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Fueled
Inspired
Awakened
Restored

In-tuned
Inlined
Enlightened
H­eartened

Guided
Filled
Swarmed
Called

United
Bewildered
Trained­
Equipped

I am a Filipino
Youth of today's
Man of future
For God's glory.
I'd always like to think that Your skin
is studded with a billion diamonds
for its lustrous clarity and sheer fortitude.
Your teeth to me are pearls precisely sculpted,
and Your every smile is a radiant beam of sunshine.
Your hair is a fathomless ocean
with mysteries hidden within its tangles;
my hands sail through Your smooth locks.
The creases of Your palms
are as deep as canyons
laden with abundant streams of blessings beneath.
Your voice is music:
as piercing as an orchestra of thunders,
yet also as gentle as a raindrop
sliding down a blade of grass.
And in Your eyes I see the universe.
I look closely and see
that those twinkles are actually
supernovas exploding and galaxies colliding.
And like the universe,
Your eyes engulf the entirety of my being.

You are Beauty.
You are Glory.
You are.
You come to me in splinters.
I drive them in, you smile at the agony.
Punctured skin brings ribbons,
cascading life in scarlet.
My suffering, your solace.
Push deeper, let them grind against brittle bone, tear at tendon and humming vessels.
That we may feel something beyond this quiet comfort.
We drove 70 on 88.
We'd be a blur of gray
if some photographer was studying
the shutter speed of his camera.

This land has no trees to breathe
back into this earth,
no mountains to reach up
and stab at the sky.

These fields are eternal,
and in winter when the sky is faint
with clouds and the ground gray
with aging snow like old men,
the horizon blends into nothing.
Nobody can see where
this earth ends and the sky begins.

I will never escape this place;
this universe of physics and evolution.
Like old trees in a winter wind,
I will erode like dead, frozen roots.
Somewhere, in a polished wooden box,
they'll remember me in my best clothes.
A tear for the fallen
A shadow hiding behind the cover
A dew drop on a leaf
Blown out into the open by the wind.
A song for the dreamer
As he puts the rope around his neck
A letter for the lover
As she walks off with another man.
A kiss on the cheek
Before they close the lid of his coffin

Everything has an ending
As the colors fade into nothing
Every hello and goodbye
Every tear and smile
Every moment to behold
This life has its closing act
A scene of exit,
Where your choices, you make
As you define yourself
The way you sign your name
A billion people around the world
Living and breathing
Every act, every take
Every decision, every stake
Does it leave a mark?
Does it change a heart?
Both the tears that live in sorrows
along with tears born from pain
Echo through the lost tomorrows
that will never come again

For I had closed my heart away
as to hide behind a door
So the longing I'd kept at bay
would trouble my soul no more

With the storms brought by the spring
came the April winds sublime
The children's happy feet now sing
pitter-patter keeping time

I kept the promise to my heart
burning love has kept me warm
I'll ready for the end in part
with my back turned toward the storm

The sun did set upon my chest
as lost, love cried out in me
“Give me life or give me rest"
was the sound of my hearts plea

Tate

© 2014 Tate Morgan
Written
March 2, 2014
Original
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1323374/
Life rarely allows us the chance to look back upon our lives and appreciate the struggles we have endured.
This is the poem about itself
In a futile attempt at meta cognition
Why would a poem detest its own self?
Why bother discerning purpose beyond all else

Why do I consider myself an anathema
When others behold and perceive me as beautiful
I'm devoid of a body to do anything dutiful
Nothing prepossessing, not even a cuticle


For what, after all, what role do I play
In a convulsive storm of life each grim day
Bleak—the subtlety of shame, agony of dull pain
Haunting me! What less may I speak

I constantly ponder my creator's reason
For penning me in that malevolent season
Was I evoked by boredom or pain?
My consistency only denotes dismay.


This is the poem about itself
Ruminating the hell of all hells
A poem of darkness, perplexity too
What is my meaning, why?—I now ask you
Wrote this with my best friend. Her stanzas are in italics(:
My love for you was kerosene on fire
The fire that burnt daisies
And fulfilled my every desire
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