keith-black - Hello Poetry

Some people make me feel heavy... They carry their woes chained to the past -- Eyes low, downcast. Stressing each breath as though it were their last. And I wonder how long it takes to be comfortable with the weight of dead dreams. How do they walk around With the burden of unburied bones on their backs? Held by conditions of the mind. Burdened by the size of their gravitas And they’re falling... Into themselves crushed by the weight of their own contentment. That fatal attraction to complacency -- A gravity to destruction -- A psyche made of black holes. Their thoughts are collapsing When their microcosms meet reality Imploding delusions radiating that hopeless flare. A signal for help. The meltdown, a mental Chernobyl. I’m just waiting to for them to blow up praying there won’t be any casualties. Blow up Inflated egos with hot air And dead works As they babble on in Babylon Spoon fed trash. Faith has no room to operate in a mind of science. What is hope when proof dictates belief? So they have erected Babel’s Tower in their hearts And loan themselves to a system of debt. Invest their golden years as sacrificial time Traded for the wisdom that opened the door to death. If the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, Then knowledge without fear is the beginning of pride. That monster... Shadow of “I am... That stands in the light of the court proclaiming his dominance as the reigning king. Adamant to follow in the footsteps Adam went. The way they lean to their own understanding Until their spines break under the weight of their egos Teetering over the tightrope’s edge. The fall of the fallen is written in their genes Ironed by the conditioned mind. The crease, a solid line between right and wrong They attempt to re-appropriate with the folds of personal truths. Dry cleaned to a false sense of purity Marks that won’t quite come out Stain the fabrics of time. Their morality is a matter of opinion. The cross they bare crushes with neglected facts hidden in plain sight. They embrace fantasies like pillows of bubbles Alarmed when their resting place pops under uncertainty. And they’re falling... In the depths of a dream scared to wake Drowning in their subconscious. So heavy are the lungs With the labor of life. So heavy are their eyes With the labor of attention. Though winged like eagles They have traded flight for earthly pleasures. Lowered their sights from heavenly castles To these fleeting natural treasures. Regal royalty out of place from their thrones Bowing prostrate before rulers with no measure. Give them an inch Now they must slave on their feet To the yard they ***** pyramids for miles and miles and miles. Standard measures for standard living When they choose to cover their world In darkness' cold blanket And invite the warmth of temptation into their beds Sleeping with the enemy unable to satiate The Deadly Seven. Carnal lusts mixed with greed It’s in gluttony they trust Envy to spurn ambitions Too slothful to accept the mission So they whisper a prayer full of doubt hoping he’ll listen Ignited by wrath at the answers condition. They point a finger up at He Puffed up pride with the audacity To curse His name - ****** bitter blasphemy. It’s on his children they blame The disposition of their fortune Not realizing those without these familial ties Are all out cutting deals with lady luck. Many are bound to get stuck. Meanwhile I sit on Cloud 9 Tracing silver linings in dark skies Wishing I could rend the firmament to show them heaven is but a thought away. To believe is the only way I know to escape this purgatory Called life. One must learn to flow with the wind like a leaf To move with His perfect will guided by invisible hands. If these heavy souls could but release the reigns And give him a little control. Remember the authority placed in them… Let Him shoulder their burdens. Their steps will no longer carry the weight of oppression. They would remember their wings to fly. They would remember just how light it feels to be Alive.

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Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC

