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Mr Tendy May 23
It time I was told...
To give that which I owed,
That which was given to me for free....

This was surprising to me course, I knew that what was free was meant to be without repayment?

But here was I now  in depth, for what was free.

Then it done on me that nothing is ever free, but all things are free.

Only when you are ready to give without holding back, you will not see it t as free..

Now that I understand, I am will to accept my dept and pay off, with my free will, for a better life of freedom.

Nothing is ever free, until you are ready to give up your will for it.
Dare I write other words
To be discarded and observed
To Saturn and back
Telescopic transcript in black
Pen
Damsel
Message of mine that hath fell
I can not interpret
Words ill fit
To roam such hell
Design force
Designate course
Feeble mind interpret poem as hoarse
But I see as stellar
My temper as fell
Poetry so coarse
Art has befell
Art of heart is from ill
To be hell's will
To which it be ****
And say thine words as fill
Of who am I but the shilled
Shove my words on front page
Forsaken sight is still billed
Rickey Spence Apr 2019
4/10/2019

To the one overcome by other people’s struggles…

Are you some sort of therapist,
That so many lean on you?
They line up as if for an interview.
All this weight on your shoulders – unnoticed?

You don’t mind helping others.
But how are you supposed to grow on your own,
If all you ever do is groan on your own?
You’re still alive, but this weight – it smothers.

They say you gotta find a lightning rod,
To relate all your problems to.
Hey, that’s what you thought once, too.
But your immunity to pain – a facade.

The burdens of other become your own.
Issue after issue you assimilate,
And their privacy, never violate.
You know what you’re doing – it’s by design.

Your back has become numb to the weight,
You are growing stronger…
Now people will love you longer.
You exist to take on their pain – but wait.

This sounds all too familiar.
You’ve heard this story before.
This connection, you can’t ignore.
The man who’s already done this – no failure.

Jesus, the man who took on sin,
So much sin that He died.
He paid the penalty, but never cried.
But through death did he – win.

Could you compare yourself to Jesus?
Could you bear as much weight as he?
No, you don’t even have to ask an actuary.
He’s the only one who – frees us!

So what are you doing with all this,
It’s not your burden to bear,
To you it has become your snare.
But all this on your shoulders – dismiss?

It’s not that easy to drop.
It’s been there so long,
It’s part of you now, making you “strong.”
Someone else needs to make change – swap.

But if Jesus really took the world’s sin,
Then you can’t stand in His way.
You’ve gotta let Him win, give in to His sway.
But He also died for you – took your toxin.

“Jesus, please forgive me!
I’ve been playing God.
And all that reaped was fraud.
I am but a nobody…

“A nobody whom you choose to love.
Show your love once more!
I’m begging for that encore!”
Freedom – all you’re dreaming of.

All He asks you for is for you to ask,
And out pours His forgiveness.
He doesn’t respond with vindictiveness.
And He’s already done – an easy task.

Just like that, weight falls off,
It feels so wrong, the price still paid,
Jesus took your entire burden, an unfair trade.
With His life – down the drop-off.

Hell was reserved for your ilks,
You had your name reserved on a seat,
Jesus paid that ticket, gave no receipt.
Let go of regret – which only bilks.

From now on, you’re no therapist,
Now, fewer should lean solely on you,
No more line-ups for that interview,
The weight on your shoulders – also noticed!

You can share your own problems,
Tell others how you’re doing.
Your attitude, start renewing.
It takes time for healing – but it comes!

Don’t slip into self-sufficiency,
On God, you must be reliant,
He’s the therapist, you’re the client.
The trait of dependence – no longer a deficiency.

With your life, lead others to Him,
He is the One who’s strong,
In Him, we all belong,
Jesus – Love is a synonym.
Poetic T Nov 2018
We should never
bribe death,
       for this is a futile gesture.

We should pay life
       its dues,
      and live every breath we paid for.
Tala Oct 2018
And she realizes
What a mess
She has become
For trying to gain
Everyone's approval
That even
Her shadow
Left her
In the dark.
eleanor prince Sep 2018
(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man







  


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of ****** services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some boundaries simply should never be breached, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
Michael Sep 2018
One day I may be made to pay.
To pay for the crimes of my past
To pay for all the pieces of broken heart
To pay for it all.
If I could travel through time and change the past I would.
I would repair and repay all the damage that I caused.
I would undo all the destruction
And bring order to the chaos
Unfortunately I am unable to travel back in time,
Instead I am just waiting.
Waiting for the day they come and take me
For the day I have to give retribution
For the day I have to forfeit my own life
For the day I get what I’m owed
For the day you get what you need
On that day it will be the end of me.
One day we all pay for our crimes, no matter how big or small.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
I've heard the Ides of March
can be a deathly curse

but now the Ides of April near us
with uncle's fingers in one's purse.

works out fine
if you get some back
you're hurriedly
filling out
those pesky forms
and rushing out
to mail them
that's what
it's all about

but if you know
you're gonna owe
it's quite a different story
and
you're just not in a hurry
it's yours for now
though no cash cow
but
you drag your feet a little
before sending in
your confounded
tax remittal
hannah Feb 2018
I know what it feels like
To be
pushed,
hit,
Kicked,
laughed at,
to feel worthless
to be told to **** myself
to be late to class just to avoid my bullies
to ask teachers for help and not get help
I hate to say it but if I had the chance to make them pay for what they did, I would
I don't understand why anybody would feel the need to push someone past their breaking point. I have been bullied before and everybody told me to forgive and forget but it's my choice so what if I don't want to forgive and forget.
Zane Gorham Apr 2017
Dear Harlot
You kept my soul in check.
The loneliness encased was spent.
Wonders of unending flesh.
And yet the scent is fleeting.
The seclusion returns afresh.
The ethereal heart deceiving.

What once brought sweet memories.
Now are void parentheses.
My empty arms are bare.
In addition a cadaverous stare.
Skin cold with horripilation.
Trudging on in desolation.

I long for comfort I confess.
To the skies I do profess.
For on the ground my feet shall stay.
Am I worthy whose to say.

Another harlot.
Anther day.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.

A glimpse of her visage I pray.
Solitude is how I pay.
I wrote this thinking of the regret after a long period of loving someone you wish you could repay for the things unforgiven.
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