Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jun 2015 · 546
union
md-writer Jun 2015
half-form words....

sentences brok
en in two

thoughts never brought to

    wishes stuck
the  inside   confines
     of my head

dreams of golden castles and...
...ever after:
half-dreamt

lose the shackles
of this life
find the whole
among the many
broken parts

no thread completes
the picture

all
by itself

lines brokenly straight, if all alone -

there is purpose
beauty
promise
in the broken and the
shattered dream

each fragment fused
defines the fullness
of the frame

and beauty from the watered ash
will rise

for

together broken
           is
together whole
I find it so amazing how Jesus takes us, broken and fallen apart, and puts us in Himself and thus in His body, the church. And in Him, we become whole. In union with the other broken members, we can together become something beautiful and whole. And to think that this is what God will do with the whole world in the end! Take all the broken parts and fuse them together to make a beautiful and amazing whole. I can't wait to see it.
Jun 2015 · 667
fade
md-writer Jun 2015
i watch you fade
into the night
of formless shadows
shapeless sins

they swirl around you
before the strike
of deathly terrors
shrieking fiends

breathe it in
you say
to hold the
powers of darkness
at bay

let them in
and they will play
a little pain
like dancing splashes
of pouring rain
so quickly gone

keep them out
and they will rend
the very fibers of your soul
and when your blood
drips
upon the thirsty ground
they will stoop to smell
your fear

so breath it in
the darkling mist
come let them play
within the midst
of all your halfway
dreams
and thoughts of bliss

-

but in the end
the deepest pit
by spoonfuls dug
tick by tock
a dragon's bane
may prove

and
if the gifting shadows
fade
you will see
in the looking-glass
not your own
but the mirror of a madman
driven by
that
precious fear
to sell the soul
of all that he holds dear
drugs, alcohol, escapism - it's all a lie
Jun 2015 · 902
it is just before the end
md-writer Jun 2015
now final loss
is speaking close
i don't know how
but here it is
and fallen clouds
that cannot float
lie scattered on the ground

i look up at the
brazen curve

the ancient cage
of stifled gleams
beats into me

and just before the end
it's all a dream
i cannot seem to
understand

the fire of my heart is hot
but coldness sits inside
and rots
the heartache

why the places that i see?
what is here for me?

beyond the ashen hill
i cannot find
the final resting place
i've left behind

before the void comes can you tell
which way the wind blows

or is it just
a silent stillness
on the land
of iron hills and fallen clouds
and solid sky above?

tell me the answers
that i seek to know

perhaps i'll see
the secrets of
my mystery

or else i'll find in something stolen
answers for a broken mind
to feast on
in the day

at night they ****


but trust me, i don't want to die
the broken mind asks, why this pain and suffering? what is the answer? is it pointless in the end? is it just a barren plain of broken dreams? if it doesn't find the answer the broken mind steals the borrowed hopes of lethal dreams
Christ is the answer to the brazen cage. He is coming again.
Jun 2015 · 5.4k
sunset
md-writer Jun 2015
i think
beyond all lies
and twists of personal interpretation
there is a final sunset
somewhere

but the only problem is
i think the road to it
is like the rainbow bridge

you can only walk on it if you're a god

but somehow
a vine seems to grow in me
that will clamber the long divide
of space
and let me glimpse
that sunset

if i remember right
the vine is called connection
to a vital nerve in Christ
and by the life inside
it lays a road of many colors
so i can walk the bridge of colors
and see the colors
that the sun makes
just before the end

but it's not sad at all because
i think the end is like an upside-down horizon
and when the sun goes down
at last
it's rising for the last time
and this time,
it's the Son
And there shall be no sun anymore, for I will be the light of that place forever.
Jun 2015 · 678
i think this means i'm mad
md-writer Jun 2015
because the darkness grew
I lied and said you would help me be strong
but the fires in my eyes came down to roost
and now I can't help but sift through your ashes
to find your bones

is there any way to undo
the knots I tied around you
before I lit those flaming words within your soul?

is there escape from the walls I build
to keep me in?
because I don't mean to build them around you too
but somehow I do
and then we're stuck together

and more ashes litter the floor

afterwards.

can I not do this anymore?
or is there something inside me that
claws its way through my eyeballs
to find your soul and **** it bare
and leave it to dry in the night?

is it me?

I wish i knew if I did this to you,
or if it is the night
inside me
flirting with the day to find
a little spark of
demented happiness
in the screams of your eyes
when you look at me for

who I really am.

you know what? I wish I knew who I was
because lost inside the beating of my heart
I think I see a spot of color
but then it's gone and
I don't know anymore

I don't think I ever did.

Because there's so much more
to being me
than burning you.

