dwayne-eugene-littleton
To some Poetry is an art or form...it's an inward reflection of the external way we perceive things...housed in the body of an ink pen, marker, or pencil, guided by the reflective thoughts of the eyes, through the reservoirs of the heart, down to the fingertips, bleeding out life's interpretations onto blank pages of nothingness -Golgotha316 / / All of my work posted here are my original pieces of poetry / Copyright ©2001-2016 Dwayne E. Littleton All Rights Reserved~
For a moment there
I was seduced
because
her breast
was a
CANCER
to my
awareness
because I lost my sense of self
and who I was
and what I should be doing,
truly a victim
of them,
but moreso,
due to
what seemed
to be
her...
BE-YOU-tifully
intelligent.
But it was all smoking mirrors
of errors and "a" let down
with turning smiles
now made upside
down.
Deceived
of my
self.
No on else to blame.
Now,
as I sat
down,
with my head down,
from the let down,
it was the bottom
that I rediscovered my sense,
regaining my source of
strength...
...and as I walked away
looking over my shoulder
slightly to the right,
I was sad from the thought
that she too was lost...
...and only time
was able to convey this
Truth.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
In silence I sit not knowing
what to hear, feel, or say anymore.
My skin tingles
and the eyes of my mind
have become blind with numbness.
My heart is asleep,
waiting to be desensitized,
re-awakened,
reborn, and
resuscitated with
new life,
self revived, born anew.
There is a variance and void playing hopscotch
along a traveled path
In my heart and mind
seemingly endless.
I,
I have forgotten myself and
the meaning of my life is diluted with
self medicated thoughts and inhibitions.
I have missed my destination three times,
To the fourth power.
In self discovery, recovery is born and
I, momentarily, have stopped listening
to the malicious ridicule and flippant mockery of the many voices that
formerly apprehended me.
I am the earth inside myself, a genesis formed,
and as new light sheds away my former darkness,
I embrace the despotism of my soul, binding it's brokenness;
emancipating the heaviness of my vision so the he that is truly
in me, is able to
see and know his greatness.
The incarnate,
incarcerated inception brings life to procured thoughts
and in the imagination of my good self
I sit in silence waiting for the
final contraction to
push
me out
into my purpose
that was bred into
the fibers of
my soul, ages ago.
I have watched the sun rise and the moon set many seasons.
I have seen the sun creep through the valleys of my barrenness
casting an eclipse of validation on false evidence;
realities, appearing real,
and the shadow of death
that has threatened to compromise my life,
many times over,
I
no
longer
fear.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
He looks with intent
as he stares beyond her eyes,
to the core of her being,
uniting with something within
her soul.
The face of love, her counterpart
Looks back at him
with anticipation
waiting for words to form,
speaking sounds of harmony;
His music playing distantly
within the depths of her heart.
His desire for her is coiled tightly around the
framework of her soul.
There is a secret place within her
where her adoration for him causes
the joints and the marrow to meet, and the
nucleus of their yearning divides
and reforms many times over
forging a stronger bond;
The spirit of Agape is born in the season of its place
beyond the dividing asunder.
The innocence of passion precedes His advancement towards her
and time takes a picture
capturing their beauty.
She tilts her head slightly to the left
as if she is rebalancing the motion of Jupiter’s axis
and here their lips embrace ,
and for a small moment,
they are trapped in the destiny of their
own eternity.
They speak secrets of intimacy
whispering in duality; two voices echoing;
¿Ven a pasar su vida con mi amor?
smiling from the inside out
and all of the components of their relationship
lay abreast arresting hope,
sentencing their love to life.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
10/8/2013
Hey
Ive been away for quite a while, seriously missing my new found family here at Hello Poetry...kind of going through some personal, professional and financial challenges as we all do...I've allowed those that dont mean me well the "temporary" victory...and even felt like giving up and throwing in the towel at one point (but not quite to the point of death)...but I feel that we all reach this point at least one time in a life time of many experiences whether good or bad. I haven't had the desire to write or express myself because I am stuck and wallowing in my own self pity and despair, depleted of strength. Some have caused me great malice, and up until this point I've resisted to the impulses and feelings to lash out...back, against them, but a person can only take so much and I know that violence only begats violence, and ignorance, ignorance, so please...can someone, anyone...revive me, resusitate me...and just breathe life into these dry bones that have become shallow and empty with thoughts of anger, frustration, doubt, procratination and guilt...just shoot me a few words of encouragement...lift me up...I will surely pay it forward when I regain my strength and confidence...for I AM NOT a quitter....selah
~Dwayne~
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
Yesterday’s sketching repainted tomorrow’s fruit.
Madly,
Love plunging through compressed artistic desire,
Found poetry on a piece of
Old scratch paper laughing with glee
As it avoided life’s garbage pail…again.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Counterpart opposite
and depleted by measures of time.
Time no longer counted upon
And its hands that measures the distance
All
one, two, three
of
them
Watches closely with intuition
as
the
minutes
go
bye.
