How can humility match this raging fire within?

The furnace breathes. Alive
in harmony. Hearth built strong.
Bellows balanced in a steady stream.
Useful : Proud in action and function.
My body steams
learning to trust
temperament.

Love is like a rose, frail and fragile.

That sways with the wind and violent storms.

Sometimes the rose fades away and wilts to nothing, but love may also blossom more beautiful than any on Earth.

Love is a special thing everyone holds,

Some hold back, others let love flow free like a babbling stream.

Some hold lots of love but are afraid to let it go, for fear of losing it in the wind.

But love is endless so show as much as you can, for love can never run out.

Who am I?
(Inspired by Frida Kahlo's story)

Will not compromise my vision
its birth from repetitive chaotic pain caused
by idiotic hypocrisies from ignorant people
I dance
but I will not compromise my vision
see
I see vividly the well that causes the
leakage in my eyes... the drunkenness to
escape the extremely loud *******
screaming questions that I search for answers to.
One by one
By one... I’m still searching.
My heart sings so heavily into this dark
Pit of hell. And, yes, I feel every burn.
I cheated on myself.
I write
painting
I will not compromise my vision by staying true.
What freedom ?
I don’t know.
I am truth, I am free
in the perimeters of my own cage
you sorry *** *******, I blame you for feeding me unnutritional food
for thought
Expecting me to bring life.

and abuse my vision
You benefit from these babies
they grow and you soak up the anointing God placed in me
my gifts are yours.
you wanted me to disguise the message
that you derive from  my vision.
This art speaks volumes to the insecurities.
I can’t
Can’t compromise my vision to make yours appear more holy
your sins are not mine to bear, they were
sent to God through the sacrifice of your living.
Living in an animalistic old testament view
of worshiping your actions to please
a religiously framed God who simply wants to love you.
Your wish to compromise my vision
would result in me denying the very grace
that created it. My truth is in alignment
with understanding God's truth that
gave me my vision. Yes I am free
to express.
I will not compromise my vision
they are only my footsteps in this life.
The stain in the paper from my ink
the flower from my seed
the blood transfusion.
I will not compromise my vision, I made
that mistake before
I did not ask for this glorious life, and therefore it was never mine.
This is my sanctuary... of worship
my avenue of praise it reflects who I am in this world.
Who are you!?

©2009 Noah David James III

I'm not in a hurry
to meet the better part of me

I mean it's a journey
a... self discovery

So...
take it slow,
     after all

you can't get a glimpse
of your face in the mirror
if you run past it in terror

Try and...

Think of the bad
 as a bitter poison
  that we drink so that soon,
hopefully... we become immune
to the toxins in our own head
or risk further blood shed

the choice is yours
fight the wars in your mind
and maybe you'll find a better way
or live in your own turmoil
6 feet beneath the soil

I who have a hollow shaft
I,
Who lilts with the barest surge of wind,
I... who has fallen from the
Grace of my comfort
And has nothing to lean back on... I...

I see the ink of many
Vibrant, loud and subtle
Colours that fly around
Colours that I reach out for
And write with.
And yet where
Is my ink?
Am I doomed to
Nonexistence?
And yet I
In my own essence
Gurgle, fluctuate,
Still finding my flow
Against the turbulence of
My mind fraught with
Dissociated thoughts.

And as the feather flows against
The winds
Swaying
Gently
My ink is of air
And world
And nature

I am coming into my own
not in a flood
not in a storm
but in a drizzle

as a faint shower
on the cusp of autumn
nothing tempestuous
nothing tumultuous
just
a mist

I am coming out of my shell
not in a burst
not in a flash
but in a whisper

as a warm glow
in the cool of evening
nothing bright
nothing blazing
just
a flicker

I am learning how to be lost
not in a panic
not in a terror
but in a wandering

as a courageous vagabond
in her youthful travels
nothing known
nothing certain
just as
she is

There is the ancient story of a shepherd boy
whose king outfitted him with armor
to ready him for the challenges of the day
and the boy could not walk
so he threw off the armor
picked up his sling
and tended his father’s flock
with peace and joy freely erupting in song.

My armor is not wealth or wit
I cannot make myself fit
into the current conventions and hype
trying to conform to the normal type
stops up the energies that yearn to flow
freely and gleefully and urge me to go
to the dawn, darkness, clouds and sun
to wrap myself in words that run
like sparkling streams
and windswept dreams.

Poetry is my armor for each day
where worries and problem allay
where I search my feelings and mind
for the word elixir loosening knots that bind.
This armor does not weigh me down
but frees me to my triggering town
where I find and create the poet me
and the landscape of my soul’s poetry.