I call myself Blood Word, because everything I write about connects somehow to love. I call love the Word of Blood because blood represents life, death, emotion, struggle, and selflessness What concept is at the center of all that if not love?
This poem was written December 9, 2012.
Beautiful are you, second to none
Radiant face, daughter of Son
Gifted I am, from God with you
Blue I was, now with Rose Blu
This poem was written December 2, 2012.
The skies are ripe and fraught
With fear and joy and hope
As birds will sing, and worms will pass
The circle pulses and rotates on
Forever until the day of dawn
That’s the difference between you and me.
When we go our separate ways,
You go on living, while I can only wait.
You’re whole enough everyone wants you, and you go on to succeed
My success only lasted as long as I was with you, now I’m in the dark again.
All I can do is wait for you again, but you wait for no man.
No, this isn’t to your fault, it’s what makes you great
I just can’t stand my own failure.
Thinking of this, though, lets me see
Just how blessed I was to have been chosen by you.
I’ll never understand it, but I guess I’ll never have to.
It’s so dark down here.
Hello! echo Is there anyone down here with me?
With your minds, think anew
Throw off these shackles of shadow
That you have called your own,
For they were never your friend.
Ignorance will not be bliss, but it is death.
Many tears fall
But not enough
Eyes of mine ache
For dry they are
The doors that light the heavens
Are the gateways we do perceive
As simple stars in a blank black sky
But they are as portals to another life
Another home, another love
What we neglect, they protect
And too well their job is done.
Words fall from mouths and die on the ground.
Lips turn sour from the filth pouring across them.
Ears clog up and hear what was never there.
Communication is a ritual each performs
To feel good about, to protect himself.
There was never anything to feel good about, to protect.
All feel the pull from their chest, the urges, desires.
They give in and never control it.
Haughty are they!
For they look to the heart for guidance
It laughs to itself and prances them around on puppet strings
(Cleverly named “heart strings”)
Gaining delight with each fall man makes.
He cannot remove the cords within.
Admiration has always been on “love”.
Hate is self-love, and that is lust.
Lust and love became one when man grabbed it.
Love is hate in its purest form, yet none ever see this.
They will forever hate, unwittingly.
When a pebble is falling through the sky,
It cannot stop itself.
So is man.
Flapping his arms to stop the fall.
Pulling up on his feet to fly.
Of course, they are only weak, and need to flap faster, pull harder.
The origin of East cannot be reached by walking “more East”.
Perfection cannot be achieved by trying harder.
And what are we if not perfect?
Falling. Like a pebble.
Man lives in a dark room.
He picks up shadows and throws them on the wall to improve his situation.
Black begets black. Evil begets evil.
No matter his feigned intentions, this is the way man kills himself.
This poem was written July 06, 2012.
I’m tortured, beaten, whipped, punished, bitten, cut, stabbed, torn, heartbroken, and surrounded by people who love me. I’m abused, used, and tossed away, and not a single person hates me. I’m useless, weak, falling, dashed, and everyone sacrifices themselves for me. I’m struck and bruised when you stretch out a hand to help me up. I bleed where you caress me. My bones break when you try to hug me. My ears ring when you say “I love you”.
I lose my sight when you turn on the light.
So I run from you. I hide so you can’t slice my heart with caring words. I shield myself from you so you can’t shoot me with selflessness. I strike back in anger so your love won’t kill me.
I seized fear as my weapon, for it is the eternal enemy of love. If I make you scared of me, it hampers the love. And I did.
But it didn’t.
When the sky fades, the earth quakes
And everyone is shown as fakes,
What you know is gone, what you fear is near
When real is wrong, and wrong is here
“Give up your ways! Forsake your flaws!”
(They close their ears, march in the jaws)
We will survive, we have our laws!
“You are dying! Drop the knife!”
(In unison they exit life)
We will live, but here’s no strife
They are falling (no, they are we!)
He is dead (it’s us, not he!)
She needs to wake (it is you, not she!)
All are broken and must be fixed
(You must see it’s us, or we’ll ne’er be free)
I once struck a man in anger, with a small statuette.
I dropped it to the floor as he fell, too, and watched the blood flow from his head.
Though as I gazed at the pool of crimson and began to realize what I had done,
I felt a snap and saw a vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was inside his body, flowing, coursing, full of life and giving life.
He grew to raise a family, love his wife, and love his kids.
He helped his coworkers and encouraged them.
He donated to charities, and those charities helped many.
Some of those many improved their lives and helped many more.
As his sons, daughters, wife, and coworkers also were given life by him and gave life,
I saw his blood flow into their veins and spread, infecting countless others with love.
Houses filled with light and laughter
Streets were peopled by happy beings.
A woman comforted a girl in the loss of a friend, holding the sobbing face to her caring chest.
A poor man gave his only coat to a cold orphan boy on the curb, smiling through weathered lips.
I saw all this life,
And it was an ocean.
A flash of light and sound, and I saw another vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was outside his body, flowing, coursing, void of life and stealing life.
As it touched me, I joined it as blood, boiling and bubbling with hate.
As our blood ran down the busy metropolis street of life, it would touch people it came across.
When it did so, they would melt also into a mass of red, splashing outward, and infecting others.
Everyone touched would gasp and turn to scarlet, turning the shop-lined street into a river of blood.
