Forked Tounge

Forked Tongue

For whence wind doth blow icy,
ye shall shiver deep within thy soul.
From forked tongue doth ye lie,
upon weary pray doth thou prowl.

Ye shall take the form of a crow.
For whence wind doth blow icy,
Ye shall shiver deep within thine own soul.

Upon a midnight clear,
thy shall see with thine own eyes.
The son of the one on high.
He shall cast thy evil soul.
Into eternity within a lake of fire.

Forsake ye did the son,
Mocked his blood thee did,
whence thou uttered lies,
from thine forked tongue.

Copyright © 2009 Jennifer Bergerson
All Rights Reserved

Heaven's Betrayer

Heaven's Betrayer

A prick of thy finger.
A droplet of crimson blood.
Forms a pact that forever lingers.
The king of hell's minion's shall own thy soul.
Written upon parchment that cannot be torn.
Thy soul shall be forever his tool.
Eternity within his lair,
shall thy soul belong.
A rift with the son.
That shall never be repaired.
Whence thou succumb,
to heaven's betrayer.

Copyright © 2009 Jennifer Dell Bergerson
All Rights Reserved

Frozen Rose

Frozen Rose
Suspended within a frame of her life.
A horrific moment in her reality.
Plays in repetition, a broken reminder.
It does not move beyond that moment.
Frozen, frigid in her soul.
It's veins seethe with fear, pain and sorrow.
Life flows through it feeding from her very being.
Suspended within her own reality,
frozen in time, as a frozen rose upon a field of snow..
She is the Frozen Rose... ....

© 2009 Jennifer Dell Bergerson
All Rights Reserved.

Blame

Ashen white, soul less, a shell.

Barren empty eyes look at nothingness.

Limbs frigid in deaths pose.

Ghastly dried tears, there paths froze.

Last breaths, gone too soon.

Cast aside from life's race,

deprived of happiness our of face.

Death's frightful mask.

Frozen upon there face.

Brought to this act,

out of fear, hatred and malice.

Trading eternity in god's embrace.

For eternity in hell's rage.

Life's forlorn stories written for all to face.

Carrying our own disgrace.

Turning a blinds eye,

for in the end we are to blame.

© 2009 Jennifer Bergerson

All rights reserved

Fears

Fears
Eating at every fiber of your being.
It's relentless pursuit of pure evil seems unstoppable.
Your nightmares it feeds on growing stronger with each one.
Feeling your soul, heart and mind betray you.
Each face you see bringing more doubt to your life.
Not knowing who to trust or who not to trust.
Your eyes showing demons in each angel face you happen upon.
Feeling universes closing in on your tears.
Gripping to the light you know to be out beyond the dark
cold brutal night.
Enemies wearing masks of friends.
Fooling your sight with demonic masquerades.
Dancing into your life celebrating
all your paranormal beliefs.
Tightening your lungs, wrenching your gut into a knot,
dripping your blood for all to feast upon.
Fears....... ..... .....

For You I am calling

golden leaves falling,
branches heavy leaning from the trees.
howling winds calling,
whispering upon the breeze..
.
" for you i am calling" .
groans of foliage upon the earths floor.
her soul weeps ever more.
still i can hear the winds howling
" for you i am calling"
chill of fall never felt so cold,
upon my skin as this moment.
Fear rising upon my soul.
for i hear the wind as she calls.
I hear the sound of her soul weeping,
her blood thin, life slowly seeping.
still I hear her winds call .
" for you i am calling"

Puppet

Puppet
By Jennifer Bergerson
Forlorn, her tears dry upon the path they followed.
Her mind flashing times of sorrow and joy.
Her soul hurting forever more.
The “civilized” world today labels her, as a mental
case. Not one official taking blame for the life they threw away
thirty years ago. All her life she had been shaped into what
everyone wanted to see and hear. A simple puppet upon this
worlds screen.
Her life became about peoples amusement, entertainment.
When she became an adult they simply kicked her out told her
she was an adult. Yet they wonder why the love she found gets away with
beating her, demeaning her. “ why don't you leave?” they all ask.
Not one stopped and realized they taught her to be
a simple puppet. So when she became his prize.
Not one can remain without blood on their hands for
the prize they took was hers. The soul they let die was
god's. Her adult life became full of people learning to take
what they wanted and casting her aside. Still this world wonders why, yet
all they need do is look unto themselves. For this child looked
for what she had been taught.
When they look into her eyes and see an empty shell, what
they should see is themselves. For in this world the girl they
cast aside after her star had burned, was no better then
the babe they stole all those years ago... ....

