Michael Bray

Author of A Time To Kill

Sanctity of Human Beings

Father of Eleven

Father of eleven Grandfather of fifteen Eve Elizabeth Was born! Whoopee! And what may one say About this very day? That God has blessed Our family and wrested Us from this world’s grip, Sustaining us ever by that sip Of the supper we take Every week with our friends, Those followers of Him Who have […]

Imagine That Day

Imagine that day When he says, “Away!” And sends us back To indwell our bodies! O but magnificent they’ll be Beyond corruption, all to see The glory of God shown to all Triumphant power over the fall. All will be there! ‘Tis true! Anastasia among the crew! Her we’ll all come to know That one […]

Democrats Are Blind

Democrats are blindAnd quite behindIn their thinkingOf what is true.And we do rueThe depth of our fallSwallowing allThe buffoonery of LawlessLife without God.What a fraud‘Tis by those who insistThat the world justHappened to be,Never createdBut somehow slatedTo hold such orderAnd wonder brought aboutBy some evolving cellSent from hell? O well!Wherefrom  then did we start?Some celestial […]

There Once Was a Girl

There once was a girl name o’ Jayne Drove me a little “insaney” By her had many-a kid And all that we did Was intended to serve the Lord. Well, we never got bored, Had no money but hoarded All that we could, Did all that we should And onward we soared To that lofty reward. […]

What’s Worse?

What’s worse? Pro-choice Slave holding Confederates Or pro-choice baby-killing Democrats? (Sorry, Southerners to make this equation No personal insult is intended But for the sake of argument It is recommended.) The choice to buy and sell a slave Was a right once commended.All of course depended Upon the value of a human. Some were deemed […]

Ours Is but a Foretaste

The fathers went down to Egypt Many long years ago And became as numerous as heaven. He sent me to jail with only three. Now – plus grands – we have eleven. When I think of Anastasia Who would have made us twelve, The child who never was among us, I imagine her well occupied […]

On Capacity for Salacity

Our capacity for salacity Is beyond what one may imagine, And to our chagrin It does not end But begins anew rightIn our hearts, Wicked in every new day. O that sin within Every day rises up to begin Another assault upon our souls, On friends and foe taking tolls! And what of it shall […]

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