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Collateral Damage

For the entire office
a death like his

coming as it has
the day before

Thanksgiving
complicates the holiday

for everyone. It makes
things difficult

for all: the wake
the other matters.

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Tom Zart Poet For The Lord = 2012

I'm a poet for the Lord
Who created all I love.
A blind man riding a fast horse
Fulfilled by my Father above.

God has blessed me 480 times
With stories I could never compose on my own.
Love, war, faith and the answers of life
Are the seeds of His poems I've sown.

I'm the most over blessed man I've met
I should have been dead a thousand times.
But God sees to it I stay alive
To disciple His goodness to hearts and minds.

Some get up and preach a good sermon
Others stand up and sing a divine song.
I step forth with heart and soul
And deliver God's words of right and wrong.

POETS ARE THE BELL RINGERS of THE SOUL

Poets as a rule are high on adventure
Like wondering bards or prophets today.
Embracing hearts and minds with wisdom
Casting through verse their visions at play.

Poets have their dreams and their nightmares
Of love, life, death, faith and war.
They feel the pain and tragedy of others
Even those they've never met before.

They fan the flames of human compassion
With their stories of the failings of man.
Professing to follow a higher power
As they recruit whomever they can.

Poets are the bell ringers of the soul
As they depict the past, the present and beyond.
They sound their alarm of what lies ahead
As the missteps of man live on.

POETS AND POEMS

Poetry blossomed long before Shakespeare, Milton or Poe.
It thrived prior to Solomon and the languages of old.
Poetry today offers itself more often in the form of music
Then in sonnets and poems as the legends of life unfold.

Man has his fear of loneliness, death and the hereafter
As authors compose his doom, desperation and glory.
All hear the words of both good and evil
With too many that fall for the wrong story.

The falsehoods of life find it hard to hide
From the word of God's poets and poems.
Sharing their joy, frustration and sorrow
By voice, Internet, radio, or books, in our homes.

Poets and poems help man become more human
As the storms of life proliferate their toll.
Poets and poems were put here for a reason
To help tame the savage that dwells in our soul.

GOD'S MOST HUMBLE POET

I'm God's most humble poet
Whose poems have meter and rhyme.
Stories of love, faith, hate, honor and duty,
Obedience, war, heroes, history and crime.

I've performed my gift on T.V. and radio
Before millions I've never met.
Preached my praise of God and country
With 480 poems on the net.

Satan's soldiers, shepherds and bards
Spew forth their foulness and grief.
They attack the joy and goodness of man
Dishonoring life, family, country and belief.

Prospering through work, love and conviction
Enables us to remain whole and how we should be.
Fortifying our soul with fulfillment of faith
Lets our worst tribulations be shouldered by Thee.

Moses, Samson, David, Solomon and Jonah
All failed God in their own human way.
He chose to forgive them and bless their powers
So they might dwell in hearts of man today.

Without God's grace, wisdom and glorious domain
There's no doubt all would soon cease to survive.
Through purpose, morals and Christian conviction
We are able to transform and keep hope alive.


Tom's 480 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
'To book Tom Zart for guest appearances, product, or services, contact Raymond L. LaPietra-Exclusive Personal Manager,913-681-7750 (office) , modelman@careerimages.com (e-mail) ,

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Its Like Reaching For The Moon

Sherman / lewis / marqusee
Its like reaching for the moon
Its like reaching for the sun
Its like reaching for the stars
Reaching for you
Youre so far above me
How can I expect than an angel to
Its so refined as you are
Its like flying without wings
Playing fiddle without strings
And a million other things
No one can do
No, my hopes are slender
In my secret heart I pray youll surrender soon
No, its like reaching for the moon

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I Like Your Silence For The Past Few Days

i like your silence for the past few days
nonetheless,
i am hearing more what you do not have to say
there is this silence of absence
that speaks well of you

there is this fondness that was not there before
there is this whisper that is more patient than the scream
gentler, so filled with wisdom

more beautiful than the routinized hellos
more meaningful than everyday

i guess it is when you speak less
that you speak most wisely.

