Free Life Blog

To My Girls

Destroyed Family Poem by Chris Bunton

Where have you been, little ones?
Stolen away so long ago.

An aching heart and lonely life for an evil man today,
searching the horizon and begging God for signs of your return.

Will they ever come?
Should I go to them?
What will our future be?
What did you do today?
Did you think of me as I thought of you?

When I look at the sad moon before I sleep and wonder.
Do you see the same sights I see?
Are you OK?

The questions and sadness flows and never ends. Why?
For many years I’ve blamed God.
Are you angry at Him?
I hope not. He’s not the one who should be blamed, but I.

Sundays are the worst ones for me to bear. Even today, years after you were taken
from me, I cry.

I’m crying now.

Sunday family fun day no more. Just me.

I miss my girls and care about you. It’s OK if you don’t care about me.
I ask for nothing but your smiles and a hug, that would last an eternity.

You haven’t seen or heard from me, I feared the trouble it would cause.
But, in your day, if you think of me, know that I think of you and cry to be near.
Just a hug and a tear, together. With a laugh and forgiveness to spare, healing the
past for us, today.

How are you doing?
Where have you been?
What tears have you cried without me to,
make them go away?

If you need me.
If you need me to come.
If you need me to help.
If you need me to pray.
If you need me to just go away.

It’s ok. I am here.

I Love You.

Daddy

(Because of a corrupt family court system, my children were stolen in a divorce case. I wrote this years after still trying to get things fixed. Support Father’s Rights and Changing the Family Court system)

Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois. He has published in several magazines, and has written a poetry eBook called “Against the Man” and an Addiction Recovery eBook called “Made Free: Overcoming Addiction“ His newest book is called “The Future is Coming” and is a collection of dystopian short stories.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

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Support the work on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=13514235&fan_landing=true&view_as=public

The Ring

Creative Writing by Chris Bunton

During the course of my life; I have lost everything I own five different times. So, finding something that is irreplaceable is somewhat difficult for me.

Everything, can either be replaced, or forgotten about. The moment I start to consider escaping and living a life of freedom, those irreplaceable things pop up into my mind as a chain that holds me down. They are just one more thing that I think I cannot live without. Even though in my mind; I know I can and have in the past. Time moves on and we forget for a while.

I was asked if there was anything that I might consider irreplaceable. And to be honest, I really needed to wrack my brain for something that is irreplaceable to me; even though, I don’t believe such a thing exists. Is it sad to have grown away from such objects; making them less important to me? At least I think they are less important. Society seems to think that we need to have these things. Maybe I’m fooling myself? Maybe I just seek to escape from them? Would time change my mind?

I went into my closet and pulled out a wooden box. It’s a special box that is “Irreplaceable” and is full of other, so called “Irreplaceable” things. Things that have managed to somehow attach themselves to me. They are things given to me by others, and often held in storage by them during turbulent times in my life; because they just knew that I would want them some day. They love me.

I move around some things in the box. Such as my father’s medals from Vietnam long ago, and several watches and necklaces that have been bought for me over the years. You know the stuff. Those pieces of jewelry they buy you for birthdays or Christmas, and you hold it up and smile. You say thank you and talk about it’s beauty, but then it goes in a box never to be worn. Now, after years and years, the chains are all terribly wrapped together and ruined; just another, pile of “Irreplaceable” things. Stuff that someone else will discover one day after I am dead and ask. “Why did he keep this junk?”. Time eats away at life, and we lose track.

Underneath it all, I find it. The Ring. My father’s ring. The one he always wore. The one my mother gave me when he died from a long battle with cancer. It is important to me, like his medals. It would hurt me to lose it.

I pull the ring from the box and try to put it on the finger of my right hand. It won’t fit. I must be bigger than my dad was. So, I pull it off and try it on my left hand, it fits. I take the ring into my computer room and sit down to write. I’m wearing it now as I write this. I’m kind of looking at it.

It was purchased by my father in Bangkok, Thailand. He was on leave during his tour in Vietnam in the early 70’s. I don’t know why he bought it. But, he wore it all the time.

The ring is gold colored. I’m not sure if it’s real gold, but it could be. It has a diamond in it or it might be a cubic zirconium, I’m not sure which. It’s kind of big. But, since it was bought in another country, diamonds could be cheaper there.

The ring feels weird on my hand because I never wear jewelry, so I’m not used to it. It has a weight to it. I look down and my hand looks like my dad’s hand. Not my hand. The ring and the lines and wrinkles of my hand bear a painful resemblance to his.

