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annh May 17
I succumbed
To the habitual sound of obstructed truths;
Deceiving and deceived therein,
Abolished of conscience;
My penitence seeded with disavowal,
Your disbelief my credo.

'The liar's punishment is, not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.'
- George Bernard Shaw, The Quintessence of Ibsenism
Bryce Nov 2018
You had asked me once,
If I was in love again
If I had found another box for god to rest in

I answered,

Not then.

I have heard the god in you, the death that creeps behind your porcelain shoulders
I have heard the anxiety of life that guides your eyes to mine
At the one point you were afraid and seeking some gravel to place your shoes
you let the grains shift, licking your soles

There isn't a place here where the smallest atomic twinge of regret will not forever imbibe me
I am inextricable and intimately a child with the universe
I will forget to remember you then, and you will be the way all loved ones are dead to me
I will be alive and away

Love is a camellia blossom, she is the dream of the rosepetal
she is the envy of stems
She is a figment of the fractal dimension
she is tangential and perpendicular

I am a substrate
I am the loam and the cold damp earth
a dream of mother soils
the derided character of an oxygenated heaven
I die to give you birth
Skeleton Prince Apr 2018
While,
Perceiving the taste of yesterday's forgotten sandwich.
I, soon feel the caress of my fingers subsiding the itch for a ***.

With tears of penitence.
I, recall the woman I've romanticized other than you.
Yet,
Content with passion they had shed onto me.
Don Bouchard Apr 2017
These are the cyclical watches:
Waking dawns of healing,
Walking light of realization,
Rejoicing contentment,
Sitting afternoons of temptation,
Wandering twilight rebellion,
Wallowing nights of sin,
Shrieking midnight repentance,
Mournful watches before dawn....
These are the days of shriving.
"Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it...
Prone to leave the God I love...."
-Robert Robinson, 1757

Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Christ appointed for you, even Jesus. -Acts 3:19-20
Have you heard this little story
Of a rabbi and a Christian priest,
Differing in their separate ways,
But are friends, to say the least.

One day, the rabbi asked the priest
In total confidence:
"Could you put up with any man
"That airs his impudence

"When he confesses that he needs
"No sermon nor advice
"From those like you whom he believes
"To be not worldly-wise?"

The priest thought for a moment,
Then answered with some ease,
"A man who frankly speaks his mind
"Is finally at peace

"Not only with himself but God,
"Confession being the bridge
"Across which he could reach the top
"Of his salvation's ridge."

The rabbi shook his head and said:
"There is no way, of course,
"Confession without penitence
"Could be the bridge to cross."

"But," said the priest, "consider this,
"By God's eternal grace,
"We choose two different routes but get
"Together in one place."
Tracie Bulkley Sep 2014
I'm empty

Hollowed out inside

All that was inside

I've carved it out

Piece by piece

All bleeding on the floor

Until there's nothing left for me to give you

Until there's nothing I have left to give you

That is special and untouched

I used to be just like you

Kisses were like secrets

Best shared little

And given in the dark

But when I wanted to give my first little secret away

He had already given his

And it angered me

So I drove him away

So far that he was frightened

And we never really spoke again

How could he?

How could he.

But I had learned my first lesson:

That it is better to forgive a secret told,

Than to drive away the teller forever.

And one day I told my secret

And later, wondered why

What had I seen in my confidant?

I should have saved it longer

So I thought I'd do much better next time

So I told it again

And again

And again

And one day I gave up on it being secret anymore.

It wasn't a big deal,

It didn't matter anymore,

Because I and others had treated it that way

And I had never been sure.

Then one day I trusted someone

I wanted to tell him a secret

But the only secret I had left to share

Was one that was very big

And very special

And I should not have given it away.

And in the end

It happened again

My secret told,

I gave up on meaning

And told,

And told again.

And now I have no secrets left

To give to you my dear

I even told you all my lies

And all my truths and fears

And I'm grasping

Reaching for anything

And everything that I might have left

I'll give you all

Again and again

And I'll take it all

All the words

And anger

And fear

I'll lie down and take it all

And while you and I both beat me senseless with our words

My every breath will be

A wish upon the stars in my eyes

That you will one day see

How much I love you

And all you mean to me.
I hope the moral of the story is fairly obvious... Any words of comfort or advice are appreciated.
K Balachandran May 2014
The pool glistened
in wet moonlight,
wearing a  haze
like in an ***** eater's vision.
the deep blue waters
that lay still
has something to tell
one would think,
he was glad to see
such clear water,
that reminded him
something vague

"Answer my questions"
from the pool intoned a voice
"before stepping in to this water,
your ablution can wait a bit,
would you like to taste
this water, and find out
its origin, if you could, then step in"
"Why not" he replied with confidence,
"I am enamored by this sight,
such loveliness makes one
forget pain of every kind
now, let me know it a little better"
when his tongue touched
the water just once, a flash
struck,  remembrance came
rushing towards him like
the curse of  tsunami waves,

her pearly tears it were,  collected
on its own, for many years.
he sat by the pool, guilt ridden
torn apart by grief, cruel vultures,
till the moment his eyes fully dried,
he was let out from the house of pain.

— The End —