of dove.
Children listen to achieve
Healthy sleep. So why to give
Harsh reprisal to this stuff.
Would be somewhere in above
There's angel of the fairy tales
That's to stand in future gales.
I daydreaming though it's night.
Am I right? O, am I right?
Not of glory, not of gold,
Not of story still untold.
Dream of mine to go away
When begins the new-borne day.
It's of love I did forget,
It's of girl in youth I met.
#31 Hymn to The Saint Royal Icon.
Amen! Eternal Heav'nly Queen!
Amen! My Blessing From Ye Maid!
O If Creation Would Be Keen
It Could Rejoice Up To The Date!
We are waiting Resurrection!
Hold the word! And take The Action!
Look for Truth! And Love Your God!
Or be slave to wicket sod
Who is antichrist by name
Who loves money and defame!
Go To Zion! Take Your Sword!
Christ With Us! HE'S OUR WORD!
It’s time for creed, the one to bear
Through world so damned and unfair
That Earth to shake from shame and fear,
Saint Mary, Virgin shed Her tear
To brine of ocean which to boil
To cover skies, to cover soil
With blood of man and beast and on
In final of Armageddon.
And Christ to come, and Christ to win
With Glorious Crown that’s not the tin
Of fathead kings of Earth of new.
In Christ We Win, and We Are Few.
And In Saint Mary’s name we won
Already in Armageddon.
Saint Mary is Example of
Eternal Temple of The Love.
She’s God’s. God’s Hers. They are together
In every clime at every weather.
God blessed Her, and She blesses God.
And there is reason of the what?
Of Life Eternal that to breed
New tribe of Pre-Eternal Creed.
It’s tribe of Traitor? No, it’s not
So then it’s tribe of glorious thought
Of the repentance in the ashes
For every bloods and every fleshes.
Yes, it is it. And more I say.
When I will go. The God to stay
With you my brothers. Antichrist
Unmighty one in hand of Christ.
#35 To St. George (acrostic).
Dedicated To Holy Memory
Of King George VI The Winner.
Read First Letters of Lines from Top to Bottom.
To be the man- it means to be in war.
Oft now recalling of thy virtue's sword,
Since world has fallen from the ways of Word
Thou waited were as one immortal star!
Go higher on in light of Victory
Effacing vice. And still 'tis not in vain-
Or weary eyes, to Thou revolved to be,
Reject can this great joy for new disdain?
God- No! All life in me I ever had
Ere gets the dust- o lets the prayer get!
#36 Dedication on The Royal Wedding
of William and Catherine Windsors,
Duke And Duchess of Cambridge,
On 29 of April of 2011.
Poem is Written in Acrostic,
Read First Letters of Lines From Top to Bottom,
It's Bizantine Tradition to Write
Ode To God And Royal Persons.
Will Be e'er Crown'd by Heav'nly Glory
In Joy and Miracles of Love
Like Blesset You are by One Above,
Like Babies Pray in Earthly Worry!
King to Be Man, Queen to Be Wife,
And Prince is Led, and Princess Lass!
To You I Sing With No Harass!
Eternity is Gift For Life!
#37 TO HANA BEKA (Acrostic).
Hana Darling what I say!
Aye be Happy if You may!
Never take to Heart abuse!
And You're Child of Godly Truth!
#38 TO LUCY
Love of Christ is shield of Yours.
Utmost Grace is in Your Eyes.
Cross of Lord to bless Your Cross.
Yours is Truth and never Lies.
#39 TO SELENA MENDEZ (Acrostic)
So what again to talk of passion,
Endearing blessing of Creation?
Like or dislike our final day
Eligible to hush, to say
Not only words but also mess
And of the life and of the death.