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(There's No Place Like) Home For The Holidays

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away your roam
If you long for the sunshine and a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home
I met a man who lived in Tennessee
And he was looking for
Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie
Now in Pennsylvania folks are traveling
Down to Dixie's sunny shore
The Atlantic to Pacific
Oh, the season is terrific
Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home

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Forest For The Trees

When youre a young man, down and out
You really need someone to help you out
It looks like life or death is your only choice
Its really hard to see
The forest for the trees
The forest for the trees
And when you get angry and everythings black or white
You should know that it isnt that simple, no ones always right
You know that youre life it worth living
You gotta start taking if no one else is giving
And if youre not afraid to open your eyes
You may be pleasantly surprised
Thigs are never as bad as they seem
You just gotta learn to see
The forest for the trees
So if you need somebody, tell them please
If you want someone, get up off your knees
Things are never as bad as they seem
You just gotta learn to see
The forest for the trees

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(There's No Place Like) Home For The Holidays

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home
I met a man who lives in Tennessee
And he was headin' for
Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie
From Pennsylvania folks are trav'lin' down
To Dixie's sunny shore
From Atlantic to Pacific, gee,
The traffic is teriffic!
Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays you can't beat home
Holidays you can't beat home
Holidays you can't beat home,sweet home

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Glory for the Light!

All human beings are like grass
And all their glory is like wild flowers
The grass withers and the flowers fall
But the word of the Lord remains forever
The Lord said to my Lord
‘sit here at my right side
Until I put your enemies under your feet’
This is the message from the one
I wish that this war will be the last war
They will be like angels and cannot die
The children of God
Because they have risen from death
Remain yours
Look!
Sun will grow dark
The moon will no longer shine
The star will fall from heaven
But the light will be among you a little longer
Continue your way while you have the light!
So that the darkness will not come upon you
For the one who walks in the dark
Does not know where he is going
Glory for the light!

from devil

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Dirge For The Year

I.
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

II.
As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year to-day;
Solemn Hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.

III.
As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days
Rocks the Year:—be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.

IV.
January gray is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye Hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.

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Dont Stop Me For The Mailman

(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
Chorus:
Dont stop me for the mailman
This note I dont understand
Dont stop me for the mailman
Chorus2:
Ive read it once before
And I cant believe its true
Amazing how just one note
Can leave me sad and blue
It makes me want wanna shout
Oh throw that letter out
Its like a paper dart
Its heading for my heart
I hope its not the truth
Theres nothing left to lose
Just one more victim
Of the postal blues
Chorus
Ive read it once before
And I cant believe its true
Amazing how just one note
Can leave me sad and blue
It makes me want wanna shout
Had I been a lady cop
Id be in a state of shock
cause ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Id never be the same
There just goes to show
How low that guy can go
To run off with a girl he can hardly know
Chorus
Chorus2
Had it been a lady cop
Id be in a state of shock
cos two more death in a plane
Id never be the same
It just goes to show
How low that guy can go
To end up with a girl he can hardly know
Chorus
Mr mailman (x10)
I now know where the answer lies
Thats what she was for
Hes always had a liking for a girl in uniform
Chorus (x2)
Dont stop me for the mailman (x8)

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For The Needs Of The Many

The Garden of Gethsemane was where the Saviour prayed...
Preparing faith for Calvary, He wept there, heart-dismayed...
Was this the night? Was this the hour? Was this the time for tears?
Was this the moment for God's power, God's love to cast out fears?

'When I consider the kingdoms and all the sovereign lands
And all the cherished wisdoms that are God's destined plans,
And let my heart and mind reflect on each damned sinful soul...
Then who am I, that I neglect the Lord of Fates' control?
When I consider slaves enchained, the sins that each can do
And all the evils that remained, evolving, ever new,
I mourn for future lives as well, like grains of sand that drift...
Then who am I, to break the spell, to grant a holy gift?
When I consider such a price, before me, yet unpaid,
The horror of the sacrifice, the contract to be made,
The dark despair when demons laugh and scoff at such a plight...
Then who am I, this epitaph, my final act to write?
When I consider pain and death, they make my blood to boil,
That they must take my final breath, as if their fitting spoil,
Yet I will win and live again! I will not leave them any...
Forgiveness offered to all men, for the needs of the many...'