I just want to find out what that is
because this demon isn't gonna stop
and I kinda wish it would
because I think my soul

is dying

or maybe life is death drawn out in tiny ebbing circles
like a tiny ebbing tide
and the ashes that I make of you
are the tears of last year's bride
condensed and broken into
microscopic
shards
of

fairydust?
I don't think so....
Jun 2015 · 318
Sometimes
md-writer Jun 2015
Sometimes the more it hurts
          the bigger I smile.
So don't trust my words or my face;
       trust the colors of my soul.

And if you can't see those, then you don't know me
                    well enough to love me
                                        like I need to be loved.
It's hard learning how to see with your eyes closed. But it can be done.
Jun 2015 · 710
Horizon
md-writer Jun 2015
Soulless shadow
sleeping in my arms.
When I look at you
you are no more.

What broke the glass
through which I saw
your soul?

Before the morning dawns
will this dream fade?
Lost like another
Fleeting escapade?

I thought time would

                                          stand still

I shouldn't try thinking.

    I though we could

              until

lights started blinking.

I thought the puppets that
we played with

Could still be real.

But beyond the rim of the edge of the world
Time is no more.
And there the dreams are real.

Can we go there,
maybe?
In another time?

I don't know how to get there,
But with you
                              I
                                        would try.
Heartbreak with a touch of smile at the end.
May 2015 · 895
Instructions
md-writer May 2015
Before I go
There are cookies in the jar
A note on the mirror
A shopping-list on the counter
with a bunch of apples
for the horses.
And I love you forever.
And then he breathed his last.
May 2015 · 2.9k
chicken soup
md-writer May 2015
there is no true end to anything
for every moment
is the beginning
of something new

after the egg,
a chicken
after the chicken,
chicken soup

and after the soup comes something new.
just a small thought





in a big world
but i think we should think it more often
May 2015 · 3.2k
Parallel
md-writer May 2015
I saw two lines running beside each other
on a converging course.
To avoid conjoining before the proper time had come,
I sought to make them parallel;
but now it feels like they are moving
in opposite directions and

I don't know what to do.
Can you help me?
Apr 2015 · 5.2k
cotton candy
md-writer Apr 2015
it's all a buzz inside me
cotton fluffed between my ears
and ceaseless crickets droning,

like a tuning fork that never ends
but always holds the pitch
of time and undivided space.

an empty shell peering out at life
stuffed with eternal noises
of neurons crackling.

where's the fun in cotton candy
when it's stuffed inside my head?
I think I'm describing mental fatigue, but whatever it is, that's what I'm feeling right now. -_-
Apr 2015 · 1.7k
tie me tighter
md-writer Apr 2015
tie those knots around me tighter
don't ever let me out again
or
i'll cut your heart to ribbons when you're
lookin in the mirror

don't you ever give me wiggle-room
a place to fly free again
cuz there's nothin you
can ever gain from me

don't look me in the  face
it will knife you again
just tie the knots tighter
push my black hood back on

i'm a dangerous animal
don't let me go free
keep your eyes safe and look away
or
you'll be the next in line

staring up at me
wondering
how is this
happening
......
so tie those knots around me tighter
don't let me ever out again
or
i'll cut your heart to ribbons when you're
lookin in the mirror
I'm tired of this part of me that does things that makes my heart bleed when I look at myself....
Apr 2015 · 15.4k
Leaves
md-writer Apr 2015
“Whispering together before a storm,
The leaves take counsel;
And some fly down.”
~ Faelda, from Whispers of Nature
md-writer Apr 2015
“The lines of flowing water clashed,
But they had not hardened yet.
The rosebuds that are cut,
May, watered, open still.”
~ Evalinder, from Rosebuds
md-writer Apr 2015
“When rocks shall roll like waves,
Upon a shore of water,
Then only time can say
When the rock-sea shall be smooth.”
~ Evalinder, from Undecided Contraries
md-writer Apr 2015
“She walked into the room with a light,
Noiseless step. But I heard it.
And when she raised her eyes, they found mine.
Then she looked away.”
~ Dariau
Apr 2015 · 2.5k
When hot meets cold...
md-writer Apr 2015
“When hot meets cold and does not melt it,
When flint meets flesh and does not cut it,
When heart meets heart and does not change,
Then you shall know.”
~ Xaldin, from Witch-Wrimes
Apr 2015 · 382
...
md-writer Apr 2015
...
lights go out at night
and nobody cries
but this time the light bulb
brings tears to my eyes

it's just the beginning of a
long lonely life
just the black end
of a brilliant light
Apr 2015 · 532
The Poet
md-writer Apr 2015
The careless page on lamp-stand resting,

With pure white the glow reflecting,

Catches the sore wand’ring stranger’s eye,

And keeps it there without a sigh.

He reads thereon a poet’s verses,

Sore reflecting many hearses,

That should have rightly never rolléd,

Bearing corpses cowl- and hooded.



“Oh, the manner that he writes in!”



Thus the words that cross his cracking lips,

While tears run down to fill the rips.