With all my love

With all my love.
For so long you have been my rock, my hero, my truest love.
Never did I ever want to see you think an ill thought of my intentions.
I only want to love you as a soul mate should.
When you are weak I shall be your rock, to stand the storms that
life brings along our path. I would never forsake your trust or
our love.
I feel safe in your arms each night. I watch the days pass as we
grow further in love, you're touch feels stronger than each day before,
two years later your kiss still takes my breath away. Your smile
calms my fears, your voice comforts my nightmares.
All my life I have had hard times trusting other people
but for you I trust you completely and whole heartedly
I give you my heart, as my lover my friend my soul mate....
I live for each new day that we share together,
I cherish each smile, each laugh and all
that we share. Passed lovers have abused and forsaken us both
our minds spin scenarios that we both have lived so we
naturally brace ourselves for the pain we think
we are in for later. Never will I forsake you or tear us apart,
in all that god gives his children we choose our own acceptance,
I believe this is the gift of true love he gave you and I.....
We have to accept the gift, believe he has the best in store for us
and live our love song for this world of masquerades to see....
With all my love.
By Jennifer D Bergerson

Pendleton ( about my home town)

Pendleton
by J. Bergerson
A true hidden American jewel
her quiet stone streets
have seen more of the wild west
then Hollywood herself.
Her arena has seen more rodeo's
then Nashville can count.
Hard working people, hidden in a
natural valley of the Majestic blue mountains.
Her landscape shows mother natures beauty
hills, trees and paths that you can get lost on.
Her history sewn into the time worn American
tales, a people that celebrate the cowboy as well and the native.
A Native American show each year with each rodeo.
Her worn streets if they could talk would
tell you tales of simpler and harder times
for she has seen them both.
Each season brings a new surprise from mother nature.
American history can be found all over her, above and below.
She has seen bad times and good times.
Her Hall of fame is one of a kind.
Genuine woolen mills blanket her hills.
This I call My home town.
Her name- Pendleton.....
Her claim to fame “ The round up”
Her motto “ Let R Buck”
Pendleton my home town.....

The Southern Flag

The Southern Flag
By J. Bergerson
Her colors are worn, her true meaning lost
turned into hate racism and evil. What she once flew for gone,
written into history as a mark of pain. The Traditions she stood for
forgotten, lies cover her torn cloth few still fly her, facing the hatred of fellow
Americans.
When she first flew she stood for Freedom justice, and the Southern way of life.
She was turned into racism, by men and women of all races, her tear stained fabric
folded and hidden, compared to Hitler, and Satan.
Her name smeared in all the history
books, The pride of the southern people
reduced to meaning slavery.
Her people walk on egg shells,
in a country their families for generations
fought and died for.
Their blood still rich in her soil,her people feel her pain.
Her people silently grieve at the gravestones of her un-known soldiers....
Their stones desecrated, bodies scattered and abused...
Her people remember the pride she once flew for....
When she didn't stand for hatred.....
When she wasn't the “rebel”
The southern Flag.....
For she is also Red White And Blue.....

True Blue

True Blue

The job is full of long hours, rude thankless souls.
Constant watching never trusting, each night is something new,
always learning just how trustful people are, so different from what you once knew.
There would be no honors if you die on duty, no seven gun salute.
No flag across your coffin, just another poor soul to take
your shift and begin watching.
The badge they carry stands for so much more than anyone knows.
Defending others property, their lives
and there homes.
There is no glory in it's ranks,
just hard working men and women.
Rain sleet hail or snow
they go out to fight the never ending battle
of wrong and right.
Their eyes see this worlds most hateful
evil souls, the worlds most fearful citizens
they go on day by day no this job is not worth it's pay
, the greatest pay is in the eyes of the people who feel
safer when they are on duty.
They aren't cops or Texas Rangers,
They don't make much money for helping
strangers. They are Security officers, earning a living in the
darkest shadows of America's largest cities.
Officers that lay their lives down Backing the badge.
They are Officers....
True blue.....