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Revised Poem For The Busy Businessman

as i place my feet
in another country i step upon
an internet cafe
goggling upon a poem

inspired by the changes
of the situation
on some dreams of reforms
i start to compose another poem
for the wind
&
this i cannot forget
a man on the other side
loose tie and
unbuttoned shirt
on my left busies himself
with business receipts
encoding
sending them to his boss
perhaps
to the main office
signifying profits

i still wonder
why a man like myself
wastes so much time
in this
unkind endeavor

there is no money here
but there is something more to it than money
that keeps me going
despite
those marked differences
i am no businessman
neither a worker
for any boss out there
dictating what to do with my life

after that lonely poem
that i write
i rest my fingers upon nothing

the man left hurriedly as other clients
are waiting

he keeps issuing those receipts
and must remit
encode each
over and over again
for an updat with
Boss

and then i stand up
walk past him
towards
actually an uncertain direction

perhaps the
busy streets this time where no one
recognizes
the greatness that i still keep intact
inside my
chest

for i am the anonymous poet in this
new country
that speaks not a nuance of my language

the temperature rises
but i still do not dream
for the need of
a Cesaro hat
to save me from this
killing heat

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Memorial Day For The War Dead

Memorial day for the war dead. Add now
the grief of all your losses to their grief,
even of a woman that has left you. Mix
sorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history,
which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourning
on one day for easy, convenient memory.

Oh, sweet world soaked, like bread,
in sweet milk for the terrible toothless God.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."
No use to weep inside and to scream outside.
Behind all this perhaps some great happiness is hiding.

Memorial day. Bitter salt is dressed up
as a little girl with flowers.
The streets are cordoned off with ropes,
for the marching together of the living and the dead.
Children with a grief not their own march slowly,
like stepping over broken glass.

The flautist's mouth will stay like that for many days.
A dead soldier swims above little heads
with the swimming movements of the dead,
with the ancient error the dead have
about the place of the living water.

A flag loses contact with reality and flies off.
A shopwindow is decorated with
dresses of beautiful women, in blue and white.
And everything in three languages:
Hebrew, Arabic, and Death.

A great and royal animal is dying
all through the night under the jasmine
tree with a constant stare at the world.

A man whose son died in the war walks in the street
like a woman with a dead embryo in her womb.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."

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No Need For The Lord

Men who think they have it all, are still affected by Adam’s fall,
Those men you see everywhere, living their life without a care.
They see no need for The Lord, who in their life goes ignored.
Unlike men, like you and me, they have no thought on eternity.
They say all that is ahead for us, is death and a return to dust.
They all believe this life will end, but that afterlife is all pretend.

If dust is the last place we go, why does Truth annoy them so?
If there is no afterlife at all, why do unbelievers hem and haw?
They say all have the same fate, as all bodies just disintegrate,
Hopelessly dealing with daily strife, only having this present life.
Saying all things start and end; but not so with Christ my friend,
Jesus Christ is eternal friend; like Him man’s being has no end.

Death may be an earthy fate, but all men have an eternal state,
For some it’s death some it’s life; it all depends on Jesus Christ.
If you believe He rose again, you my friend, can be born-again,
Born into God’s eternal family, to live with Jesus Christ eternally.
If you do not believe this is true, eternal darkness will greet you,
When you step into eternal death, upon your last earthly breath.

I simply do not understand why, some unbelievers balk and cry,
Ignoring all of the written history, about the only King of Eternity.
Nobody forces them to believe, as they choose to be deceived.
I simply will remain in The Truth, as they continue their reproof.
Is it all simply Satan’s spite, as he is wrong and Christ is right?
Friend one day they all will see, when they’re cast into eternity.

(Copyright ©05/2006)

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Africa For The Africans

Say! Africa for the Africans,
Like America for the Americans:
This the rallying cry for a nation,
Be it in peace or revolution.


Blacks are men, no longer cringing fools;
They demand a place, not like weak tools;
But among the world of nations great
They demand a free self-governing state.


Hurrah! Hurrah! Great Africa wakes;
She is calling her sons, and none forsakes,
But to colors of the nation runs,
Even though assailed by enemy guns.


Cry it loud, and shout it Ion' hurrah!
Time has changed, so hail! New Africa!
We are now awakened, rights to see:
We shall fight for dearest liberty.


Mighty kingdoms have been truly reared
On the bones of blackmen, facts declared;
History tells this awful, pungent truth,
Africa awakes to her rights forsooth.


Europe cries to Europeans, ho!
Asiatics claim Asia, so
Australia for Australians,
And Africa for the Africans.


Blackmen's hands have joined now together,
They will fight and brave all death's weather,
Motherland to save, and make her free,
Spreading joy for all to live and see.


None shall turn us back, in freedom's name,
We go marching like to men of fame
Who have given laws and codes to kings,
Sending evil flying on crippled wings.


Blackmen shall in groups reassemble,
Rich and poor and the great and humble:
Justice shall be their rallying cry,
When millions of soldiers pass us by.


