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I distress myself not.
Vote legitimate if only thy true fate be known.
Spotlight awarded to thou unfavorable,
rather than attainment awarded.
Could'st cheerfulness no more become thee?
Yearned is thy cheerfulness to wax
a particle within thee.
However,
stuck be not.
Concern it no longer that my presence
be present or nay,
nevertheless what thy art feel remains of substance
to me.
thy stratagem ploy thee play
composing me the villain all round?
Absurd much?
Ventured me out of me restfulness
in search of contentment
moreover,
thy mental stability.
Yet it be my fault.
All be unceasingly my fault.
Me make thee despise me.
Me make thee shove me away
Authors note:
---------------------------------
Her lover chose to focus on the negative parts of their relationship and  pushed her away because it was "all her fault that she couldn't love the way she was expected to"
I'm Running Out Of Time
I'm Burning On The Inside
I'm Running From My Fears
They Never Seem To Subside.

The Hourglass Is Nearly Done
The Light Inside Is Nearly Spent
In The End It Was For Fun
In The End It Was All Meant.

I Am Nowhere Near Perfection,
From The Start I Knew Rejection,
I Know I'm My Own Reflection,
Diseased Inside I Hide With Deflection.  

I Am Rotting Living Flesh,
I Am Living On A Bless,
I'll Hide Inside If I Feel Stressed,
Deafened By My Pounding Chest.
Harry Roberts - Mortality © 14/11/18
Cleansing rain, won't you come
And wash away what she's become.
Heal her mind and sing to her
That peaceful song, a steady hum.

Cleansing rain, a long white dress.
She dances in the morning mess,
Her mind is free from misery
Like eagles that fly from their nest.

Cleansing rain, the pitter patter.
Former days have bred the latter,
Healing comes not a moment soon
For she's been bruised by bitter batter.

Cleansing rain peppers her mind
With hope and love, rhythm and rhyme.
She's free at last from loneliness
And all the things which kept her blind.

Cleansing rain from *** above
Can fill an empty heart with love.
Once bruised and bound by broken wings,
Now she'll soar among the dove.

For those who are abused
If the autumn moon that gives such light
were the eye of He who gave me sight,
then He would see a sheep, asleep
while children die and mother's weep.

If glimmering stars were angel bands
that laid to waste a wasteful man,
then I could only pray that they be blind
to those I've harmed or left behind.

If winter winds, in all their might,
lay bare the oaks and fold their height,
then gone would be the leaves of deeds
that hide my thoughts of **** and greed.

If trees that grow and bear their fruit
were saints that live and speak the truth,
then I would be a withered tree
with bitter fruit and wilted leaves.
A full moon stood still over oak trees stripped bare
from the winter wind stirring in the frigid air.
A boy walked beneath as if he didn't seem to care much at all.
He was bundled to his neck in winter clothes and regret.
He sighed and said, "I guess that's just what I get..
for never spreading my wings, but I was just too afraid to fall."
He sat on a stoop down by the old Woodbine house.
It was late and the small town was quiet as a mouse.
Then he removed from his bag a gold coin and said to himself,
"Wherever there's money, Lord knows that I've chased it.
But it can't buy back time and that's just what I've wasted.
Now I've traded my soul and I cannot replace it with wealth."
He packed up his bag that held the last of his treasures,
stuffed down jagged thoughts and the sting of past pleasures.
Then, into the night, he ran from monsters that lived in his head.
No matter how long, the days all looked the same
filled with fears of the unknown and that beckoning shame.
More than once, the boy thought 'maybe I'd be better off dead.'
But he remembered a name that his grandmother claimed
brought redemption for sinners and healing for the lame.
He whispered to the sky in desperation, "Can you heal me, too?"
The heavens were silent; there was no voice from the sky.
The boy fell to the ground and he couldn't help but cry,
"Redemption is nonsense that is just too good to be true!"
Then, out of somewhere, came some kind of peace
between the mouth of Town Springs and the woodland crease
and, suddenly, it all made sense and he chuckled out loud.
He'd been rich for some time and it was no life at all;
Just a foolish pursuit down an endless hall.
Now, what he'd found is a hope that is hidden from the proud.
A hope that the old church bells might still be ringing
and the people won't mind him in joining their singing.
A hope that *** is forgiving like the church people say.
Soon, hope turned to faith as if a bird found his wings.
He found redemption by the waters of Town Springs.
"Christ" is now more than a word heard when hypocrites pray.

A poem for the glory of ***.
A story of Redemption
Before drunken bellows and empty beer cans,
there's a place where a little girl once stood.
A wonderful place that still, to this day, stands
She doesn't visit as often as she should.
It's a place where her mother still smiles at her
And adores the sparkle that gleams in her eye.
A place where old passions will sometimes stir
And dreams of a royal marriage may never die.  
It's a place where she found such a blessed truth;
Where red letters are still written in her heart.
A place that still bears the yoke of her youth.
A place that provides rest and a brand new start.
Sometimes, when she's gone just a bit too far,
She finds herself drifting to that special place.
And all of the scoundrels, cheap *****, and bars
Seem to diminish without leaving a trace.
If only they knew, the people who leave her,
The angst of her frail and twisted thoughts.
But she covers her shame and who can believe her
When she's abandoned all she was taught?
Behind her charming smile and fiery eyes,
There's a place that welcomes a scared little girl.
A safe haven from the forest of her own demise
Where she's relieved from the weight of the world.  
She won't find that freedom in the arms of a man
Despite his obsession and his promise to stay.
But, in that special place that somehow stands,
Streams of mercy wash her worries away.  

A poem for the glory of ***.
I Call To The Angels,
I Call To The Fates,
I'm On My Knees Begging,
While The Concrete Grates.

I Ask For A Sign,
I Will For An Answer,
On Doubt I Dine,
I'm Not A Chancer.

I Wilt In The Rain,
I Rise In The Light,
Life Is Like Pain,
We All Bare That Fight.

So What Is The Meaning,
Which Way Is Right,
Overbalanced I'm Leaning,
I Break In The Night.
Harry Roberts - Break In The Night © 14/11/18
What the most Important
things In a relationship
Faithful and true for that
person loves you Gives
there all to you body and
soul unconditional love
how people cheat on there
partners Is beyond me
sleeping with a stranger then
going back there husbands
or wife and sleep
them
With my own relationship
It was not the Intimate side
the most Improtant
It was to be with her do just
everyday things with her, be
there when she was not well
and If she didn't feel like
making love, respecting her
not throwlng monk because
you can't get your own way
pleasureing her before
yourself
Put him or her first before yourself
in all you do
we missed you friend
come see everyone
come back and begin
your journey done
  
come tell the years
of a world corrupt
leave behind your fears
your faith well put
  
the search make strong
your belief has stood
*** always along
he said he would
  
we welcome you
and all you have found
the one thing you know
your faith still sound
Kelsey 2d
Sunday morning coffee
Old books and ***** snow
I don't believe in angels
I don't believe in angels
I don't believe in faith
Because roses can be mistaken for weeds
And the devil can be mistaken for human
But honey, last night I watched while heavens collided in your eyes
Okay so i woke up at 2am last night, wrote this then went back to sleep so I don't know if it makes that much sense but oh well
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