Countless lives were consumed in this manner.
At one point, I finally pooled at the bottom of the street, and stared back from where I came.
The street was now dark and desolate, the bustling life gone.
The shops empty, the skies grey, the ground littered.
A finch plucked strands from a red-stained straw hat, to make a bed of death.
A mangy alley dog lapped up the blood that still coated the street, becoming only more hideous.
And all was quiet, and I was utterly alone, but for the screams of their blood in my ears.
I saw all this death,
And it was an ocean.
A jolt, and I opened my eyes.
I found myself staring at the blood running from the man’s head in front of me.
A few seconds later and I realized again what I had done.
But I realized something else as well.
I tore my shirt and tightly wrapped his head in the cloth.
I lifted him up and took him to the hospital.
There I sat and awaited my punishment.
And took joy in life.
This poem was written March 15, 2012.
Why am I so worthless?
Why do I feel like I just don’t belong?
Like I’m sinning by existing?
That I’m nothing but a bothersome burden?
Everything I do provokes yelling.
Everything I say provokes reprimand.
Wherever I go is evil.
And whoever I am needs to be “fixed”.
All my choices are marked “crazy”
And my parents whisper behind my back.
I let them think I can’t hear them
But I hear every word and feel every sting.
Do I give a shit? I act like I don’t
And shoot down those who think I do.
But I do care. I care a lot.
I’m just so soft that I must attack to live.
I feel as if I don’t know anything but pain
And I’ll never be able to accept anything else.
I certainly have difficulty receiving love.
One loves me, and I feel rotten for having trouble loving her.
Why is this so hard?
I’m supposed to be the selfless one,
The one to take all their strife, so they can live.
But the side-effect is that I die.
Even then, I can’t do my duty
Because of “equal exchange”.
Giving my life helps no one
Because it isn’t worth enough to give.
But then again, I’m condemned even now
By myself, for just voicing my complaints.
Because that’s all they are. Whines.
I mean, there are starving kids in China, afterall.
I want your touch
I want your kiss
I want your hug
You I miss
I want you close
I want you near
I want you as my
To stroke your hair
To feel you live
To hold your hand
I would give
Baby, we will
I'll love you now
This poem was written March 8, 2012.
My heart sits here, a scarlet cup
Empty, waiting to be filled up.
Vultures fly through and pick it dry,
A loss I take with a sad sigh.
I'm used to this, always the same,
A drop of love; a flood of shame.
What is this? The sun cried a tear.
This drop of life is falling near.
The vultures flee, chased by its light,
Strikes my heart, brings purity bright.
Filled with pow'r that none can contest,
You are perfect, love, and my best.
This poem was written February 15, 2012.
A drip, a drop, a blot of blood
Colors my page, unleashing flood
Emotions, words (aren't they the same?)
On my paper, they share a name:
When the rain falls down
And there's sadness all around
Your hands reach through
And wake me up anew
At your touch I feel a jolt
With rebirth start to molt
Skin quickly falls away
As your heart holds mine sway
I have died, and gladly so
Only better in your throes
From your love I am alive
As you and I we'll thrive.
This poem was written January 31, 2012.
Scale the wall. Fear is a dream, tearing down the seams.
Fear is a terror.
Scale the wall. Fear is a cloud, filling skies with doubt.
Fear is my error.
Scale the wall. Fear is the potion, setting dark to motion.
Fear is text box my burden to bear.
Scale the wall.
Fear is my shame to wear.
Managed by God alone, or else I could not bear.
Conquered by God Himself, my burden; His share.
Hope lies on the other side
Ready to embrace and support
Life's eternal goodness.
What see I sitting on her knees? It’s you
A part of nature you are this morning.
A silhouette against the sky in blue.
Atop a cliff, the earth to you doth sing.
I stand in awe of grace so beautiful
From you just sitting still in lone repose.
While standing watching this, I feel a pull
To greet you and give you a fitting rose.
Then suddenly I am beside you now.
For how I came, I can’t begin to guess.
But as you turn and smile, I take a vow:
I will not ever this moment repress.
I could forever now sit here with you,
In fact that is just what I plan to do.
I climbed the mountain, the morning bright
I stopped to breathe, and caught a sight
Filthy ruins, dark and dead
Half yet standing of a homestead
Dust and dirt crumbled down
So still it was, and with no sound.
But as I wandered close to look
I spied a window by a nook
Such a poor, abandoned thing,
Yet as I watched, the sight began to sing.
This was no victim, though hardships seen
Not just a survivor; thriving keen.
It sat as a family lit its world
And endured after their bodies curled.
I peered through it, from within to out
And experienced the furthest thing from a drought.
Window had rested since then in calm and peace
Of the wild, as life began, lived, and ceased.
When I really looked at Window as more than thing
It outlined the landscape in a glorious ring
Forests, hills, flowers, deer, and sun
Came alive through Window, the silent one.
My shell; has not been done
And Hell; saved by none
Save me, save me, cry I loud
I can't escape this evil shroud
Beset by shadow: vile, strong
I cannot hold out very long
Collapsing, sinking in this mire
Lost forever in the fire
I'm falling, dying because of you
Standing there, strong and true
It's my end for I do hide
My plight from you (take in stride)
You're perfect, shining Princess bright
That's why I die alone (all my might)
Because I love you.