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There is a secret;
The Secret of secrets
Beyond the imagination of our impure selves
There, lies all my unknown self
For I am a mystery yet untold.

Here, I am
But seen to be there.
There, was I
But not seen nor heard.

I was looked at, but not seen
I did not speak, but I was heard
I was not looked at, but I was seen
I was not heard, but I was listened to

This shadow is not mine but this body's
For I am not this body but this soul

—Jibril Abdulmalik ©2019
Poetress2 Dec 2018
When my Father calls me home,
what a wonderous day t'will be;
Fellowshiping with the Saints,
and sitting on God's knee.
I'll talk with those of old,
Abraham, Isaac, and Job;
And I can visit God,
upon His mighty Throne.
I'll be seated for a Feast,
where the other Saints will dine;
We'll sit and eat together,
they'll be no sense of time.
Peace will overcome me,
I'll praise my God each day;
I'll soar just like an Eagle,
and land where e'er I may.
I know Jesus will hold me,
I'm the Apple of His eye;
What a glorious day t'will be,
when I meet Him in the sky.
Louis Verata Dec 2018
The river will cease
Just like Crete
The ocean’s tides and waves
On land there is no to be
One can proclaim
“Nothing is created nor destroyed”
A rather compelling case.

Yet memory
Thoughts are soon to be forgotten
Like it never happened
Oblivion does not discriminate
She does not hate
Nor retaliates
For she conquers all.

Lets artists take the fame
Saints to be prayed
Wars to take place
Atomic bombs to take shape
In an instance
The gods will proclaim
“Oblivion is here to stay!”
Obscurity her only way.
Raylind Nov 2018
What good is tall grass?
Your blue eyes cupped in my hands, already

I've asked the saints to dunk me under
in all undue riches
save me from my Only One

Ocean shores love knees to touch
craving almost as much our love long whispers
heads bowed
Our toes realizing chorus and green
and tame it no longer, tumbling
so fully-it shocks us to the tips of our hair splits
not even sandy yet

Offering my jewels to Pharaoh
maybe he could take this price off my head,
my wheels off, nights pink tongue from my window

Over the beds of yellow and orange prayers, still blooming
I step beside the ****** to ask,
but not forgetting,
blue ball caps that scream
over the tops of curly heads

and where am I but always with you at the beach?
a heart in the deep end
harley r noire Nov 2018
i see a long line
made of lunatic, inebriate saints—
chanting orisons
with their haloes and white robes—
racing to the sea
screaming and preaching—
exchanging blows
for the blood of the ******—
illuding one another
for the salvation they thirst—
saying, i am one
to ascend the divine nirvana.

am i now a heathen?
for orisons should not pierce the ears—
yet i am dead sick
thus i pray for and on my own—
for the guts to try
ending the hellish havoc.

and when i finally screamed
sets of vile eyes, fangs and weapons—
smiled at me.
this is what happened to my country right now. for this one has a sensitive theme to it, i'll leave it to your own interpretation. written for the first prompt 'Halo' of November Hall of Poetry challenge on LINE app.
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Even in the dark hours this gal is gone.
Where could she have gone?
Tempting me to bite off more than I can chew.
She leaves me vacant and blue.

Many saints have joined the cause like the huddled masses.
Buckle down all that moves just as you fasten in the molasses.
They laugh just to avoid a disaster.
Like wind from a ghetto blaster.

For on this night she seeks something great.
Something that grows mold and takes up the plate.
But where has she gone today?
Come and gone like the summer rain.

Has she taken it that far again?
For all the years I spent.
She is out there living it up in the sunny sky.
While me and the others sit idly by.

She is also living those nights great.
If she wants to make this date do not be late.
Here is a secret only the closest would know.
They will deliver the decisive blow.

