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cried out
until I cried no more.
I hid the anguish
in my soul
the pain blocked the flow
Of blood around my veins
The viper stole my peace
It embedded my hope
It grounded me from my faith
It stored up countless wounds
Darkness clouded my being
But God never gave up on me.
Even when my mind rejected his very being.
He stuck with me .
Even when things were tough.
Time after time I blamed Him.
I accused him
Yet he remained faithful.
Even when my heart was in a dark place.
Until one day I received your forgiveness again
Faith love hope Freed forgiveness forgives
CarolineSD Oct 2020
Holiness is there where the druidic
Shadows of the pines rise straight and tall and dark against
The languishing light of day

Fire streaked across the sky
And all the peaks beneath
Graying into the silence of the night

Treading the needles underneath
And how the orange-red remnants of the sun push through the
Empty spaces recessed within the forest's soul,
Motionless bodies of the conifers solemn like
The standing stones of old

And dusk comes in quiet through the timber now

And there is no more hiding,
No more striving and trying,
Just the gentle truth that

We are all dying

And this forest,
Climbing wide across the ravines into the mountains
Holds me without possession

And it would let me go
Like the yellowed leaves that scatter on the earthen floor
Like the last glow of the evening sun
Touching canopies of crimson and gold

And there is this letting go that feels like home.

Like I could reach across this void and hold my mother’s hand
Like these cliffs might drop to the open moorland of the Isles

Where the ghost of my father stands

Like I am pulled back to where I began,

Like the way that it feels

Each time I lay down in your arms.
Sky Aug 2020
The days I spent
waiting for you
searching through crowds
dying to see your face
only to be left breathless
the instant
you recognized me
as you freed
my stone cold soul
with those blazing eyes
of yours
Rylie Lucas May 2020
Scrolling through the past
Is informational
It reminds us of who we once were
And who we've become
Rediscovering feelings
We had almost forgotten we had
And we'd shared them with the world
And we didn't do half bad
I thought I'd never escape her
Her iron grip leaving bruises where she held us
But we did
We made it
Life got a little better for it too

We aren't fixed
We are still sad
We still have depression
But it's not as bad as it was
She's gone from our lives
Our abuser

And she dares to call herself a fighter
I was scrolling through my old poems, and I was reading one comment on my poem "Cuts" from when I was stuck with the woman who abused me every chance she got. If you're reading this, it got better. I'm not healed yet, but it has gotten better. To those of you who've stayed with me this long: Thank you
Strung Jul 2019
Demons held in jars on my shelf.
I pick one up and talk to it,
"I think I'm wrong..."
Malice and the dead look in its eyes answer.
"... You're nodding. What do you know?"
When you go, will you haunt me?
freed from their jars on my shelf,
run wild.
Ankita Gupta Jul 2019
When we are limited by the inelasticity of time, we run to the past

When we are freed by the depth of life, we walk into the future
It's truly our understanding of life that decides where we live for, past or future.
nova Jan 2019
i have spent far too much of my life
building towering walls with no arches, without windows
without any view to the outside world.
i would much rather have liked it if i would have built fences instead.
fences are moveable.
you can push the rows and rows of wire or wood a foot to the north
or a foot to the south
or make a curve in the line.
fences don't block everything out,
they don't keep everything in,
and they don't hurt as much when they fall.
walls, on the other hand,
and burn
and take months and months to rebuild.
fences can be put up in a day or two
depending on how difficult you want it to be to get in/get out;
fences can be taken down in a day or two
depending on how easy you want it to be to get out/get in.
I went away, but it wasn't for play
Certainly, though, it didn't show,
the strenuousness--
head wrapped in gauze and cement at once.
And your bed is your grave
like a mummy entombed.
No sleep is ever enough
because it's too late.
But compared to the rest of the world,
it's your sun-infusing life pod.
As Earth's energy grows
stalks to the sky in nature, emerald green
and in the city, tin men and women wound
with a key
tight to within an inch of their lives
to build pillars of silver and glass,
equal parts plaintive and proud.
The atmosphere and ants proceed
as they would
while I cannot be worshipful, as I should,
to this planet we've been given.
My tributes were never tangible--
whispy as they're twisting to, I fear,
be ephemeral.
So why does a pen or keyboard taps
feel like a moral stand?
They say the Devil's playthings are idle hands
but in reality, my corpse hands
cannot volunteer to any definitive ends.
Though sin of sloth, I'll have to admit.
I hadn't written poetry in too long...
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