keith-black

Weight of the Fallen

Some people make me feel heavy... They carry their woes chained to the past -- Eyes low, downcast. Stressing each breath as though it were their last. And I wonder how long it takes to be comfortable with the weight of dead dreams. How do they walk around With the burden of unburied bones on their backs? Held by conditions of the mind. Burdened by the size of their gravitas And they’re falling... Into themselves crushed by the weight of their own contentment. That fatal attraction to complacency -- A gravity to destruction -- A psyche made of black holes. Their thoughts are collapsing When their microcosms meet reality Imploding delusions radiating that hopeless flare. A signal for help. The meltdown, a mental Chernobyl. I’m just waiting to for them to blow up praying there won’t be any casualties. Blow up Inflated egos with hot air And dead works As they babble on in Babylon Spoon fed trash. Faith has no room to operate in a mind of science. What is hope when proof dictates belief? So they have erected Babel’s Tower in their hearts And loan themselves to a system of debt. Invest their golden years as sacrificial time Traded for the wisdom that opened the door to death. If the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, Then knowledge without fear is the beginning of pride. That monster... Shadow of “I am... That stands in the light of the court proclaiming his dominance as the reigning king. Adamant to follow in the footsteps Adam went. The way they lean to their own understanding Until their spines break under the weight of their egos Teetering over the tightrope’s edge. The fall of the fallen is written in their genes Ironed by the conditioned mind. The crease, a solid line between right and wrong They attempt to re-appropriate with the folds of personal truths. Dry cleaned to a false sense of purity Marks that won’t quite come out Stain the fabrics of time. Their morality is a matter of opinion. The cross they bare crushes with neglected facts hidden in plain sight. They embrace fantasies like pillows of bubbles Alarmed when their resting place pops under uncertainty. And they’re falling... In the depths of a dream scared to wake Drowning in their subconscious. So heavy are the lungs With the labor of life. So heavy are their eyes With the labor of attention. Though winged like eagles They have traded flight for earthly pleasures. Lowered their sights from heavenly castles To these fleeting natural treasures. Regal royalty out of place from their thrones Bowing prostrate before rulers with no measure. Give them an inch Now they must slave on their feet To the yard they ***** pyramids for miles and miles and miles. Standard measures for standard living When they choose to cover their world In darkness' cold blanket And invite the warmth of temptation into their beds Sleeping with the enemy unable to satiate The Deadly Seven. Carnal lusts mixed with greed It’s in gluttony they trust Envy to spurn ambitions Too slothful to accept the mission So they whisper a prayer full of doubt hoping he’ll listen Ignited by wrath at the answers condition. They point a finger up at He Puffed up pride with the audacity To curse His name - ****** bitter blasphemy. It’s on his children they blame The disposition of their fortune Not realizing those without these familial ties Are all out cutting deals with lady luck. Many are bound to get stuck. Meanwhile I sit on Cloud 9 Tracing silver linings in dark skies Wishing I could rend the firmament to show them heaven is but a thought away. To believe is the only way I know to escape this purgatory Called life. One must learn to flow with the wind like a leaf To move with His perfect will guided by invisible hands. If these heavy souls could but release the reigns And give him a little control. Remember the authority placed in them… Let Him shoulder their burdens. Their steps will no longer carry the weight of oppression. They would remember their wings to fly. They would remember just how light it feels to be Alive.

103

She sits with me in darkness Exhaling miasma in my lungs. The clock ticks within my pockets. Poison leaking from my tongue. Still she sits with me in darkness Holding tightly to my shame. Silence of the lamb, so heartless The shepherd has forgot my name. So she sits with me in darkness Preying on my pain. The antithesis of a goddess This demon dwells within my brain. Still she sits with me in darkness Her identity is clear. Dear failure’s main accomplice And her name is Lady Fear.

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Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC

keith-black

Lady Fear

She sits with me in darkness Exhaling miasma in my lungs. The clock ticks within my pockets. Poison leaking from my tongue. Still she sits with me in darkness Holding tightly to my shame. Silence of the lamb, so heartless The shepherd has forgot my name. So she sits with me in darkness Preying on my pain. The antithesis of a goddess This demon dwells within my brain. Still she sits with me in darkness Her identity is clear. Dear failure’s main accomplice And her name is Lady Fear.