One fist at a time

One fist at a time.

The pain pulsing through her body, her tears stinging her bruised cut
face, her heart already broken from years of boxing matches with her
husband. His acting like it didn't happen only makes it hurt worse,
her determination to leave taken long ago with too many beatings.
He never apologizes for hurting her anymore he thinks she
deserves it, that he has to punish her for not being who he wants her to be.
Calling the police is even more frightening then staying cause if they
don't believe her he will kill her.
She has few friends and her family won't step in because
they fear his vengeance will be unleashed upon them. They rarely
receive any phone calls from her hardly see her, although they are perfectly
aware what he does to her they act as if all is normal. All the while he
kills her one fist at a time. Before too long her life will be gone
either by his hand or her own out of desperation to stop her pain.
She will become just another number of so many
women who are killed one fist at a time........
Then just like when she lived this world will
keep turning and another woman dies again.

why don't we ask?

Why don't we ask?

Fears from nightmares rise up, taking
hold of all your senses. It's grip never relenting,
giving you no relief. Feeding bits of reality into your
confused mind. Whispering words to encourage
doubt in others.
One soul blending kiss form true loves
lips, wakes you into a world of sunny days,
joy and peace. Weak souls build barriers attempting
to block all out of their little lives. Never knowing which
voice comes from heaven or which voice comes from
hell. Forcing them to block the Almighty's great mercy,
his love and forgiveness.
Blaming our father above for not helping them
through their rough times. They forget to remember that
his words said “ ask and ye shall receive”
the easiest thing for our souls to do becomes the hardest
thing for our minds to allow. His tears
rain down from heaven as he watches
his children fall into the clutches of hell.
Yet all we need to do is ask....
Why don't we ask?

Book of the Damned

Book of the damned

Fires of hell's fury burn within the very souls of people
everyday, their greed, lust and hatred etching their names into hells
book of the eternal damned souls.
They go through each day never realizing that all they
need to do to erase their names from the book of the damned
is to just ask the father for forgiveness.
Living by the day leading to no tomorrow's, no future and
no peace.
Raising god's children to never know his love, mercy and grace,
giving these angels he bestowed on them and key straight into the book of the damned. It's pages battered torn and burnt, the listings it reads are all of earths souls who choose not to follow
the savior, our very lives written into it's roster all the way until
we call out to him. Every sin we have committed brings us closer to it's prophecy.
Upon it's cover reads, “ book of the eternally damned, souls
that didn't choose the path of light, love and giving,
some are those souls you know right away, and some
are men and women who claim to be of god, pastors who
chose to use the name of god for monetary reasons.
Etching their names into it's infinite roster.
The book of the damned sending us all to hell,
until we call his name.......

Am I my Brother's Keeper?

Am I my brother's keeper?

Am I my brother's keeper my lord?
I continue to cast the question with no answer in return.
For I realize his heart has no caring inside it's deep cold spaces.
His selfishness has reached the height that no man
comes back from. No matter the words I cannot
jog his heart to have him see the strife I have
endured at his hands all my life.
Although he is my closest blood relative I feel farther from him
than anyone else. We are two very different persons with same blood in our
veins. His life full of sin, nothing I do will change his ways.
I pray over and over to you lord, I realize it's his choice but I ask
thee lord Am I my Brother's Keeper?
For when he chose to pursue the love of another man, I endured
the pain from our adopted family, the names from
people the stares and the sneers, again I ask thee lord
How am I my brother's keeper?
I love him no matter the form. Lord I hand his soul unto your
capable ways, I pray for forgiveness for I am weak lord
I cannot be my brother's keeper.
Why am I to be my brother's keeper?

