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everything used to be so fine
amazing, memorable, and lovely
when everything mattered
when i mattered, only me, to you

through those times we were laughing
i was there, fixing problems with you
the universe turned upside down
i found you craving for something
something or someone?

how could that be troubled by the past
why am i not enough
why not me
when i was always around every day
i was always there but i wasn't the one you needed

i wonder when will i really matter to someone :(
Jay M Mar 2019
No time for regret,
Wake up, you're alive,
Finding who I'm supposed to be,
Struggling to see what I'm supposed to see;
The child in the mirror,
Running from who I'm supposed to be;
Who is she?

Outrunning flat-lines,
Keep the heart beating,
Every breath forced,
March on,
I've had enough,
But I won't give up,
Not yet,
Don't stop,
But questioning still;
Who is she?

- Jay M
January 28th, 2019
Maja Sep 26
If man creates a monster.
Who is then truly the monster?

The creator.

Or the created.
Amanda Sep 12
I do not want to be alone
Where I struggle on my own
Saying I am okay to anyone who asks
Looking down so no one sees past my mask
Not like anyone actually cares anyways
Nat Lipstadt Aug 11
In the year 2016,
Yom Kippur was celebrated on Oct. 12th.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7th.


~~~

faint knocking heard at the heavenly door of the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic,
lyrical rapping, sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner,
a judgment resister, flaunting an almost expired coupon,
trumpeting demands for a recount, waving it,
claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a
mercy discount and an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear the responsa,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering, (how both?)
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides,
the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared, that my finality
was spirit consumed?

in one voice, answers the angelic choir,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning
or even drowning,
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels,
the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books
and records of everyone,
are permitted this special query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, to delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are so poorly but perfectly constructed
in his image

you, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
you, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
this calling in
incantation

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution,
you have been judged sufficient...
it is his will


                                                    | | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833523/for-leonard-cohen-who-by-fire/
this first version first published Jan. 2017

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
Who is a poet?
Is he someone who writes poetry?
Is he a person who sees things that others do not?
Is he someone who sees through beings?
Or is he a person who is unable to speak his feeling?
And can only seek solace in words
Tell me....
Who is a poet?
ShadowSpy Aug 7
Who am I to tell you its ok to cry
When I cannot do so myself
Who am I to make you feel strong
When I am so weak
Who am I to let you down gently
When I have been crushed

Who am I to hold out my heart
When not a single of you will take it
Hydeer Aug 5
Wonderful and in control
That's how I feel
I'm calm and collected
I feel real!
Oh I'm making a mess
But it's all ok
It's me and my friend making drawings today
Is it all a show?
Is this healthy? Is this productive?
Or is it all just for fun?
Uh oh I've drawn outside the lines
OH NO OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?!
Like a vapor in the wind it was gone
chris Jul 31
Recently, I haven’t been feeling myself.
I feel like I’ve lost myself over the years.  

There are more times of me feeling hollow, empty than of me being happy.  I don’t know how to explain it.  Nor do I even know how to fill that hole.  

People say that it’ll get better.  
                            What will? When? Why did it happen?

People say that things will change.
                            For better?  No. You don’t know that.

Often, I look out the window and imagine an alternate world.  Some place where I would be smarter.  Prettier.  Liked more.  Better.  

That wish might overlap with some people.

Being a Marvel fan, I always wanted to have Spider-Man powers.  And maybe a piece or fragment of Tony Stark’s intelligence and creativity.  

Creativity that I had lost over the years.  Intelligence that I never had to begin with.  Powers or abilities to make me proud of who I am.  Now I have none of those and the only thing that is left of me is the empty shell and the mask that I wear to hide.. me.

-

I’m not proud of myself.  Nor are my parents.  Not even my friends.  If they were to know who I was.  I hide behind smiles and jokes.  I use your humor as a way of keeping people at a distance.  

No, my parents aren’t divorced.  No, I’m not disabled.  
Yes, I attend a fairly good school.  Yes, I have good people around me.  

Despite all the good things I have, I can’t stop feeling. Useless. Worthless. Not enough.  I don’t feel motivated to do anything.  I feel like the part of me that wants everything to end is taking over me day by day.  I sometimes want to jump out of the window but I fear pain.  I’m weak.  I want to buy pills and swallow the whole bottle but I don’t know what pills to buy.  It’s hard to get ahold on them here in Japan.  Should I burn everything I own before I die?  Or disappear after selling everything?  

I feel the need to do so so that my parents don’t have anything to look back on.  So they wouldn’t have to feel so ashamed about having me as a daughter.  I cry often now.  My father tells me that I did this to myself.  Bad grades.  Bad friendships.  No motivation.  I’ve disappointed many people in my life.  I cry feeling sorry for myself even though I have dug my own grave.  

I somehow never seem to learn.  I think there’s something wrong with me.  I’ve been telling my parents there’s something wrong with me but they just tell me I’m making up things.  Excusing myself from the reality that I am a disappointment.  That I messed up.  That I am dumb.  Useless.  I will never amount to anything.  I am hollow.  I am but a shadow of everyone else that used to be friends with me.  

I am not writing this for hope that I will change.  I just feel the need to put this out there.  Not for help.  I don’t seek help anymore.  Nothing will ever change.  

Some say, “Not with that attitude” but I’m tired of hearing those words.  I’ve already made and broken so many promises that I am not worthy of change.  Or a miracle.  I sometimes wish that whenever I go out to buy groceries, a car or truck will hit me.  I wish for an accident to happen so that I will die.  Or that something drastic would happen to me so that I will be away from everything.  Possibly in a hospital bed.  Possibly dying on the side of the road.  Possibly giving me a disability so that I could finally have an excuse of being who I am.  

I’ve imagined people at my funeral.  Not many will be there.  And even those who attend, will have never known the real me.  My true feelings.  About my friends, parents, education—everything and anything.  

I am writing this because I can’t tell anyone about this.  I understand that it doesn’t make sense.  Don’t worry about posting comments on this.  I will be glad that it has been read.  Although it was long.  I don’t know who you are or what you have been through.  I apologize for taking up your time.  

I don’t know what I am.  Who I am.  What I will be in the future.  I know nothing.
I don’t know who I am.  I wish someone would just take over me.  Maybe change things for the better.  Or maybe I have to end me for someone to live better.  I know nothing
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