These poems were written by those who were raised in Worldwide Church of God. They are also applicable for those who were in any of the controlling offshoots such as Philadelphia Church of God.
On the Fence
I’m on the fence between Good and Bad,
Leaning back and forth, this way and that.
Winds blow around me and scatter my thoughts,
I hold on fiercely as I was Taught.
You’ll never know the Truth in this world,
Cover at least with Scriptures and Word.
To know for sure, only time will tell,
Is it straight to Heaven or straight to Hell?
I Was Alone
I was alone with my memories and pain.
I wasn’t of this world.
I was afraid of my thoughts, of going insane.
I don’t know how to live in this world.
They taught me “truths” and unquestioning faith.
They led me to fear of God.
They taught me submission, rules and hate.
I’m still afraid of God.
The Christians see us and turn away.
Why don’t you love Jesus?
They don’t understand I cried as I prayed,
They didn’t tell me about Jesus.
I felt alone and lost, wandering and hurt.
A cultic child raised in the dark – I didn’t exist to the world.
I’m grown now and numb, not a member of the “church.”
Still a child in my head – I don’t trust the world.
Where were the people to hear my cries?
They were alone, too.
Pressed by leaders no one defies.
Why? Why, people, didn’t you run?
You were rooted in lies.
You were taught no Love for the Son.
Can you see the Truth now?
Sift through the ashes.
Please someone show me how.
One day in seventy-eight
It started rosy and great
Let me see if I can recall
The hand writing on the wall…
Looked all around
But you could not be found
I ran into a “friend”
She said we had come to an end
I cried all day
That day in seventy-eight
They said you were a sinner
I always thought you were a winner
We were taught not to speak
If we did it was considered weak
And I never thought that I ever would see
Any resemblance of you and me
The man that saw me cry
Didn’t offer a hand or sigh
The only thing he said
You’d never come back alive or dead
But we proved the b—–d wrong
And now it’s written in song
It all started one day in a bad state
Words of wisdom are true and great
Think for yourself and communicate
That’s the lesson of seventy-eight
[The above poem is about the receivership and the disfellowshipping of WCG members during that period. I lost my loving friend at this time.]
The sun was shining one day
But not a ray shone on me
Someone went away
Thought I never was to see
She was my first friend to love
Like an angel
She inspired me from above
The “man” said she had to go
Told me not to cry
Never let my feelings show
They were bad
That got me seeing red
I will never forget that day
The moment that they took
My ray of sunshine away
[The above was written about the loving friend that I lost when she and her family were thrown out of the WCG. I eventually ran into my friend again immediately after High School. She ended up being my hair stylist.]
They taught us to think
In black and white
Is wrong or right
Things don’t necessarily
Fit this way
Fit into gray
Gray is both black and white
It’s what we really are
Capable of good and bad
One minute happy
The next sad
If things don’t seem
To go your way
Try to think
“It’s just gray”
Children of God
Those children were precious in the sight of God.
He cherished and loved them before they were born.
Known to Him and given as gifts,
He lent them to you, He cries now mourning them.
Their love and laughter, their tears and hopes,
All loving reminders of things we know.
That God is with us and wants us to see,
Looking to Jesus will heal the memories.
Hold those children and wipe their tears.
Gently, so gently, calm their fears.
Lead them to Life, show them the Lord.
Teach them with love and not discord.
Show them they’re wanted, show them you care.
Tell them they’re special, stroke their hair.
Those beautiful babies you taught with a rod,
Were given to love, they were children of God.
The Needs Inside
He created our souls with needs inside
The hurt, struggling and unfulfilled promises
That leave emptiness
Where innocence once lived
In a heart throbbing and unmet
In it’s longings for something
To still the ache and longing
Twisting painfully with needs
That He gave us, but why?
There’s nothing earthly that bathes the soul
And quenches the flame inside
Except love given softly and freely, openly
By those who know how to give
Solace by holding your hand
And walking with you on the healing path
The long road to recovery, to Life.
I hate the needs many times
That hurt when I don’t know why
But they move me, to keep searching
The pain shows me I’m alive.
After my sorrow
We now come to tomorrow
Life in the `80s was dull and gray
The last part of the `70s
Left me with not much to say
I went to church
Not really knowing why
I should’ve stayed home
After my cry
Couldn’t play in sports
That wasn’t allowed
O’ to hear
The cheer from a crowd
I only could’ve been in J.V.
So I just watched sports
My gym teachers begged me to run
I told them I could only do it for fun
Competition is against my religion you see
High School sports can’t be for me
Cheerleaders who couldn’t cheer
Athletes that couldn’t compete
These beliefs are now
(This one was about my teens in the WCG.)