December 5, 2008
The great spirit

The great spirit guides them through all life,
Giving, friendly loving, and honest.
Centuries of oppression hatred and thievery by the white man.
Survivors, pulling together the tribe in times of need.
Strong, lovers of nature each plant a resource to their people.
Community of a large family, taking care of all their people.
One with mother earth, only taking what they need.
Driven from the only land they have known.
Sold into slavery, used abused and stripped of all heritage,
they adapt to become what White society demands of them.
Young children grew up without knowing native language,
their rich history erased with each elder that dies.
Their heritage, pain, suffering and people forgotten,
History teaches each new generation less of the truth and more
of white man's lies. Calling them “savages” .
Yet when America needed them they came, they fought,
they used their own languages to keep America safe.
To be forced back to a reservation, if they were
to be able to claim the blood they had bled for the land
that white man stole.
With each step we all take remember the trail of tears
where so many died........
Native Americans....
By Jennifer D. Bergerson

Pit Bull

Pit Bull
Loyalty beyond compare, determination unparalleled.
Dedication only derived from love.
Physical strength given from god, one of his most
beautiful creatures.
Ever watchful, keeping guard for those she loves.
Mischievous in good fun.
The breed America fears the most,
scandles galore through the breeds
history, humans taking advantage of
their willingness to please their master.
The look of a k-9 that can strike fear into
most hearts. Revered for their angelic,
goofy personalities.
Pure raw power in natures most genuine
form. She will be your protector
your comedian, your best friend, and
your baby.
I found her near death from starvation, took her home
fed her , loved her and spoiled her.
Due to mans fear of her breed I lost her.
She will be the memory that haunts my soul.
Her name Cheyenne.....
Her breed Pit bull.....
Her only crime Loving life humans and god.....

unkown confederate soldier

Unknown Confederate Soldier

His body has laid here for decades,
his sacrifice not remembered
what he died for not celebrated,
The President will never lay a wreath at his grave.
His name will never be written on a monument,
History has forgotten his life and death.
He fought for freedom, same as our men do today.
His plight covered by racism,
yet no one knows if he believed in slavery,
or if he fought for Dixie just because
Dixie is his home, Where he was born and raised.
His life long forgotten, No one weeps at his grave,
No one honors his bravery on memorial day.
His reasons lay with his bones in
an un marked grave.
His blood still deep in Dixie,
Her colors won't fade no matter the decades of slander to her name.
His family never to have gotten the peace of knowing where he lay,
History erasing his mere existence from her pages.
His body lay in Dixie soil,
he lay his life down for her freedom, her traditions, her rich heritage.
His marker nothing special, a stone slab crude and jagged,
a tiny Rebel flag mark his alliance.
Still no one weeps for him. Win or loose his life stood for something.
America doesn't see that if he hadn't lost
some wouldn't have had their freedoms,
this great land would be divided, torn
apart. History erased the true
story of this bloody war but she can't erase
this Unknown confederate soldiers
Grave......

The Poetry collection by Jennifer Bergerson

Poetry collection
written by Jennifer D. Bergerson
“ What the mind can conceive it too can achieve, Persistence is to man as
carbon is to steel” an excerpt from the album cover of Some Gave all
By Billy Ray Cyrus
this has been one of my inspirations since 1992.
These are a collection of poems I wrote over a long time, each one
I sat and cried silent tears over. I pray the words bring joy, comfort and peace
to all that read this books pages. Remember Through Christ all things
are possible. All my life I have been told that I would never
be able to write like this, and yet I do, so I want it to have
a positive meaning on this old cruel world, for if it is impossible for me to write
like I do than it must be the will of god why I am able to. Therefore I
want to make sure it makes a difference. You never know the power
of mere words until you see a person brought to tears by a poem when it
touches their hearts and souls. Writing about he beauty of life and the cruelty
also takes heart and a lot of tears, you can write but to bring meaning into
the poem I believe it has to mean something to you or it's just another paper
with fancy words written on it. God moves in mysterious ways so
I believe that for his own reason's these poems need to be read.
Thank you for taking your time and reading these pieces of my heart and soul.