I have many childhood memories of looking at his hands with that ring on them. That’s what makes this thing irreplaceable. Those memories and the value derived from them. It’s a form of self torture that brings joy. Looking at these things that make you cry, but feeling happy that you did look at them again. These things that bridge time in our lives.

I’ve started wearing the ring on occasion; glad to have his memory, and something I feel is irreplaceable. It’s something to connect me to him; something that is a part of my heritage. I guess I was trying to escape the memories of him and his loss. Perhaps, I was also trying to avoid any attachments to something that can be stripped from me again. But, memories cannot be stripped as easily. They are a treasure or a curse; depending on where you are in your life. Explore those painful past memories, and grow from them, as I have

I wore that ring, and my grand father’s tie-bar on the day I married my wife. It brought them over time through memory and material objects to be with us that sunny day.

A day we said “I do” for a lifetime, in a forest glade.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

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The Real Tragedy

Social Reform By Chris Bunton

The real tragedy is that We the People of the United States, of all races and beliefs do not trust our media or our leaders.

Our media is divided, and divides us. None of them tell us the complete truth, or don’t tell us anything unless it has lies twisted in.

Our leaders of government, and every industry and institution, enrich themselves and betray us when they get the chance.

They feed us poison and fire us at the drop of a hat. They fill our heads with lies and worthless information that does nothing for us. They send us to die in senseless wars. They shoot us in the streets over nothing. They steal money from our checks and businesses then waste it or send it over seas, while we scrape to get by. Imagine what this country would be like if we had even a third of the money we send to other countries where the leaders horde it and refuse to help their people.

We cannot get anything done to solve the problems Americans face, and when we shout or rise up, or push to get change. Those leaders blow it up in our faces and refuse to listen. They refuse to take blame and make valuable changes.

Instead they make changes that keep us divided in hate, and making themselves richer.

They blame us for the problems while keeping the solutions under lock and key, until we obey their wishes.

We do not trust our media, or our leaders, and we have grown to not trust each other.

We have a great heritage of people rising up from suffering and oppression to freedom. We have awesome power. But, it all has been corrupted by those in positions they do not deserve.

This isn’t about race, or right or left. This is about what we all have faced. This is about what they have done to us. It’s about working us to death and keeping us down. It’s about leading us along with scraps, while they feast like kings. It’s about being tired of decades of struggle. It’s about seeing what they have done to us and being powerless to fix it.

We want leaders and media who can be trusted. Who solve problems without creating more, and without hurting others.

It can be done. We are smart people. We can figure out how to live together in peace and thrive and grow to greatness without tossing each other under the bus.

We have to. Or it’s going to get worse and we will never recover.

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Scary Things

That scary thing won’t happen.
Reject it; stand against it.
Get in its face, like a boss.
Break its nose; then laugh at its blood.

Has the worst thing come to pass?
How many times in your life?
That anxiety demon;
kills us a thousand times, before death.

I will pray about it now.
I will believe I am safe.
I will trust that I am free
I will give love, and love some more.

I will shut that door of fear.

I will be attacked no more.

I will be free of the chains.

I will be happy today.

—–

Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois. He has published in several magazines, and has written a poetry eBook called “Against the Man” and an Addiction Recovery eBook called “Made Free: Overcoming Addiction“ His newest book is called “The Future is Coming” and is a collection of dystopian short stories.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

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Support the work on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=13514235&fan_landing=true&view_as=public

(photograph of a shallow cave in the Shawnee Forest of Southern Illinois.)

Rocking Chair

Poem by Chris Bunton

I sit in my rockin chair
and think of things far and near.

Things like the weather,
and whether I want soup or salad for dinner.

I listen to the birds sing,
and think things, that make me dream.

I watch butterflies float,
And hear the bullfrog gloat.

Creak Creak
Creak Creak
says the squeak, of that old chair on the floor.

Regrets, hopes and prayers fly,
and not a day goes by, that you’re not on my mind.

Creak Creak
Creak Creak
Over and over again, over there, bye and bye

I got so much I need to do.
But… what do I really want to do?

The joy of that rockin chair;
Now where’s my friend to meet me there?

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Photo by the Poet.

Called To Forgive

Spirit Poem by Chris Bunton

I am called to forgive.
But, I really don’t want to.
I hate what they’ve done to me.
I want them to pay, like I’ve paid.

“Forgive to be forgiven”
I want to and I try to
but it never seems to end.
Have they forgiven me?

Pride demands Justice.
The demon whispers “Revenge”.
Fear barks, “They’ll do it again!”
Wisdom says, “Safer than sorry”

The battle is daily real,
and seeks to consume.
Forgiveness releases me,
and justice will come soon.

