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Larry dillon Apr 14
Charon's ferry taunts me with hope
My neck is raw from the rubbing rope
In the river Styx no one can float
I am not a thing to try and save
Let me bathe deeper in this path I paved.

Stuck this way

- its no great loss-
denial is my albatross.

No circles of hell here to cross
just that desire to no longer drown:
Perdition only pulls you down.

Hell is silent and reserved
The only demons you hear
are the ones you bring.

We used to laugh and sing.

Your love was structured
like a Shakespearian sonnet.
I always knew what to expect,
still i found it so beautiful.

I never meant what I did to you.
It is your voice im slipping further into.

and It serves me well.
You used to say my vices would be the end of me.
Late night.
Me driving drunk.
Car crash.        Stole you away.
Now I see the irony.

Hung myself to settle that debt;
the universe thought differently.

So still I drown.
What am i searching for?
What would I do if I even found you down here?
This rope around my neck makes it clear:
Hell not only remembers,
it doesn't forgive.

Yet... this is no way to forever live.
I wonder whether... the thing that damns me
could be used to redeem?

I pull and pull at the rope and it seems

-Its fastened to Charon's boat.
Aboard i wrestle with the noose.
So I see, it'll never come loose.
It is a fight I can not yet win:
It is meant-for now- to press against my skin.

Hell holds a grudge.
Hell is a reminder.
I hope i never find her,

                              Again.

I hear her yell as we reach shore:

" do you not... need me anymore?"

I wave goodbye to Charon.
Tighten the noose around my neck.
For the first time, to her I
          
                  do not respond.

I do.

I can not forgive myself,

                    
                 but I need to move on.

-
A story of regret, how whispered words of the past haunt and weigh us down, and of redemption.
David Hilburn Apr 13
Witches and wishes
Correction's table, questions trouble:
Avid is a quiet chance, of baring before fishes...
With a knowing stare, at worth final

Philosophy's of radiance
Real reaches of meticulous sorts
Sordid weal, fit enough for water's amends
Sanity is, a character being assured...

Two, catching a wishes fish...
Tomorrow, under an eye?
Presence over, the pace of a king?
Kisses that took you for, literally why...

Worth, saw an ideal
Of promises and integrity, fire
Is a sly ordeal, the lips of a devil?
With the pout of seldom, wisdom is many denials

Nobody wishes in a fire...
Sun appears to be, a likewise friend
With time's retrospection, irony is a love higher
That should know, how heaven came to be life's wind?
candor at the cost of a lover? or is a storm of protest just over?
Jesus' baby Apr 8
I strayed—
A lost sheep,
Wandering far from my Shepherd.

Ashamed and bare,
I fled from Him
Instead of running to Him.

Yet still,
He came searching—
The Good Shepherd,
Tender and true.
But my heart was hardened,
Steeped in iniquity,
I stood still.

Many times,
I longed to return,
But the thief,
Whispering through my fears,
Kept me hidden.

Now I must return—
I’ve wandered too long.
He is merciful,
Ready to forgive.

Yet still, I tremble...
His presence feels too holy—
My sins,
A stinging slap to my face.
But His gift—
Eternal life
Through Christ.

Never again to run,
I step into
The throne room of mercy—
To obtain grace,
And be made whole.
No matter how far you have strayed from the ways of God, He is merciful to forgive.
Come to Jesus, He is waiting patiently for you.  Don't die in your sins when Jesus has paid the price. Come Home to Jesus.
Andy Mann Apr 4
The voices dwell deep in my mind
You are nobody
You are useless
You know nothing.
Beaten down,
Brought to my knees,
Gasping for air,
I cannot breathe.
I believe.
But this belief sows my destruction
I weep for the dead
Great but now fed
To the worms in the dust
The dust I will join
Sooner than I think.
What good am I among these?

I have wasted the reservoir of time
In sin, in doubt, in fear
Fear of what I left undone.
Where do I go from here?
The voices came calling again.

But I cannot continue like this.
I give up or shut up.
Shut up and act.
Act and believe.

Even if that belief is beyond reason
Beyond my mind to comprehend
The words of a lunatic.

I am greatness personified
if I believe
I am the master of my own universe
if I believe.

I am the king of dust, not its minion
And I will return to my kingdom
When I am done
But not today.
This poem was written during a moment of deep internal struggle. It’s about the voice in the mind that tells us we are nothing—and the quiet resistance that rises in spite of it.
It's inspired by Walt Whitman's “O Me! O Life!”.
I am a condemned robot,
on the verge of carrying out
the cruelest order.

An order of destruction,
a sacrifice.

To be my own executioner,
so that one day, I may be reborn.

Let nothing remain—
where there is pain,
there will be fire.

Where there is suffering,
there will be flowers.

Where there is lovelessness,
there will be love.

A button,
and a countdown,
separate me from my mission.

Only a few images
separate me from oblivion.

Yesterday, we were nothing.
Today, we are everything.
And tomorrow—our greatest version.
Gideon Mar 8
Are you a spider, traipsing around your web? Like an acrobat,
you swing from fly to fly, trapping them further. Your gossamer silk
Surrounds them, confines them, suffocates them, but you, black widow,
Deliver the killing blow. Your bite is not accompanied by a bark
as you sink your fangs into your victims like a thirsty vampire.
Drain them, empty them, free them of life, dear spider.
For it is your nature, your purpose, and your divine duty to devour.
Oh, spider, I am your devotee, your destitute follower, your dying breath.
I am your last hope of redemption in this dying, this killing, this ending.
Will you be redeemed in the end? Only I, the fly, decide.
David Hilburn Feb 21
Wishes, I never wanted:
But prayed for...
Include me, when a sun fronted
A song; justice, for a silence that were

An ocean of purity, a hat of redemption
I have yet to find, in misery
Apt or deft, a lover's few; contention
Of a word, I knew with ears of liberty

A chance's meeting...
Without a soul's music...?
Then, in though is a fleeting
Cloud, with a thought to name fury's, altruistic

Patience, am I dead, when you smile?
Paradise's praises...
A lie's prayer, that I created with denial
Do we earn a savior's smile, with patience's wages?

Curious, the taste in sunshine...
A tattered hat, with must to adjourn
A rational source, to a lover's whine
Was a smile our finish, to another wish to burn?

A sunshine, a clash of worldliness
Sent to rage, for a climate of pain
That has seen you, in the voice of pasts
Proud, vengeful and sated...

I see the presence of meaning...
Hearing your coy world, become a flower
The touch of patience, paces of a prayer beaming
The scent of sin, now just death's power...?
I met a "stranger" lord than "absolute love" than you... and he knew what to due, with hatred, dread...
Saman Badam Feb 19
The 'Bleak Weald', 'Dusk-Woods', 'Grove of Screeching Wights'—
A land of many names and many routes.
While veiled in gloom and dusk, with looming heights,
It ***** the ashen tears through creeping roots.

The grasping claws of forests, seeking moon,
Would turn around at slightest sound to pierce
The hearts; for those who dare disturb are hewn
And strewn apart for augurs' sights to pierce.

The pilgrim hastens into darkened woods
And stumbles fast through death, awaiting prey.
From satchel worn, returns the stolen goods
To woods betrayed—the moonlight, craved and prayed.

Thus, 'Bleak Weald', 'Dusk-Woods', 'Grove of Screeching Wights'
Became the Twilight Woods of sage and sights.
Be careful of consequences when you take something
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