Trail Of Tears

Trail of tears
The paths they walked are worn, and littered with the blood of their dead.
It's long trail cursed with the souls of the innocent people that died
for the sake of white man's greed and hatred.
The children left parent-less by this horrific act grew up
to be formed into what white man wanted them to be.
The souls of the forsaken left to haunt the trail, it's
bloody tale told for all to hear. Still no one
weeps at the stones of those who died.
The hearts of her people broken for ever more, for America
never wanted her natives to be murdered.
The legend of the Trail of tears is woven into her rich history, amongst all the other
horrific tales of her native people.
Amongst todays fight of the race war you rarely see her Natives fighting
for the rights they still haven't gotten after over 200 years.
Yet they are quietly living and dying as they have done
for centuries.
But the Trail of tears will never die, it will never disappear
It's bloody tale seeping through to show
the next generations of all the pain she once bore....
the trail of tears...

The preacher

The Preacher
He had always been there on that meek city street corner.
His clothes tattered and torn, his face dirty, un shaved as he
sent a prayer to all he saw pass his corner.
In a big city most ignore him, telling themselves that he is
another unfortunate soul left to wonder the cold streets.
Few stop and hand him money, even fewer stop and listen to his messages.
He tells them all of the glorious sight of heavens golden streets, mansions and the
saviors face. How there will be no more pain no more death,
When asked why he preaches here he simply says “ it's my calling “
They offer to get him a job to help him off these streets,
he just tells them “ son you see a poor man, in heaven I will be rich,
my lord takes care of me. While I bring more lambs to his gates of glory.
While you see a poor dirty man, inside I have riches “
his name is never in the record books, but it was his
mark on this earth for he died on the street corner where he told of god's
glory...... .... ....
where the father called the preacher home.... ... ...

Sitting Bull

Sitting Bull
His life became history,
his words teaching younger generations.
His fight against the white man lasted beyond his own time.
His wisdom relied upon by the red man
for decades. A legend just for standing
his ground, for standing up for his people and what he felt was right.
His soul blessed by the great spirit,
he became an inspiration to all who hear his plight.
His words written by white man
to record his wisdom.
His eyes hid visions of what came to be.
His life ended on a reservation
just because of the blood in his veins.
His land gone, his tribe reduced in number
his pride taken. His heritage stolen
his language forgotten.
For he stood strong and fought for native American rights.
His name revered today, his image appears in more places than some movie stars.
For no matter how long the white man tried to erase his kind, his home his heritage and his
language, all they did was in print his legend, his image his story
and his life on the pages of history.
He is Sitting Bull.......
His fight as real today as it was then....
For he died a caged man....
because of his blood.....

cherokee

Cherokee
Bitter cold winds of winter have little effect on her compared to the memories of
her stolen babies. Her body becoming numb to natures wrath.
Her only reasons for remaining are spread through out America
her tears are hollow and worn in their path.
Her pain is silent and life consuming.
Her outward appearance showing people she has moved on.
But what her soul and heart hide could drench the earth In tears.
Her eyes scan strangers for one soul that she can share her pain with
all she See's in the sea of humans are backstabber's and shallow people.
They are only concerned with their own petty lives,
her tears or pain never making a mark on the world.
Each day goes on after the other her heart slowly becoming the stone
she allows people to see.
Her heart yearning for the one peace of mind each mother spends their
lifetime getting each day. Her eyes scan every crowd looking in the see of children
for the traits that she may have passed on, to no avail her eyes
never fall on those little angels slowly growing up to be adults.
Her mind tells her with each passing year that her heart will be reunited with
the little angels she gave birth to.
But alas they will not be little, they will have grown to be men and women.
All their childhoods she missed, because of the blood that beats through her,
because of what she is,
Cherokee.....
The mark she can't deny.....
Cherokee.......
The race she proudly carries......
Cherokee.....
By Jennifer D Bergerson

The Gift

The Gift
Her body says she is ready.
her heart says there is hope to be a mother. just not now.
Her mind knows the best thing for this child isn't her life now.
Her soul tells her that abortion isn't an option.
Her friends say she should raise the child.
Her boyfriend says he isn't ready. not now.
Her parents tell her adoption is the best.
They are a loving couple. trying for years
sometimes decades to conceive.
No one Knows why god chooses some to birth
and others not too, so they turn to adoption,
Hoping against hope that one mother
not ready will have the heart to allow them
to raise her child, in her place.
Whether it's God's divine plan or just fate
they cross paths and a new life is brought into
this un-knowing world.
His life is one of love and tenderness
learning and growing as a innocent child is
meant to be, hers is one of wonder
tears and pain, no regrets though.
For when other mom's chose to kill their children
she chose to let him live.
the best gift of all.
life, Love, and happiness.
the gift.

