Our family has been hit with trials lately, as I put the finishing touches on my book of testimonies. It occurred to me, though, that some of the poetry I’ve written in the past has, while still technically “Christian,” reflected the struggles and darkness I’ve suffered.
Thus, with that in mind, I thought you might get a kick out of me sharing a few of my favorites. These are taken from my and my son’s book, “I Bleed Dark,” which can be downloaded for free from the Smashwords website: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/142755
“I Bleed Dark”
Yes, I confess: my hardcore sagas of war pour forth from a tortured core
So please don’t moan in shock and woe…I know where this conversation goes
I’m predisposed to the decomposed, while your pros are composed of roses and bows
Brother Larry and Sister Mary Sunshine whine and dine on divine rhymes
But I was born of a fated bloodline…my spine misaligned, resolved to decline
Somewhere along the line I resigned my mind to a more ghostly design
From sinister regions I whisper tales of dark legions, heavy metal demons
And all those damned Hell-dwellers…screamin’
When pressed to dress for success, I confess:
I pull my motorcycle vest a little tighter ‘round my chest
And obsess
I’ve tried in vain to explain, but now refrain, complaining NOT of my crippling pain
(Which, by the way, can drive a man insane)
Yet it’s on these rugged waters I embark
When it comes to my art, I cry from the heart
i bLEed DaRk
“Dear Savior, revive the accused! Strangle untruths by a sanctified noose
Let my tales amuse and confuse those who choose a nefarious ruse
May the flight appear black as night!
As long as the white-hot, blood-red light of Christ shines through, and leads to You”
Controversial skew
Admonishment accrued
All of this hullabaloo?
Eh, it’s nothing new
Life’s a deranged amusement park in need of a lightning spark
Chosen to be set apart, I’m a seething burn mark…i bLEed cOLd aNd DaRk
I suppose I could apologize
From my “crypt” arise
Improvise…disguise
But to profess such would be lies
For it is you, not I, who sees through blinded eyes
So, if an admission of guilt is what you seek, I’m afraid the outlook is bleak
If you charge that my art is too dark, as slivers of charred oak bark
My discourse too scarred, too avant-garde, my words too hard
Please, don’t scribble a note to e-mail me later
Just take it up with my Creator. I’m not a traitor, I’m merely the translator
Rob Weddle, ©2012
“Did’ju forget about Hell?”
Did’ju forget about Hell?
200,000 new souls disembark every day
I was curious if you knew that
Seems to me if you really did care
It’d show in the things you say
Did’ju forget about Hell?
People slip-slide there every night
I didn’t know if you were aware
You seem more concerned about raises, upgrades
And I don’t think that’s right
Did’ju forget about Hell?
Souls plunge into a ghastly war
People like you and me
Who used to try and save the world
But don’t even act like Christians anymore
Did’ju forget about Hell?
People explode through its iron gates
Determined not to serve Jesus
Due to our inexcusable hypocrisy
Which begets mockery and God-hate
Did’ju forget about Hell?
I know it’s not cool to talk about
But we have teens and grandfathers
Dying with no hope
Recklessly headed for perpetual black-out
Did’ju forget about Hell?
Hundreds more turn up every hour!
Screaming steaming seeming grisly
People who used to be people
With spirits lovely as April flowers
Did’ju forget about Hell?
Souls catapult through blistering doors
Thinking they’re invulnerable
Right up until the moment
They discover its fiery shores
Rob Weddle, ©2012
“Hall of the Funeral Stare”
Tattered walls bustle with comings and goings
While spirits are strikingly bare
Patron Saint Hope sail us fathoms away
From the Hall of the Funeral Stare…
That place, oh that place! See, it haunts us at night!
Their gaunt cheeks will zag thru our sleep!
Movies of bedrails and bedsores and bedpans
Have battered us mad as a creep
Residents who at one time were conventional
Grandparents, neighbors and friends
Watch their identities scramble away
Leaving zombies who beg for the end
Trailers, apartments and farmhouses
Everything gone, save a prisoner’s chair
Saint Uninsanity shy us away
From the Hall of the Funeral Stare
Black’n’white photographs litter the place
Mocking each as they shuffle on by
Once-a-month grandbabies tickle their hearts
But are gone in the blink of an eye
What a grim circle we all must endure
Thrashing all of us into the ground
Never secede! Let us forge a new creed!
We can battle the waves ‘til we drown!
If our compassion can bully a grin
Then our closing days here may be fair
But with all our essence we beg, keep us not
In the Hall of the Funeral Stare
Rob Weddle, ©2012
“His Blood Covers the Lot”
Somewhere there’s a child rapist
Who, unbeknownst to himself, laughs while his victims are screamin’
Resting a cold shotgun barrel to his chin
Detesting himself, sickened by his own personal demon
Somewhere there’s a bitter, liberal extremist
Finalizing diabolical plans for an animal-testing lab
She’s got two abortions to her credit
A bomb strapped to her chest as she hails a cab
Somewhere there’s a Black Metal band
Whose songs call my Lord a whore and a liar
Wearing corpse paint and covered in pig’s blood
Singing about the “glories” of Hell’s fire
Somewhere there’s a demented mother of four
Using a ruler to craft her crippling red and black lines
She’s gotta make the 4:30 a.m. flight to Boston
So she can display her freedom-spitting “God loves dead soldiers!” signs
Somewhere the local Baptist church has been set aflame
In the parking lot, a giggling trio of teens
Not knowing the pastor’s wife is inside, praying for their souls
Horrified when they catch her last blood-curdling screams
Jesus died for them all
And His blood covers the lot…
Whether I like it or not
Rob Weddle, ©2012
“Needle Fascination”
Needle fascination
Foul hallucination
Drift awhile in stench and bile
Then wake in desperation
Tomorrow is too distant
Future nonexistent
Wanna run into the sun
But habits are persistent
I can see your splendor
Still so young and tender
But all you see’s a dull and ugly
Corpulent pretender
Lucifer’s a liar
Destined for the fire
Turn your back on nights of black
And ill-fated desires
Heaven is before you
And I can help restore you
So don’t sedate your own self-hate
‘Cuz I’ll always adore you
On terror shadows dine
‘Till hate becomes a shrine
Through self-disdain my faithfulness remains
Sweet child of mine
Rob Weddle, ©2012
Blessings…
Broken People 