I remember, a few years ago
Two girls sitting next to me
They were reading something
The minister wasn’t saying
So I looked to see
I felt an elbow tap
From my loving friend
She pointed to some verse
A message about to send
She wanted me to be like that
It was I Corinthians 13:4-10
Sometimes I forget
What some people see
I apologize for that
It’s what I want to be
Thoughts in My Head
It’s cold outside. I shiver against the wind.
I want to go home to a place that’s warm.
With love and hugs and someone for me.
To be held.
Memories are lonely. I wander through them.
I hold my hand out to touch them. I see them in my mind.
They’re not really memories.
Just shadows of long ago hopes.
I believed in things then.
That cloud I see is always God. He was dark and looming.
He had a deep voice, I think, and angry eyes.
They always have angry eyes, those who make you suffer.
Those who tell you tales,
Of pain and death and fear of eternal Hell.
Visions of destruction.
The “church” was founded on greed.
They trapped us all who yearned to believe.
They used us and lied.
They took our minds.
They crushed our hearts and violated our souls.
Love shouldn’t hurt.
I just sit in the crater and look up.
The cloud from destruction climbs higher and higher.
Towards God who is crying at things men will do in His name.
He must be so sad.
His creation languishing in sin and hate.
Surely He made us to do better than this.
I feel numb sometimes, like I’m not really here.
I must be here now because I feel the pain.
My head hurts from knowing too much.
About people and rules and deceit and trust.
Beaten and trembling, I lie on the ground.
Is there breath left in me? Do I have to go on?
What else is waiting for me as I stagger to my feet?
Please, not more pain and defeat.
I don’t want to cry anymore.
It will kill me.
Maybe I’m already dead.
No one told me.
Dreams Hoped For
Do you believe in magic
That unseen element
That makes things happen
It comes like an old friend
Like someone new
Do you know what real magic is
Real magic is love
How about a wish
The things that you hope for
The dreams you want to come true
Those starry nights
When you look up in the sky
Find that one lone star
Sometimes they shoot
Want to know what real wishes are
Wishes are really prayers
You ever believe in angels
Someone you can tell your secrets to
That one person that knows
You better than yourself
That person comes by
Once in a blue moon
And you share your moments
Guess what real angels are
Real angels are true friends
Angel of Love
There’s something to be said
When it’s wearing a heart of red
A friend that you seldom see
Talks through you or me
They always want the best
It’s a life quest
When you’re down and feel blue
You seek something real and true
You want to know that you’re not alone
Maybe by e-mail or telephone
Tell that person sometime
Maybe in letter or rhyme
It’s like a gift from above
My little angel of love
[The above poem fit in with what ESN did.]
I Cast My Stones
Loving arms await me and strengthen my resolve.
Eyes that burn into my soul and know my heart, before I know.
His throne rises high above me, yet is low enough for me to climb,
To His chest to shed my tears, they became stars falling in the night.
I cast my stones, the worries that I had clutched to my heart.
First one, then two, He took them gently and laid them at His feet.
He wanted them, I know it now, He reached for me as I cried.
He held me as a Father would, my head on His chest, He sighed.
Tears flowed in streams, easing my heart’s pain.
Comfort warmed inside of me and made me unafraid.
I cast my stones in the midst of those
Who showed me so much Love.
The jewels they became still twinkle from Above.
My Angel of Mercy
That night is a wisp, so long ago.
A memory of pain, a burning in my soul.
Afraid to hope, unknown to love,
My heart was breaking, I needed to trust.
I reached for a hand held out to me.
Tentative and afraid I had to believe,
That God sent you to me to show me the way.
How to love and trust, how to believe and pray.
To a Lord who was waiting for me to come Home.
Through his angel of mercy, I’m no longer alone.
You cried deeply in your soul for all of those years.
Broken, in pain, He knew of your tears.
Your anguish has turned your love into gold,
To be treasured by those whose hearts you hold.
Gently you shelter and heal my wings,
My angel of mercy, my soul mother, to me.
(Dedicated to my helper in ESN)
Listen to the beautiful song: He Came to Me (by Squire Parsons) [offsite link]
Note: Rochelle (name changed) finally gained enough trust to begin individual professional counseling with a Christian therapist who understood trauma and mind control used in abusive groups. She later underwent Dialectical Behavior Therapy which became the turning point in her recovery. Today she says she is “happier and more fulfilled than she ever thought was possible.” Her sad life has now been turned into a success story which is possible for every child survivor who is willing to work hard on recovering.
Poems / Free Verse (Comfort for the brokenhearted) (some written by an exiter)