A Father's love

A Father's love
By Jennifer Bergerson
A Father's love is held in his callused hands making a living day after day.
A Father's love is in the little things his babies have because of his sacrifice.
A Father's love is in his gentle smile and comforting tone.
A Father's love is in his tired body broken and worn from years of hard work.
A Father's love is in his scars and scrapes never forsaken for his children were taken care of.
A Father's love is in his wisdom he teaches them over a lifetime
A Father's love is in his discipline he gives to his children.
A Father's love is in his heart with all the tears he shed's they don't see.
A Father's love is in his stories he tells his babies.
A Father's love is in all his days no matter the price
A Father's love is in the home were they live.
A Father's love is the paycheck that he deposits every pay day.
A Father's love is in the nights he sat up waiting for his daughter to arrive from a first date.
A Father's love is in the days he waited for his children to be born.
A Father's love is in the first time he looks upon their tiny angelic face and cries.
A Father's love is not jealous it is ever giving,
A Father's love is not selfish, it is always sacrificing for his children
A Father's love is not hateful it is loving and growing, remaining forever
A Father's love is never abusive, always caring shedding tears over each punishment.
A Father's love is vast and never ending, even in death.
A Father's love is pure as the pristine fresh fallen snow on a winter's day.
A Father's love is ever beautiful as the crystal Texas blue Skies never ending.
A Father's love is steady as god and the heavens above.
A Father's love is in all you do...
A Father's love is in the best example we as humans have...
The Father of man God......
I love you daddy....

Lost

Father above you see all and know all,
as your child I ask thee to watch those I cannot, for
in this world paths we follow have made misfortunes for me
in great number.
The faces I see each day hide nightmares I am certain,
I find I wish to close my eyes and never open them again.
I see the pain in all whom I happen upon, the pain
of a selfish cruel un-yielding world.
Children selling their innocence
to the highest bidder for a scrap of bread.
Mothers walking this world with a mark upon there heads
raising angels all on their own.
This world shows all it has to offer only to those
who have horded there coin never helping those in need.
When a wife is placed in a casket at such a young age with no
justice to her killer, he hides behind the mask of a husband.
Fathers leaving multitudes of children in their lustful wake,
all for one night of pleasure, they take no charge of their actions.
Women and men seeking sinful pleasures of the flesh
trading holiness for sin, giving what heaven gave to them.
Fewer are the innocent that follow the path of righteousness
how is it that we are that far gone lord?
Can we not see Satan in front of us?
Lord guide me unto the gates of heaven,
for I am lost so very lost in this world.

The Poet

June 12, 2009
the poet
So many times I have been told that yes
I have a gift for writing, but it's not perfect to literary form.
That Poets like Poe and other greats wouldn't give it a
second glance. As I sit here today, I honestly can tell
you this I don't ever seek fame from the inspired words I
have been blessed with being the vessel for. All I seek is
the one soul that mends or relates to it's message, the one
heart that sheds the tear of joy at the peace it may bring.
If that makes me wrong then I am glad to be wrong.
For writing was and is never meant to be uniformed nor
can you learn it, well enough to be given the words the
artist above wishes to be expressed for his children, it's
all within his time and his plan.
I sit down and I let his mighty spirit guide my hands as I
write. What ever comes out is what should be.
Remember at one time most writing seemed to not be
uniformed, the rough edge of a truly gifted writers hand
and soul is a true gem and should never be polished.
For them to be able to capture into mere words a
enchanting feeling and putting it to pen and paper in such away
that makes at least one soul soar and reach for heaven's
embrace. That is pure magic and a gift from god's own hand.
The poet......

