Fourth of July 2015 Christian
poems for Church & 4th of July 2015 poems for Church: Fourth
of July is a very important day in the
history of United States. Fourth of July is a federal holiday in United States,
commemorating the adoption of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776,
declaring independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain (now officially known
as the United Kingdom). All the Americans are very excited about the 4th
July celebrations.
Fourth of July, US Independence Day is a federal holiday in
America. So people celebrate this festival with the friends & family.
People go to many events organized across all over the country & they pray for
‘God Bless America’. Americans also go to the church for the freedom &
success of America.
Here in this article we are providing some very best Fourth
of July Christian poems for Church & 4th of July poems
for Church. We have specially collected all these poems for the Fourth of July
2014. You people can prepare these Fourth of July 2014 poems for Church.
Fourth of July 2015 Christian
poems for Church
We
are born with dreams in our hearts,
looking
for better days ahead.
At
the gates we are given new papers,
our
old clothes are taken
and
we are given overalls like mechanics wear.
We
are given shots and doctors ask questions.
Then
we gather in another room
where
counselors orient us to the new land
we
will now live in. We take tests.
Some
of us were craftsmen in the old world,
good
with our hands and proud of our work.
Others
were good with their heads.
They
used common sense like scholars
use
glasses and books to reach the world.
But
most of us didn’t finish high school.
The
old men who have lived here stare at us,
from
deep disturbed eyes, sulking, retreated.
We
pass them as they stand around idle,
leaning
on shovels and rakes or against walls.
Our
expectations are high: in the old world,
they
talked about rehabilitation,
about
being able to finish school,
and
learning an extra good trade.
But
right away we are sent to work as dishwashers,
to
work in fields for three cents an hour.
The
administration says this is temporary
So
we go about our business, blacks with blacks,
poor
whites with poor whites,
chicanos
and indians by themselves.
The
administration says this is right,
no
mixing of cultures, let them stay apart,
like
in the old neighborhoods we came from.
We
came here to get away from false promises,
from
dictators in our neighborhoods,
who
wore blue suits and broke our doors down
when
they wanted, arrested us when they felt like,
swinging
clubs and shooting guns as they pleased.
But
it’s no different here. It’s all concentrated.
The
doctors don’t care, our bodies decay,
our
minds deteriorate, we learn nothing of value.
Our
lives don’t get better, we go down quick.
My
cell is crisscrossed with laundry lines,
my
T-shirts, boxer shorts, socks and pants are drying.
Just
like it used to be in my neighborhood:
from
all the tenements laundry hung window to window.
Across
the way Joey is sticking his hands
through
the bars to hand Felipé a cigarette,
men
are hollering back and forth cell to cell,
saying
their sinks don’t work,
or
somebody downstairs hollers angrily
about
a toilet overflowing,
or
that the heaters don’t work.
I
ask Coyote next door to shoot me over
a
little more soap to finish my laundry.
I
look down and see new immigrants coming in,
mattresses
rolled up and on their shoulders,
new
haircuts and brogan boots,
looking
around, each with a dream in their heart,
thinking
they’ll get a chance to change their lives.
But
in the end, some will just sit around
talking
about how good the old world was.
Some
of the younger ones will become gangsters.
Some
will die and others will go on living
without
a soul, a future, or a reason to live.
Some
will make it out of here with hate in their eyes,
but
so very few make it out of here as human
as
they came in, they leave wondering what good they are now
as
they look at their hands so long away from their tools,
as
they look at themselves, so long gone from their families,
so
long gone from life itself, so many things have changed.
4th of
July 2015 poems for Church
A day of sunshine,
a day of fun,
a day to play,
a day for sun.
Hot dogs, hamburgers,
watermelons, plums,
a sunburn begins,
and a tan when done.
July 4, 1776,
independence was won,
the declaration was written,
with freedom to come.
We're now
independent
but why so forlorned,
a soul always crying,
a spirit that mourns.
To depend upon Jesus
will free you from sin,
He wants to deliver,
Only ask Him
come in.