I forgive,
And God will make it true.

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Animal Souls

Environmental Talk By Chris Bunton

Too many times I have sat in a church and heard a sermon saying that animals have no soul. They say that humans have dominion and that everything is for our use.

It makes me puke and is an utter lie.

God gave humanity dominion over the Earth for us to take care of it and protect it with love, wisdom and understanding. These are the original instructions given to Man in the Garden. We are to “tend and keep it” We are to “be fruitful and multiply and replenish the Earth.” Conserving, restoring and protecting what we use as we grow in numbers and spread out upon the Earth.

The idea that we are to rape the land, butcher the forests, poison the air and water, while driving entire species to extinction for the sake of our love of money, and our demonic ideas of dominion is disgusting.

Our treatment of the weak plants, animals and Earth is a direct reflection of our heart. It is a sign of our lack of love and compassion. If we cannot be kind to these innocents, then can we really be kind to each other?

We deserve destruction. God created us good, but we have been corrupted.

The Bible says that the entire creation groans in agony, under death and torment, waiting for humans to become who God made us to be. The entire creation is waiting with us, for us to be revealed as Children of God, and to start acting like it. (Romans 8:16-29 )

The preacher says that this happens when Christ returns. But, we will answer for it when He does. “What you’ve done to the least of these thy brethren.” might apply to humans, but if you cannot treat animals with decency, you won’t love humans either.

The love of money is the root of all evil. It destroys our world, it corrupts our hearts, it keeps us in poverty, and it leads to lies from the leaders, media and pulpit. All of which leads to more destruction.

Everything in this world was created good. Everything is alive. Energy and life permeates it all. The Spirit of God is here in all. The animals have souls and we are called to love and protect them, as much as we are called to protect and love each other.

Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois. He has published in several magazines, and has written a poetry eBook called “Against the Man” and an Addiction Recovery eBook called “Made Free: Overcoming Addiction“ His newest book is called “The Future is Coming” and is a collection of dystopian short stories.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

Follow Him on Free Life Blog: https://myfreelifeblog.com/

Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

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Support the work on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=13514235&fan_landing=true&view_as=public

Photos by the author

Terrible Dad

Fatherhood Poem by Chris Bunton

I’m a terrible dad,
at least that’s what they said.

Too many failures,
too many faults,
that’s what the cackling hens, said.

Not rich enough.
Not sober enough.
Not broken enough.
Not obedient enough.
That’s what society said.

Too fast.
Too free.
Too sinful.
to be; a dad.
That’s what God seems to have said.

It doesn’t matter what I said.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

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Photograph by the poet, on the Tennessee River in Chattanooga Tennessee.

Am I Better?

Recovery Thoughts By Chris Bunton

Over the years I have wondered.

“Am I a better human being than I was before? or am I just sober?”

Are we really better? or are we just trying to avoid trouble, keep from hurting our family, stay out of prison, or make more money? Are we better human beings?

This journey we are on, can be the first steps toward a whole new life that is real. It can be the steps toward us doing amazing heroic things for ourselves and others. Or it can be more failure and us doing the bare minimum to just get by.

Sometimes all we can do is just hang on. Sometimes we wanna go get wasted or do something dumb to make ourselves feel better. But, we know what that leads to. It leads to more trouble and failure, in our lives.

God did not create us to be failures. He did not create us to spend our lives fighting addictions, or wallowing in defeat. He created us to be glorious and to take care of the Creation. He gave us dominion, to love and help others.

This world is about growth and drawing near to God. We will struggle, but the victory was already won. You will win, if you give yourself to Him. A child struggling to walk, is not a failure. The parents are right there, and his victory is assured already.

Keep this in mind in your struggles. You are not worthless. Every drop in an ocean matters, and every drop finds its way back one way or another.

Learn to grow, and use it to heal. Seek to be more than you are.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

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No Home

Couplet Poem by Chris Bunton

Man with no home, where are you at?
I brought food to where you once sat.

“Here I Am!” A voice spoke free and bold,
“By this old bin, dead from the cold”

I was shocked to find him there,
his corpse lie froze, with a death stare.

At first, I wept at his sad fate,
then grew mad that I was too late.

“Weep not” he said. “You loved and tried,
There are those who are glad that I died.”

“My soul flies free and sings a song,
my shell lies cold, to right an old wrong.”

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogspot: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

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Read More Poems on Medium

To My Girls

The Ring

Scary Things

Rocking Chair

Called To Forgive

Animal Souls

Read more from Chris

He Rose For Our Justification

The Lesson Of Job

Destroying The Image Of God

Am I Better?