stolen innocence

Stolen innocence
Her smile hides the pain her soul will never forget
her eyes sparkle when she laughs, behind the twinkle is the frozen frame
of her own pain. Her mind runs through the scene over and over
playing different things she could have done. Showing her
how many mistakes she made long ago.
Her heart tells her to move on, her soul tells her to move on.
Her mind tells her she will never move on.
Years and decades pass by but her heart and mind sit in the
time where she found out this old world isn't as innocent as she once thought.
What he took from her she can never regain, what her family took
she can never piece together again.
Back then she had been on the verge of woman and a child, her body showing
womanhood, her mind and heart still a child.
What he saw was the pure innocence of a child he stole, for a moment of
pleasure that brought her a lifetime of pain.
Sure this world moves on, her life still moves on but her
eyes still see the lust and evil she saw in him
as fresh today as it was fifteen years ago.
Her parents not believing her, she was forsaken her pain learning
to sit in a locked soul, growing and seething only showing when
she had overflown. Her tears she has shed could fill the ocean
several times over. She won't know the feeling of a first love,
she won't know the feeling of protection, she won't ever get back the
one thing they all stole.
No matter the time her soul will never forget the stolen
innocence taken from her... ....
stolen innocence......
By Jennifer Bergerson

The Rose

June 12, 2009
The Rose
glistening on it's soft petals, like an angels holy
kiss upon a newborns face. Petals of a
vibrant crimson color, soaking the sparkling
nectar of life within it's stem.
A fragrance like no other on earth seeping into the
world slightly, giving humans a glimpse of heavens
greatest creation. A symbol of love's power
to all man kind.
It's tale as old as time. simple as though it may
be, it's life ends shortly but it's lasting tale
written into history for all to know and tell.
Love's universal symbol, It's image crossing
all barriers.....
The rose.....
simple yet so powerful.

Vessel

Vessel

by jennifer bergerson
Father above help me understand, for as your child
I am saved, though my heart weighs heavy with the troubles of this
world resting upon it. Your will be done, and though I may not understand
I attempt to do as I know would be your ways.
I watch with curious eyes as this world seems to turn more evil with each setting
of the sun. We see children being killed, people robbing others for mere possessions,
men who come unto us as your servant stealing from us as we hand it over unto you.
Your son's simple life under investigation, Human curiosity attempting to prove your word
to be false. No help for the homeless or the poor. Who are chastised and left to
die on the cold streets. Girls turning to selling their bodies to be able
to make it day to day. All the while our churches close their doors
and pretend it doesn't happen.
Father god help me understand why parents abandon children who are angels in
your sight, why do some parents adopt children for the money
the government will pay? How is it that truth is no longer
the side lady justice leans toward. How could she be that blind to
follow a fool's illusions?
Why must we all act as if we don't care, help me guide me to
show this world your love as I walk the path you have written for me.
For if I make a mistake or shall I fall I know the angels will be
there to pick me up and to right me in your ways....
This I offer to you a simple prayer from your
child who needs understanding, calm my heart and
let me be your vessel.....

Etched in her heart

Etched in her heart
By Jennifer Bergerson
Her eyes show less pain then the world will
ever know she holds confined in a broken heart and soul.
She fears other's rumors or opinions that fly when she
has let her secret be known. So she conceals the one joy
mother's pride, her son for she gave him a better life
then she could have.
His life she will never know anything about, that was
the agreement for in this world children's safety is
what matters the most. Her arms feel empty each day and night
her soul weeps harder on his birthday each year,
Knowing a piece of her is out there in this
cold deceitful world and she knows not where.
She will never be allowed a mother's day, her world is
confined to realizing that nothing she does will
ever undo the past. She prays constantly that god
will grant her the honor of sending his guardian angels to
watch over the little boy she gave birth to, but will never
know......
Hers is a pain that never dies,
that time will not forget,
for it is etched in the stone
coldness of her own heart.....

