we write now past anger,
but nearer to the closing
the period of our lives, here,
at the end of this poem
and with every day,
every word, every look,
is now redefined as:
(a state of complete emptiness or destruction barrenness bleakness starkness misery melancholy gloom bareness dismalness grimness aridity sterility wildness anguished misery loneliness despondency despair distress)
now, it too is redefined as:
we can no longer look at our children faces...
Without past, without intervention,
it is spectating.
Memories are few,
present is new,
none can see, and none can hear,
the role of a spectator.
To see yet not do,
to hear yet not say,
spectator are lonely beings.
A single step feels like thousand leaps.
The people are near,
yet sounds are not here.
Fear is near,
but people are nowhere here.
Alone, the fear is severe,
with no one here,
how can I cheer?
no Roots -
They've been ripped
a wandering Soul
Seas of Desolation.
You found peace among the storm
I sought blindly in the distance
Once, our eyes met; no more
Forlorn, begotten, but misplaced
Regret is my eternal lover
We will never be that sultry fate
One missed opportunity at a time, I disgrace my life through incessant mistakes which rue the chance, lost to misguided nature and abhorrent misreprepresentation.
A prisoner to the mistakes and judgment of others, my heart wilts fervently, and forever now.
let the pain and hurt
until you are left alone with
the numbness ;
If only it is meant to happen
No persuasion will bring a hindrance.
Pain is subjective, sorrows are possessed
Light aches my eyes, in the dark I am depressed
Insomnia bothers me, maybe I should curse it.
I should not swallow the bitter, maybe just spit.
It wasn’t a matter of months, but my wishes took so long
Thoughts beyond west of the west but emotions don’t go so long
In spite of respite, desolate notions are still popping
Worst is to happen, nothing is for stopping.
see me here as well.
As far as the eye sees
To the horizon and all around
Nothing but endless emptiness
I cannot go back for futility it’s not
The voice whispering within
This is the way walk in it
Not a sound, not a soul, not a wind
But all light, bright, silent and peace
The strangeness in my heart
I bear to the land beyond
Strange tongues surrounded me
Too long, too long, away from home
Renewed in every step
Refreshed by the stars
Strengthened in every breathe
And my food is my heart
As the blind sees not the stars
The prophet knows not the future
But only the assurance of the truth
Thus I walk the endless vastness
Blessed are those whose strength is in You,
whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs;
even the autumn rain covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength,
until each appears before God in Zion.
The best part of you is You.
Your ability to take sadness and pain
and mold it into growth and beauty
To create peace and desolation in the embrace of the life storm.
To sit in emptiness when there is chaos all around you.
I am the night thief... stealing hours from the normal day to
to exist in silence and think.