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The only days Death has ever drawn close to me were when he left his shadow grazing over this frail body.
Sleep deprived, feverish, weak heck of a boy.
A soul so agonised over the war within, a mind so twisted and perverse. A heart, that still beats however crooked.
A body, weak; a human, depraved.

I remember those days.
Sickness pays his visits over the seasons.
Fevers, influenza, intense food poisoning, coughs so bad I end up praying "Lord, have mercy" each time.

Yet, I see others like me
Suffer disease like they've gone through hell
Got into accidents that'll take them a while or never to get back from.
See the news and see people close to me been closer to Death than I've had before.

I laid back and watched the sky as the clouds flew by
It just hit me that
one day, it'll be me.

God help me, I'm no different.
I'm barely even a saint
Just as evil as everyone else
To think that in my youth, I'm some sort of a god
an invincible immortal that could ascend the heights and become the greatest of them all.

But then I look at the sky, and wonder
"What is man, that You think of him? And the son of man, that You visit him?"
I am reduced to nothing, my passions, dreams and ambitions are all but folly-- vanity of vanities like chasing the wind.

I am losing my edge. I no longer write these poems the way I used to. I take longer to write essays. It gets more difficult to stay faithful in the faith that I have. The "amazing" parts of me are fading, bleeding, dying. It gets just as difficult socialising when you are not the extrovert you used to be.

Death has already been part of the default nature I so have, though I do not yet taste it.

Still I crave for Life, clinging on to Hope.
Still I live, for Love's good name's sake.
Still I live and wage war against Death, aspiring to be a vessel to preach the Good News of Eternal Life.  

Indeed I am unworthy, day by day I am undone.
Yet even more so, though I may die
For now, I shall live.
I'm tired, lamenting, yet hopeful
Emmanuella Apr 19
"Oh! 'Tis great grief,
Wrought by fate's mischief;
To pledge my love by some vow,
Even when Cupid hasn't strung his arrow into his bow."
An Elizabethan tragedy in four soliloquical lines.
And a sprinkle of an eye rhyme.
amanda Mar 18
your lungs inhale war
against the foundations of your ribs;
bursting bones heard from within.

lamentation conquers
with its sharp-edged desolation
leaving fragmented skin throughout

friction between you
and the false reflection
echo consequences.

you were a misled mistake
tricked of glory & feared by contentment.
you are whole and apart
and everything in-between.
Midge Jan 20
Lost, alone and terrified
In solitude I forever will confide
Maybe I will just end it with suicide
Everything will be better if I just died

All those voices in my head
All the tears I may have shed
I’ve got fear and anxiety, disgust and dread
I sank in darkness while I lay in bed

I just can’t take it anymore
This uneasy feeling, I never can ignore
Go back to the corner with pain and sore
Enticing myself with blood and gore

My soul corrupted, my faith all gone
It’s too late to save me, I am done
Deadwood Jawn Dec 2018
You are.
You are so...

COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING COMFORTING

Ahahahah..

I fear to breathe.
Just stay a little longer when you comfort me.. Just a little..
Glenn Currier Mar 2018
On
a ledge
with nothing there
to grasp - on edge.
The height has me scared
all alone on this wall.
Can’t find the person I am
not ready to let go and fall
into the deep black below this dam
I’m not connected to future or past.

But it’s not a time for lamentation
it is time to glide to climb boldly
for clear clean air of creation
reach beyond like you told me.
What am I hiding behind
looking all around?
My mind’s not mine
up or down
stuck to
You.
This is a revision of a previous poem, “Stuck to You.”  The first stanza comes from a nightmare I had this morning.  The poem is also my attempt to write a poem using a form new to me. It is called an Etheree Poem. The rhyme scheme is my own and the Etheree form does not specify whether it needs to rhyme or not. It was fun writing it. Also, the way I wrote this is actually a Double Etheree. I have discovered from another website and a friend here the following: The poetry form, Etheree, consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables. Etheree can also be reversed and written 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Or you can get creative and write an Etheree with more than one verse, following suit with an inverted syllable count. Reversed Etheree: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Double Etheree: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ...Triple Etheree, Quadruple Etheree, and so on.
Based on info from Elizabeth Squires and http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/etheree.html
Glenn Currier Mar 2018
This is not a time for lamentation
it is time to glide to climb boldly
for clean clear air of creation
reach inside like you told me
find what you’re hiding behind
jump up and jump down
is my mind mine
verb or noun
stuck to
you...
This is my attempt to write a poem using a form new to me that I read about on this or another poetry site. Can't remember what it's called, but I remember it begins with a line of ten syllables and each line decreases by a syllable until there is only one. The rhyme scheme is my own. If you know what this poetic form is called, please let me know. It was fun writing it. :-)
Bibek Oct 2017
Finding the cold warm
I snuggle deep into the snow
The flakes of which lie and grow
With each passing moment the momentum grows
My lamentation grows and my heart
The one as cold as ice shows
Though not from within me
From everywhere for each flake of snow is where my heart resembles its cold white glow
All about the dark sides
Hannah Jones Jul 2017
One feels different after a fall from grace.
I say "fall", but I know
that I peered over the cliffside
knowing what I was to leave behind
and took the deadly plunge.

The haze of temptation cleared
I felt nothing
Knew everything
Wanted more
God, why have I abandoned You?
Why do I know so much
yet feel so little
when I know where You are?

I'm falling
I'm failing
I'm thirsty

"I thirst for you."

Even in the depths I hear You
Even in the darkness I see You
You who defeated Death for me
You who could not bear to be apart from me
You who are still on the cross
until the end of time.

"I thirst for you."

I thirst for You.
I've reached for filler after filler
Only leaving myself empty
Rendering new cracks in the already broken vessel that I am
Yet You who suffered wounds for me
still desire my heart.
Why do You want this broken sparrow?
Why do You want this sickly fawn?
Why is my love-
broken and imperfect
-the very thing You crave?

"I thirst for you."

Drink, then, from my tears
of repentance
of regret
for they are all I can offer
as I continue to fall.
Drink from this broken vessel
from whom graces seep out
for I have marred my soul
and have broken Your Heart.

Drink from my sin
and my shame
and repair what I have broken
Help me, for I am alone
and have no one but You
Even though I've abandoned You
You are all I crave
You are all I need
And I thirst for You.
This was a lamentation of habitual sin I wrote as soon as I committed it. I am broken, incomplete, and totally at the mercy of the One who thrists for my love. May I never plunge into my old habits with this knowledge.

"Jesus is God, therefore His love, His Thirst, is infinite. He the creator of the universe,
asked for the love of His creatures.
He thirst for our love… These words:
‘I Thirst’ –
Do they echo in our souls?”

-St. Teresa of Kolkata
even now
rain soaked roots are withering
reminiscence
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