Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
T 2d
Most times we hide and seclude ....just to elude
To lie and cheat....something we repeat
There is a way out you need to discover the road to recover
I will not lie it's a long and tedious ride.....but once you hit your stride.......it's all in God's and your hands
Time will tell if the recovery will jell
Keep your head in the air....and do not be ashamed you are not the one to be blamed


Just remember don't look to the future it's only for today....once a day

God belss
I don’t really own my body with you.
When you say something kind,
it softens, and I feel at ease.
And when we descend into darkness,
everything inside me tightens.

I only really get to keep my mind –⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠
the final stronghold.
But it’s bleak in there too,
because on every single wall,
there’s a painting of you.
preist
are
men
who
hide
behind
their
thick black robes
thus
make
confessions
to
holy statues
and
paintings
inside
the
church walls
and
whispering still
their
confessions
again and again
of
other
man
who
cheat and steal
yes
these
priest
are men
because
these
priest
are real
Not gone,
You are just farther,
Far from me.
When it gets darker,
You are just farther.
Hanging in the expanse
Like a crystal.
Staring at your home,
You are not gone.

An extra in the collection.
A collection of infinite
Sea of stars,
And pages of memory.
Some packed in my skull,
Some hanging out
Like a treasury.
Staring at your home,
You are not gone.
In loving memory of my grandma....................
Autumn is calling...
It's the perfect time to take a leisurely stroll
through the forest, breathe in the crisp air
and enjoy the magical views that autumn offers.
Under the canopy of shimmering gold, red and orange,
where the symphony of rustling leaves
plays a soothing melody, if you listen carefully.
I watch nostalgic shops come down and malls rise up—
mauling the memories I once had of me growing up;
Old theatres turned into churches— looking fancy now,
as if church was always about that constant outward wow.
And I question if the practice echoes all that they preach—
the birth, the walk, the cross, the rise, and the reach
of Jesus—exactly what the Gospel of Luke is about—
But it's just loud; more about, what a good look is about.

An unfamiliar reflection grins from this house—
built up for the buzz, and chasing every new bounce.
Busy like a bee's buzz, grinding daily with mugs in hand,
all of us are chasing a good kind buzz in a restless land.
But I knew my youth had quietly slipped away
when I stopped sprinting to match its pace each day…

I just pause and recall how life once came wrapped—
the best gifts were in the present, untouched, perhaps.
And to admire it all like a lover I once held tight—
a fleeting embrace, now only found in a silent night.
She’s both a memory and a moment I meant—
constantly arriving early, and urging me to repent.

So I write, not for fame, but for legacy's seed—
literally a literary testimony – my children will read.
Not just someone who preached, loud and devout,
but one who lived it—so much they breathed it out.
Next page