Look for that day, coming, surely soon,
When the sons of Ham will show no coon
Could the mighty deeds of valor do
Which shall bring giants for peace to sue


Hurrah! Hurrah! Better times are near;
Let us front the conflict and prepare;
Greet the world as soldiers, bravely true:
'Sunder not,' Africa shouts to you.

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For The Roses

I heard it in the wind last night
It sounded like applause
Did you get a round resounding for you
Way up here
It seems like many dim years ago
Since I heard that face to face
Or seen you face to face
Though tonight I can feel you here
I get these notes
On butterflies and lilac sprays
From girls who just have to tell me
They saw you somewhere
In some office sits a poet
And he trembles as he sings
And he asks some guy
To circulate his soul around
On your mark red ribbon runner
The caressing rev of motors
Finely tuned like fancy women
In thirties evening gowns
Up the charts
Off to the airport-
Your names in the news
Everythings first class-
The lights go down-
And its just you up there
Getting them to feel like that
Remember the days when you used to sit
And make up your tunes for love
And pour your simple sorrow
To the soundhole and your knee
And now youre seen
On giant screens
And at parties for the press
And for people who have slices of you
From the company
They toss around your latest golden egg
Speculation-well, whos to know
If the next one in the nest
Will glitter for them so
I guess I seem ungrateful
With my teeth sunk in the hand
That brings me things
I really cant give up just yet
Now I sit up here
The critic!
And they introduce some band
But they seem so much confetti
Looking at them on my tv set
Oh the power and the glory
Just when youre getting a taste for worship
They start bringing out the hammers
And the boards
And the nails
I heard it in the wind last night
It sounded like applause
Chilly now
End of summer
No more shiny hot nights
It was just the arbutus rustling
And the bumping of the logs
And the moon swept down black water
Like an empty spotlight

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A Song For The Irish Militia

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in prostrate men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the crop so bravely sown!
No more I'll sing nor idly pine,
But train my soul to lead a line
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

No foe would fear your thunder words,
If 'twere not for your lightning swords
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis less they link in war array;
Nor peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write
What prophets preached the truth so well
As HOFER, BRIAN, BRUCE, and TELL?
God guard the creed these heroes taught-
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand, and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show 'what Irishmen can do! '
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death so Ireland's free!

Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway
The patient dint and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.

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A Song For The Irish Militia

AIR--_The Peacock._


I.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in prostrate men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the crop so bravely sown!
No more I'll sing nor idly pine,
But train my soul to lead a line--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!


II.

No foe would fear your thunder words,
If 'twere not for your lightning swords--
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis less they link in war array;
Nor peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!


III.

The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write--
What prophets preached the truth so well
As HOFER, BRIAN, BRUCE, and TELL?
God guard the creed these heroes taught--
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!


IV.

Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand, and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show 'what Irishmen can do!'
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death so Ireland's free!


V.

Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway--
The patient dint and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!


VI.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.

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No Rest for the Weary

No Rest for the Weary
By: Adam M. Snow

There's no rest for the weary;
all those times we were dreary;
and agony suffers evermore.
We are swallowed by time;
wanting to die;
all from tormented prime;
and the tears we've shed evermore.

We are weak, bounded by fate;
surrounded by, no love but hate.
There's no dream for the weary;
and all around the night grew eerie.
The sun falls in an endless abyss;
followed by all hope and bliss.

With nightmare following by;
we cannot help but to cry.
As Poe's raven cries nevermore;
we become more like a withered rose;
growing out of an open door.
There's no end for the weary;
as we see death even clearly.

We raise the gauntlet of raw;
to our suffering and flaw;
followed by our agony and tide;
to those who's trying to hide.
There's no rest for the weary;
as we ponder all that is leery.

We've been swallowed by lies;
in this time of demise;
being left dead but alive;
in this abode for peace;
nevermore will it cease;
in the minds of all;
as we continue to fall.

There's no hope for the weary;
with eyes so teary;
as we weep what we sow;
with our fears we bestow.
Now taint is our soul;
as we lie, buried in this hole.

With hearts full of dread;
we try to be one with the dead;
only to suffer more.
Now with uncaring eyes;
tormented and scorn;
we despise our demise;
and brake free evermore.

There's no time for the weary;
and those who are deary;
only to be tormented by glee.
We're not broken yet we cannot see;
our life beyond this narrow pass;
trapped behind the looking glass.