Then eye, though dimmed, still struggling onward,

Next reads words that turn him upward,

Looking to the bright heav’nly places,

Where God with parted soul paces,

And—leaning down through clouds—soft touches,

Man’s heart so now again he blushes.



“What a manner that he writes in!”



“What god-like genius inspires him so,

Such lofty heights to rise unto?

Do Muses bright surround him—ringéd

In fair halo slight and gilded?

Or warrior-like hews he his figures,

Out of flesh and blood by measures,

‘Til the beauty shining forth o’erwhelms,

All other mortal verséd poems?”



“Which the manner that he writes in?”



Weary much from traveling afar,

The stranger sleeps him under star,

And as he dreams he sees the poet

—Yet in thought he does not know it--

Who sitting desk-bound looks about him,

Searching for poetic fountain;

And ne’er receiv’d he supernal
aid,

But from this life poetry made:


That broad noble brow in thought contracts:

The genius broods; his mind he wracks.

Then eye with pure, clear light shines—spilling

Evanescent* light, so thrilling,

And lip with rev’rent murm’ring carries

Sweet words to ear and gentle lays,

While pen—by trembling fingers wielded--

Marks the page to make sure-founded;



This, the manner that he writes in.
This poem is a refutation of Kharturi supernaturalists who believed that the Attar aided those who devoted themselves to the arts.
Apr 2015 · 556
We are not ours...
md-writer Apr 2015
We are not ours, and we will have to let us go.



Watch her closely as she holds you,

Let her feed and watch you grow,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let her go.

See him smiling as he swings you,

Hold him tight and cuddle close,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let him go.

Kiss their wrinkles as they hug you,

Take their arms and be their cane,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

Hold her hand and let her take you,

To the land of sunset skies,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let her go.

Tell them truly that you love them,

Let them know that you are there,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

Kiss her sweet and let her kiss you,

In the altar’s shadow bright,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let her go.

Love them dearly while you hold them,

Tie their hearts like one with yours,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

See them smiling as you swing them,

Hold them tight and cuddle close,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

Kiss their wrinkles as you hug them,

Take their hearts and hold them tight,

But forget not at their end,

That

You will have to let them go.

Watch them hold hands as they tell you,

Of the land of sunset skies,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

See them stand and pledge before you,

In the altar’s shadow kiss,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.

Hug the children that they bring you,

Let them kiss your wrinkled face,

But forget not in the end,

That

You will have to let them go.



Tell them all how much you love them,

Hold their gaze and squeeze their hands,

For now that you are at the end,

You will have to let them go.

Hold her tight and let her kiss you,

Though your eyes are dim and sore,

For now that you are at the end,

You have to let her go.



Tell this always as you teach them,

That this life is not all ours,

For in the end, remember,

We will have to let us go.
Apr 2015 · 755
Little Old Lady
md-writer Apr 2015
I was walking through the street

With a hollow in my heart,

Aching for the faces I

Will never see again,

When I looked into the chapel

Standing squat on Broad and 4th,

And saw what makes me wonder,

Why we ever venture forth.



A little old lady, a little old lady,

By the open coffin’s side

Staring at the empty face to whom

She is the bride.

An isolated moment where no love

Can ever hide,

A foretaste of the end to which we

Ever closer tide.

A little old lady by the open coffin’s side;

A foretaste of the end to which we

Ever closer tide.



Left behind with broken faces

Staring down into the grave,

It makes me wonder if we’ll always be death’s

Lifelong slave.
I wrote this poem thinking of my widowed grandmother.
Apr 2015 · 381
nobody
md-writer Apr 2015
nobody knows him
nobody cares
nobody sees through
the shades that he wears

nobody holds him
nobody shares
nobody breaks down
the walls that he bears

cuz I'm slick on the outside
dyin on the inside
and nobody knows it
cuz nobody cares

I'm broken like a ***-head
dried out like a ***-shard
someone take my spot please

at the end of the line

cuz I'm laughin on the outside
frozen on the inside
******* in a knot
and hangin from my backside

and nobody knows it
cuz nobody cares
Apr 2015 · 2.3k
fly away
md-writer Apr 2015
ima bend the bars
and watch you fly away
cuz the dreams we made
they aint real anyway

so leave me behind
as my broken wings fade
find the freedom
that i know you crave

dont let me watch you fly away
dont let me keep you here to stay
dont let me bend the bars to keep you in

cuz im gonna let you go
i'm gonna let you go
Sometimes the best thing we can do for someone is to let go...
md-writer Apr 2015
But the way you look at me
Tells me there are tears behind your smile
And a graveside in your mind
Where you sit and wonder
Why he had to leave.

I know I'm not him
But if I can I want to be the
New face of that old love.

The tree that grows up
From the dust of his ashes
To fill the dark void that was
Left by his passing.

Next phase in the old story
Where death begins birth
And new life is a graveyard not yet dug.

— The End —