She will bask as a social pro.
Climbing and climbing until she gets to the top.
One day she will be talking so much her head will pop!
Jeff S Sep 2018
i'd say the #2 has etched its genius
on the pale, ruled stock for the last time—

(imagine when Paul said that, scribbling his
preach and practice between the lines at the foot of a fiery cross)

but the truth is, my work is ephemera;
the etch of a keyboard ****** imprints only

as long as the flaming feet of a
hurried conflagration.
Eureka Merton Aug 2018
Where are the saints?
Where are the Holy men?
Where are the ones without wanting?

So filled with the unceasing Love of God
They have both His feast and festival
All the time?

Forehead kissing the ground In humble surrender to that which could never be claimed as “mine” or “yours”
but Lives in the land of Beyond
in Graces eternal belonging.

Who forfeit it all
to the ungraspable, unstoppable, uncontrollable Roaring of the
Absolute Unborn Cosmic Form of Love,
that so desires your salvation He destroys you completely so that you may Know Him in Truth and not imagination.

Where are the ones,
Who knocked at the door of their own Heart, and who don’t know whether they were let in, or He was Let out

the ones who have been captured by the Keeper of All Love
who have heard Him whisper inside of them, softly, in the stillness of their Lotus Heart - singing
- I am yours and you are mine -
Leaving behind the question “who’s voice was that?  And surrendering their mind and all Brahmas creation at His feet
Finally to roll down the hill laughing as the spark of eternity within dances to a tune that comes from everywhere all at once

Where are the ones so filled with divine rapture, they have entered the Placeless Place of no return and emerged - now - completely submerged - can think of nothing but Him!  

The ones who know that we are fed by the sweet Doer of all in our Fasting and when He offers us Dessert! Never taking credit for the Love he offers through us.

The ones who live without shame and let their heart go ***** into the Radiant river of love

Where are the ones who’s minds surrendered and hearts thoroughly emptied and plowed
have left the land of desire unmet,
of tug of war with pleasure and pain,
who know the grace of receiving an answer to the defiant longing for the Lord that will take NOTHING less than Him, who have cried the tears that touch Gods heart, and in anguish sung out for MotherFather a sound that echoed so deep within they felt the Holy waking....

who know - through Grace -  
the Love that is Divine.
Sarah Mann May 2018
i wish i was still your lover
i wish it was your hands tracing circles across my flesh
instead of the grimy man next door who doesn't really feel it
i wish it was your lips gently pressed against the nape of my neck
instead of the icy cold stares that I get from the people passing by
being drowned under their judgements and my own sinking feelings
3750 the house with the pine trees on the left and also on the right
the one that we spent our last night intertwined in
the one that we broke in
do you remember?
looking for keys at 3
and laughing or maybe it was screaming my name from rooftops
we practically drank ourselves blind
that night. you probably don't remember.
i mean we were both so wasted
but we were in love
i miss that, i miss you.
i regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth but
there's really no other way to put it.
no distractions to take me away from the reality of it.
you were gone, and i was alone.
but truth be told you were never really mine.
i knew it was only a matter of time
before you grew and explored too far
before you found other souls to confide in
other souls to lose your mind in
but before i get lost in my anger and sadness
let's take a moment to go back to our happiness
i remember you
let me drown out my sadness within the miles of your arrogance
never afraid, never hesitated
you have an inflated superfluous sense of self i mean who even are you
i don't blame you, i know that i, too
am in love with that stupidly
brilliant mind of yours
you let me drown in your strong arms and confident strides  
barreling down the highway with your hand locked on my thigh
with rock blasting in the background
the world feels slightly like a gorgeous haze
sort of the way i look at your bruised face
sort of the way you keep your eyes on the road
i guess we'll be the love story that goes untold
but i can't get your hands, your voice,
out of my head, i know that this was your choice
but were time reversed i'd go back
to that lonely Friday when you said you needed space
i know i'll be asleep by the time you make it to my place.
but i promise i will remember to wait,
and to always choose the saints.
Written April 25, 2018.
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