Soul Mates

Soul Mates
by Jennifer D Bergerson
It's never ending, Pages reach back to the beginning of time.
It will never be read or for sale on earth.
The stories it tells most never know.
The names that appear in it's infinite pages appear as two.
Two souls that will be, are or has been on earth.
The books name is Love, the author Father god.
He writes the names of two souls each that are destine to be soul mates.
The pages are torn and worn, the names are not always who these
souls spend their lives with for it's their choice.
When these two souls meet and make the choice to honor
the prophecy that is written in the book of love.
The angels rejoice in heaven and celebrate for the devil lost two more souls.
Their passion is in no way able to be expressed into words, the two pieces of a puzzle
that are complete with each other, as the artist intended.
His joy showing in all they do,
they rejoice upon the lord almighty who
set them in each others paths, so they found their better halves.
The feeling of love can not be defined it is in all that you feel and see.
The sting of winters wind, the burn of summers sun.
The vast never ending blue sky above, the greenest grass on earth,
the finest silk, the touch of a lovers embrace the kiss that
takes your breath away, squeezing your lungs, in such a unique way
that you long for it every minute of every day.
It's looking in the eyes of that one person written in the book of love
meant for you, and realizing you are at their mercy praying they
feel the same you do. Knowing that in any day god can take them
from you, making you live each day as if it were the last.
This is the story of the book of love.....
written in it's satin pages are the names of soul mates....

Stolen angels

STOLEN ANGELS
Hearts that burn with a fire most humans will never know
eyes that never forget the nightmare they saw play before them.
Hands will echo the pain of watching the angels slip through them like grains of sands.
Souls that will never be the same...
they walk this earth as shells. Ghosts of the person they once were....
their eyes hallow and empty...
their total sadness showing for all this world to see and judge.
Each child they see reminding them of their stolen angels.
Looking all around this enormous world, Finding no help.
Their stories placed in a sealed court document
their angels taken, changed forever....
each day they pray.....
each day they look to just see
their angel in the sea of all these
angelic children god has blessed our world with.....
Waiting for the day that
their stolen angels are returned.......
.....
Stolen Angels.

A Dozen roses

A Dozen Roses
By Jennifer Bergerson
Rose number one is for the angry hurtful words he always says that he claims to have not meant.
Rose number two is for the two reasons why she attempts to stay and forgive him; their son and their daughter for they need their father.
Rose number three is for the three things she uses to attempt to hide the shameful bruises heavy make up dark sunglasses and long sleeve blouses.
Rose number four is for all the times he said he felt so sorry for hurting her and continued to hit her and say demeaning things.
Rose number five is for the fear and dread that consumes her daily life… ….
That makes her feel so scared to stay but keeps her with him.
Rose number six is for the countless times she has called the police just to drop the charges for she is scared of his angry fists and that he may beat her again.
Rose number seven is for the several times that her family and her friends have known what he does to her but choose not to step in for it is not their business.
Rose number eight is for the several times she has gone to the emergency room where the staff has known what really caused her physical injuries but choose not to help protect her and her children.
Rose number nine is for the words that echo through her mind “ Till Death Do We part “ and how many times she has wondered how true that vow really is, wondering if her husband was going to kill her… … …
Rose number ten is for countless affairs he has that she knows about that but dares not to say anything about for she fears for her life.
Rose number eleven is for the nurses and doctors that are working to save her life, for he beat her so bad that she had been rushed to the emergency room…..
Rose number twelve he just laid upon her casket where at 34 she will lay forever… …
A dozen roses,
a dozen wilted black roses … …. ….
And another woman dies… …. …
But he gave her a dozen roses.

A Mother’s Pain
Her heart knows what is best for the tiny life growing inside her womb. No matter what the world thinks of her decision, she has to follow what is best for her son who is yet to breathe his first breath. She will never be there to see his first step or hear his first word, but she feels that the people who will stand in her place will cherish each thing her son does.
They will be there when he scrapes his knee or hits his first home run or to help him through his first broken heart. Her tears are not forsaken for they too understand just how much it breaks her heart to hand her son over knowing she has not the ability or finances to care for his new little angel she spent nine months caring for, feeling him move and knowing that the lump in her throat grows larger the closer to her due date that her body gets.
Her own life becomes an open book for she understands just how much her little baby boy will want to know and she feels that she wants him to know she did this out of complete love for him and not that she did not want to raise him. Her heart will always have a piece with him and with all that he may do, she will always love him and wonder if the little boy she sees in the store is her son or if he may be that one that is going to be the doctor that finds the cure for cancer or will he be the next sports star, but no matter what he will be she will always love him….
A mother’s pain, the hole in her heart that will never be filled for she followed her heart and did what her son needed…she gave him a loving caring home and still will love him forever for I love you my little angel boy…Gavin James
Love always and forever, “Mommy” Jennifer Bergerson March 2007.