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NefariusHD May 23

Those who try to hurt others only end up hurting themselves, my love, passion and kindness is too strong.

I am a warrior, I am the sword, I am the shield & most importantly the voice of reason,
If you can relate then you too are a warrior, it is a revolutionary time and if you cannot relate then perhaps it’s a time for change and or a reconsideration.  

Money, fortune and fame is not what we seek, it makes the heart weak, there is not enough space in my own or a fellow warrior’s heart for greed, pride or anything alike,
Those who hurt others only end up hurting themselves.

We look to leaders, prophets & gurus for answers yet lose ourselves in the process, we forget that they are just people, and at times become unaware that they aren’t all that different from us, the answers lay within each and every one of us and we must remember that everyone is a teacher.

The fight never stops, we must push ourselves every day, so, keep fighting, keep that fire going and try not to lose yourself in the process but if you do, don’t be scared because there’s always help, you just need to reach out.  

Don’t forget that we are not survivors, we are not animals nor are we predators or prey, we are human, we are warriors.

Hope you feel a little less alone,  
Thank you.
Chad Young Sep 2020
Are there any words which capture wisdom?
Grief of Prophets.
Are there any words which speak enlightenment's prose?
Are there any words which tell of an artist's hopelessness?
Time: the comparison between two differing things.

Only age can gain age's beauty.
Only in time can tell the artist's proficiency.
Wishing to write a poem.
Safana Sep 2020
On my way
to pray,
and to seek
from Him, He
Who no any
naked eye had
ever  see even
His light
those, chosen ones
A Friday, on my way going to masjid, Ya Allah! forgive our sins and bestow us your Jannat
Ylzm Apr 2020
From heaven, fire Elijah called.
At Jezebel's word, fled he, terrified.
From duty, by heavenly chariot, removed.
On mountain top, with Moses, appeared.
Elijah, not the greatest prophet.
Nor Elisha, even doubly anointed.
But John, the greatest born of woman;
No fire nor bears, doubted and beheaded.
We Are Stories Dec 2019
“a righteous man
picks up his cross,
gathers his loss,
and walks-
reaching for the heavens,
speaking to a passerby,
talking about the afterlife
and how good Jesus is-“

another baby body is bent and broken
by a father’s “bravery” to believe in something bigger
than the breaths of his boy, his girl, his new born Bethlehem-
Jesus called him.

-I find it hard to believe-
that God in his glorious grace
would give you a mission, to leave their sweet faces
and depart from this place
to carry a block of wood
to witness to others
while losing your children
your wife
your love
your spirit
your humanity-
i don’t think God has called you to anything-

You’re another pompous prophet
Professing his prophecies to impressionable people
To hide the fact that you’re facing much more than you fear to mention
And that you haven’t heard the voice of the lord or felt his love’s tension
And you carry this cross, but haven’t picked the one up in your eye; you are week and feeble.
You speak of goodness
But bring nothing but sorrow
You speak of love
Yet love to hate,
You think yourself a high priest,
But you are no servant.
Let the blood of a bitten tongue
Be the pain lasting longer
Than your false song
Slowly getting stronger.
Ylzm Aug 2019
Jerusalem, will of Man, of Ishmael, and not Isaac
Dome of the Rock and not House of God
A constant thorn and not peace of the Earth
We weep as those who wept at the Second Temple

Jerusalem, a lure, a trap, a stumbling block, a sieve
******* to false prophets and worldly kings
As Ishmael sent away, so shall Jerusalem be exiled
For One greater than the Temple is here: Immanuel

Jerusalem, Bride of God, shall descend from above
Trumpet blasts in skies, the world shall see and mourn
All Israel gathered and her enemies judged
The kingdom of the world becomes the kingdom of God
Farooq Ansari Feb 2018
I see eternity
all but burned out
didn't know, if I could
stay out of this path,
till I reach you,
your damning beauty
evermore, I will.

I have to, I know it for a fact,
I've never known anything else.

I see the creation weeping
for a creator that remains unforgiving
how many more wounds
could she heal before finally caving in?

I see the desert, its name
speaking for itself
you didn't dwell here,
so the caves are where I go.
only warmth here that I know of,
I flamed them myself.

I see you afloat, sleeping
in a sea without any shore
the stars crashing like waves
at your feet, as you dream
of everything we could ever see.

I see the shore, atop this mountain
how could the ship stray its path?
for only the pious
were sheltered aboard.
escaping one doom,
assuring another.

I see your creatures
their eyes glistening with tales
of sorrow, gratitude and salvation.
I couldn't tell one from another.
one and the same, they remained
to this uncertain spectator.

I see pathways littered
with the prayers of the crooked
as they went wild, following the trail
of any footsteps that they could find.
defeated, they carved them
there on the road,
and we looked away.

I see serenity,
reaching out as it falls.
burning bright in its passive demise,
its melody lost in static,
its prophecy lost in chants.

I shut my eyes, I couldn't see
your glory had blinded me, finally.

I shut my eyes, you see
the brilliance was too much for me.
chloe fleming Feb 2018
the pointless prophets they point out to us will eventually become the demons we run from in our sleep.
all it is, is how you see.
"A Man,
-any man,
will always tell you...
...what is on his mind.
The mind tells you nothing!
Knothing at all about him...
...that old books will not deliver."

"One cannot defeat his opponent,
by knowing only of his mind...
...for in his heart, the Heart...
there in lies a mystery!"

-Al'akh min madinat 'Iilizabith'

<radio to tune-in>*
I enjoy reading these old books very much. It reminds us of today in many ways.
False prophets, you dig our graves with sinister divinations,
Bestow unrepentant indignation, and neglect to hide your shallowness.
Cast condescending shadows from high upon your sanctimonious mount, but
We wear our pride; our faith and love, our shrouds, and we will not be buried in the night.
Oh, I say woe unto them that call evil good and substitute darkness for light.
Oh, weary we may be, but forsaken we are not. Tread lightly when with lust and greed you choose to cast your lots.
Written for First Baptist Church of Worcester Poetry Fest Challenge 1: Acrostic – FBCWOO.
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