Poems by John Peter Read

I've washed my hands of religion
rather than let it brainwash me.
I'm no longer a prisoner being held captive
by those bars of lies and deceit.

Religions build walls to divide us
holding God hostage is their way
Preaching the only way to heaven
is too believe in everything they say.

But I'm no longer a prisoner of religion
my mind has been set free.
I believe in goodness and spiritual love
and that God resides in me.

As life unravels,be brave and bold,
Never criticise,neither grudges hold.
Live in harmony,with your fellow man,
Following nature,as our lord planned.

Always listen,far more than you speak,
Avoid all rumours,for it's truth that you seek.
When others criticise,and do you wrong,
It's forgiveness itself,that makes you strong.

Possessions are worthless,it's your inner self,
Family and loved ones,are your true wealth.
Let go of the past,and what else is to come,
Live for the moment,before it has gone.

As we journey,along life's twisting road,
They'll be many things,we cannot control.
Stick to your path,do not go astray,
Every obstacle you encounter,becomes the way.

Positive thinking,no negative thoughts,
The more you listen,the more your taught.
A Stoic person,is one  of a kind,
Gentle at heart,yet strong in mind.

Awareness is wisdom
were truth wears a crown.
Where freedom is born
and lies make no sound.

Where whispers of deceit
vanish into the night.
Where fairness and justice
truly see the light.

In the silence of twilight
When ghostly whispers unfold.
Thoughts fill my head
From days of long ago.

Dreams I once used to cherish
Fell like petals at dawn.
The present has lost all meaning
Leaving me feeling lost and forlorn.

Familiar echoes of laughter
Once filled the cool night air.
Now there's just an empty silence
How I wish you were still here.

Those Christmases of old
were much better by far.
We never had much money,
but we always got by.

No expensive gifts
just little things.
A Christmas stocking
a drum made of tin.

A jigsaw puzzle
my mum helped me complete,
A plastic gun,
golden coins that were sweets.

A few new pennies,
a coloring book
That my Nan filled in,
so I never got a look.

Now sadly today
the mystery has gone.
Christmas starts in August
and goes on and on.

Gone is the magic,
the expectation the surprise.
Christmas is big business,
it's become too commercialized.