Resolute is absent and the balance of His nature
Is unstable.
Both have grown feeble, lacking interest.
Burdened down by the weight of unevenness
Absalom has risen above the absence of the absolute
leading to a labyrinth.
.
Mystified by the maze,
He
Sits,
counting backwards,
rotating on an unhinged alignment,
expounding the injury of His inventiveness.
In another dimension of Himself, all one, two, three of them
Helios is staggered as Cupid, The God of Dark Love’s
Bow
is broken.
Now
His
equilibrium
is
faltered by the parallels between its thoughts.
Wanting love’s incarceration corrupted no more
He teeters on a stool in attempt to reverse suicide
yet the ensuing ideology of procrastination’s pride
has detoured His dilemma
However in their misfortune,
Love,
hoping to be reincarnate into another lifetime, dissolves in its delusion.
Time, in its barrenness discreetly measures the depletion and void,
and
the hands
all one, two, three of Him sits opposite
Being His
Counter in
Part
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Generations pass as autonomy eludes us denying us the opportunity
to reach for liberality.
Indifference, being a predecessor, digs shallow graves in so many ways,
Watching heritage that once was become something uncanny,
Unrecognizably lingering; lifeless.
Racial force fields, forces fields of incarcerated thoughts to take root,
Keeping us from seeing beyond ourselves,
and
The barriers built to keep those out,
only keep us,
from letting us, to allow others in,
and trust is placed on trial,
looking at a life sentence of death, unaware of its opportunity
to freely avail or elude it’s predicament.
If only it would appeal to the counsel of the majority.
Stubbornness sometimes refuses to embrace what we know needs to
be confronted in order to bring about change,
unifying an outside world
where life is not always fair and those around us calculate thoughts to hinder our progression.
We live in a place of democracy and disdain where street corner pharmaceuticals
****** the weary,
where adolescent girls are forced to become
teenage mothers or prostitutes,
where empty baseball diamonds and dugouts
are replaced by thick scaling barb wired walls and gray barred cells,
where young men and women trade their age multiplied for the number they will where in a system for life, and
where the sound of a crying disappointed child is exchanged for anger and abuse,
in the absence of a father or mother figure,
figuratively disfigured and lost in translation;
an abandonment of generations past.
Who will lead and guide us?
Who will plead and advocate on our behalf?
Who will stand in the gap?
Who will lead us past the captive mind to captivate hearts?
Who will provide the keys to unlock and break us free?
Free from the broken barriers that divide us?
~
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Oh Atlantis where art thou?
Deep within the abyss, far beyond the maze of madness,
bewildered in the wilderness, hungry 40 days.
Hidden from thine eyes are journeys unexplored
where life begins within.
How do I summarize what lies within the mind of your mankind,
being of a kind, man in kind.
Concealed in the center of your mental’s universe,
dictating life’s travesties and endeavors.
Stories unfold, as the ages pass unfolding reality, unraveling the mystery
of the conscious deep inside.
For what hath thou experienced?
And what doth thou have to give?
Wisdom forever disputes thine intellects irregularities.
Forewarning us
of the days to come
embracing the adventures that lie ahead.
Trial dare not stop us
hinder us
or beget us.
We must fight through the mystery of your history
overcoming adversity and demise,
triumphantly striving.
Many uncharted paths lie ahead
therefore unlock your iron gates, which gives us vision.
Bid us to come in.
Release what the pulse knows true.
Breakaway from the pain that has you chained, hiding beneath,
aiding and abetting prophesy,
so that those beyond will see…
Oh Atlantis…Where art thou?
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
From a pulsating heart…ecstasy encloses gentle utterances…
Causing your body to collapse inside with butterflies
Desiring a soft sensation of love without pain…
Something gentle evolves…unlearned…a yearning.
The birth of innocent emotions comes anew, and…
With a whispering acapella sounding in the distance,
Charity is melodically voiced proudly…
Aloud…unconditional.
© 2003
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
It is said, to overcome and conquer and enemy,
You have to know him better than you know yourself.
This enemy I know well.
He plays on me to my strength,
but I will not be drawn in,
enticed by,
or seduced in this intellectual exchange,
a battle of the soul’s wit.
He encamps around about me
picking at the scabs of my many afflictions
until they bleed out my many transgressions and memories displaced.
He knows my innermost secrets.
He hides in the shadows of my fallacies articulating my intentions,
plotting on my next move.
He strikes with malice in his right hand,
and with fear and intimidation in his left
releasing the venom of self deception,
paralysis to my self, esteemed.
He knows me well; falling back into the abyss
of my many false realities created by my conscious,
he
knows
me.
In the end I count my losses, bludgeoned by defeat, but
his miscalculations has not seen the prophecies foretold as
I have sewn seeds of new life in the fields of my emptiness.
This is a warring encounter unrelenting,
fighting me to my end.
Although outwitted by my ingenuity,
He attempts to still chain, restrain and defame my life to be,
but I will not give in.
I know my nemesis
very
well.
For he, is me…
My own worst enemy.
© 2013
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC