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Why Can’t I Curse Like All My Friends Do? - a short story by A.B.King

   Once upon a time in a place called St. Louis, there lived a little boy named Bernard who lived alone with his Mum. 
   Bernard loved to curse. His Mum did all she could to get him to stop cursing but she knew that no matter what she did or said, he would keep cursing when she is not around. To him cursing made him fit in and look cool.
   One day, Bernard’s Mum prayed like she’s never prayed before for God to intervene.
   That night an angel appeared to Bernard in his dream and showed him how differently certain events in his life would have turned out if he wasn’t someone that uses curse words. The angel showed him proof that cursing affects how people view, respond and relate to him. People (especially those who you think don’t care about such things) find it difficult to respect people who curse. But most importantly God doesn’t want us cursing, God is a holy God and his children should be holy too.
   Bernard woke up the next day knowing that was no ordinary dream. It was a dream from God.
   Bernard told his Mum about his dream, and made up his mind to change. People may think that cursing is cool, but cursing is dishonourable, vile and displeasing to God. And anything that is displeasing to God is totally destructive.

THE END.

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Our Boys In Blue - a poem by Alfred

Through Cold or Heat, Through Strength or Pain/
They Carry our Troubles, All Night, All Day/
They Risk their Future, To Keep us Safe/
Have you said a Prayer, For a Cop today?/
Without Police, No one would be Safe/
Bodies would paint the Street like Syria Today/
After the West played Chess and won the Game/
Have you said a Prayer, For a Cop today?/
Without Police in America, today/
Your Head and Your Body could be in different States/
One Part in Alabama, The Other part Up-State/
Have you said a Prayer, For a Cop today?/
We owe our Lives to Our Boys In Blue/
They carry the weight of the Red, White, and Blue/
And make it a Nation all Nations come to/
Have you said Thanks, To a Cop today?/

Why You Should Share This Post:  Because unlike some people, we Love & Respect those who risk their lives for us everyday.


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Rather Than Hate The Rich, Become Rich - a poem by Alfred

Crucify the Rich, Burn them at the Stake/
Punish them for succeeding, where the rest of us has failed/
Their Remote controls the State like the TV channels they made/
Only 1 per cent are safe, 99 per cent are slaves/
Occupy the 1 per cent, Hello to Project Eliminate/
We don't need rich people in the world, walk 'em to their grave/
Like Marie Antoinette, and then We Would Eat Cake/
All Rich People are Evil, Greedy, and Really Vain/
Away with Rich people, Let us dig their graves/
They plan to dig ours, I can see it in their ways/
Who needs the Rich to build Banks, Skyscrapers, and Planes/
Who needs the Rich to build Rockets to take us to Outer Space/
Wealth can't create more jobs than poverty makes/
Poverty is what this country needs, take wealth away/
Destroy the Rich to make the world a better place/
I hate Rich people, even though I work all day/
I'm sure it's no so I could be Rich some day/
And if I get Rich I would give it all away/
Because I hate Riches, I'…

Sunday Morning Blues - a poem by Alfred

The Sun rays slowly crawls through my window/
It kisses my closed eyelids with Gusto/
My eyes roll open like a hand of Ludo/
I stretch Good Morning like I'm practising Judo/
I Growl like a Lion on a half empty stomach/
I praise the God who gave me Life with No Buts/
The Sunday Morning air beats all Pizza Huts/
Fancy trying to put Happiness in a Box/
I Decrease the weight of my cereal box/
Church Bells ring, Christianity Walks/
It's a day we all remember our Christian Walk/
Even radios remember and play Gospel Songs/
I hear no fighting or quarreling behind closed doors/
Yelp, it's Sunday alright, even when it pours/
There's something about Sundays that always oozes joy/
A Day of Rest, A Day of worshipping God/
Sunday Morning Blues stretches beyond the church/
Rejoice in the Lord whether or not you go to church/
But don't forsake Spiritual Growth, you'll grow in Joy/
And the Sunday Morning Blues won't leave Monday Morn'/



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