16

I meant it to be A beautiful moment Now punctuated By wet apostrophes. My possessive nature hangs on high Claiming accountability For the balance of these events. The credit of her salted raindrops Deposited in my heart’s ocean Is a debit of worry In our joint account of emotion. But I know… The morning was still But my blood raced. I placed kisses On her window sills As she opens the gates of her face. To meet her gaze For accepted entrance To the garden of Eden. Though her rivers were flowing My ark was a rubber tree So we forced the dam open Which caused a flood of memories To rush her veins. She turned Eve recalling Adam’s selfish lust In my eyes And locked up. Never expecting that I’d cause The chains of her past to bind her so painfully I stopped. But I know… How she blankets herself In the wounds He inflicted. Like a burn victim Feigning strength When every move hurts. I offered to be a brick house Wherein she can be glass. A fragile rainstorm With cries of thunder. Though she’s the one apologizing I’m the one that feels at fault As I wipe the tears that threaten to stain her pillow. I wash the burning desire for her cavity Out of my soul. This sweet tooth Has crumbled our rites of passion. So in my love, I’ll abstain From hurting her again To soothe the pain She holds firm in her brain.

0

Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC

keith-black

Tears After ***

I meant it to be A beautiful moment Now punctuated By wet apostrophes. My possessive nature hangs on high Claiming accountability For the balance of these events. The credit of her salted raindrops Deposited in my heart’s ocean Is a debit of worry In our joint account of emotion. But I know… The morning was still But my blood raced. I placed kisses On her window sills As she opens the gates of her face. To meet her gaze For accepted entrance To the garden of Eden. Though her rivers were flowing My ark was a rubber tree So we forced the dam open Which caused a flood of memories To rush her veins. She turned Eve recalling Adam’s selfish lust In my eyes And locked up. Never expecting that I’d cause The chains of her past to bind her so painfully I stopped. But I know… How she blankets herself In the wounds He inflicted. Like a burn victim Feigning strength When every move hurts. I offered to be a brick house Wherein she can be glass. A fragile rainstorm With cries of thunder. Though she’s the one apologizing I’m the one that feels at fault As I wipe the tears that threaten to stain her pillow. I wash the burning desire for her cavity Out of my soul. This sweet tooth Has crumbled our rites of passion. So in my love, I’ll abstain From hurting her again To soothe the pain She holds firm in her brain.

53

There was a time that I'd forgotten when the days were dark and blue. Trapped within the crayon box I wished for brighter hues. Wrestled in a wrapper I was labeled by my shade. Treated like the outcast Melting in their cheap parade. I watched my morals bleed Tainted as the colors blend. Murky pools of semblance Stiff and rigid afraid to bend. "Do it like the others," The instructions that they said Sinking in the sea of masses Afraid to lead thus I was led. I was the crayon soldier. They knew me by my lines Drawn by my integrity Sharpened by my mind. I feared they'd never see The depth of my true worth. For they only saw the color That I've donned since my first birth. I've learned to brush aside The bitter darker energy. Colored outside the lines. Embraced my creativity. Unwound my paper wrapper Took my first free breath. Learned to have real laughter Plotted out my future steps. Now I create life on a page Giving peace to aching hearts. This crayon has left the box - Share my truths within my art.

0

Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC

keith-black

THE CRAYON SOLDIER

There was a time that I'd forgotten when the days were dark and blue. Trapped within the crayon box I wished for brighter hues. Wrestled in a wrapper I was labeled by my shade. Treated like the outcast Melting in their cheap parade. I watched my morals bleed Tainted as the colors blend. Murky pools of semblance Stiff and rigid afraid to bend. "Do it like the others," The instructions that they said Sinking in the sea of masses Afraid to lead thus I was led. I was the crayon soldier. They knew me by my lines Drawn by my integrity Sharpened by my mind. I feared they'd never see The depth of my true worth. For they only saw the color That I've donned since my first birth. I've learned to brush aside The bitter darker energy. Colored outside the lines. Embraced my creativity. Unwound my paper wrapper Took my first free breath. Learned to have real laughter Plotted out my future steps. Now I create life on a page Giving peace to aching hearts. This crayon has left the box - Share my truths within my art.

36