The mourners gathered to your delight;
to welcome your tormented night;
and by the moon the reaper weary;
as we lay to rest this time so dreary.
Go on now my wayward son;
and be free from all we've done.

Cut all your strings;
spread your new found wings;
and soar into the sky anew.
You're no longer weary;
no longer dreary;
now that you are free.

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For the Better

A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred,
With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed;
Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest,
How chim'd his Pulse, and how he took his Rest:
If shudd'ring Cold by Burnings was pursu'd,
And at what time the Aguish Fit renew'd.
The waining Wretch, each day become more faint,
In like proportion doubles his Complaint;
Now swooning Sweats he begs him to allay,
Now give his Lungs more liberty to play,
And take from empty'd Veins these scorching Heats away:
Or if he saw the Danger did increase,
To warn him fair, and let him part in Peace.
My Life for yours, no Hazard in your Case
The Quack replies; your Voice, your Pulse, your Face,

Good Signs afford, and what you seem to feel
Proceeds from Vapours, which we'll help with Steel.
With kindled Rage, more than Distemper, burns
The suff'ring Man, who thus in haste returns:
No more of Vapours, your belov'd Disease,
Your Ignorance's Skreen, your What-you-please,
With which you cheat poor Females of their Lives,
Whilst Men dispute not, so it rid their Wives.
For me, I'll speak free as I've paid my Fees;
My Flesh consumes, I perish by degrees:
And as thro' weary Nights I count my Pains,
No Rest is left me, and no Strength remains.
All for the Better, Sir, the Quack rejoins:
Exceeding promising are all these Signs.
Falling-away, your Nurses can confirm,
Was ne'er in Sickness thought a Mark of Harm.
The want of Strength is for the Better still;
Since Men of Vigour Fevers soonest kill.
Ev'n with this Gust of Passion I am pleas'd;
For they're most Patient who the most are seiz'd.

But let me see! here's that which all repels:
Then shakes, as he some formal Story tells,
The Treacle-water, mixt with powder'd Shells.
My Stomach's gone (what d'you infer from thence?)
Nor will with the least Sustenance dispense.
The Better; for, where appetite endures,
Meats intermingle, and no Med'cine cures.
The Stomach, you must know, Sir, is a Part–
But, sure, I feel Death's Pangs about my Heart.

Nay then Farewel! I need no more attend
The Quack replies. A sad approaching Friend
Questions the Sick, why he retires so fast;
Who says, because of Fees I've paid the Last,
And, whilst all Symptoms tow'rd my Cure agree,
Am, for the Better, Dying as you see.

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Darling I Love You, Esther's Love & Poet For The Lord

DARLING I LOVE YOU

Darling I love you with all of my heart and soul
Much more than any of God's blessings on Earth.
It's hard to believe Heaven planned it this way
For your love for me is far beyond my worth.

Life would be meaningless without your love
With no one to cherish, honor, protect and provide.
I treasure our moments and all that we share
You're always my angel of love, at my side.

I love how you love me beyond all compare
I've never seen anyone so wonderful so long.
I can't help but love you absolutely and completely
For every time I think of you my heart sings a song.

Every night before sleep I say thank you to Heaven
For the past day I was allowed to love you and serve.
If I awake I say thank you once more
For God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.

ESTHER'S LOVE

Esther of God's Bible became a king's queen
Risking all for the sake of love.
She saved her people form total extinction
By responding to her call from above.

All through history just like Esther
Ladies have pledged to protect and serve.
They love, honor, defend and provide
And it's our admiration they've earned and deserve.

What would life be without a woman's love
Meaningless, lonely, purposeless and sad.
When your blessed by an Esther love her in return
And be sure to let God know you're thankful and glad.

POET FOR THE LORD

I'm a poet for the Lord
Who created all I love.
A blind man riding a fast horse
Fulfilled by my Father above.

God has blessed me 480 times
With stories I could never compose on my own.
Love, war, faith and the answers of life
Are the seeds of His poems I've sown.

I'm the most over blessed man I've met
I should have been dead a thousand times.
But God sees to it I stay alive
To disciple His goodness to hearts and minds.

Some get up and preach a good sermon
Others stand up and sing a divine song.
I step forth with heart and soul
And deliver God's words of right and wrong.

Tom's 480 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
'To book Tom Zart for guest appearances, product, or services, contact Raymond L. LaPietra-Exclusive Personal Manager,913-681-7750 (office) , modelman@careerimages.com (e-mail) ,

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