#ancestral
My great-great-great-grandfather,
The father of my grandfather's great-grandfather,
He was a teacher by creed and by deed,
Once he sat with his eyes closed in great concentration...
A beautiful lady saw him sitting graciously in Padmasana pose,
That cunning nymph she wanted his penance undone for herself,
But he was a little short-tempered and couldn't take it when she tried it,
His patience was very short when it came to being disturbed during his penance.
Disturbed, he saw the beautiful nymph trying to break his temper,
He got enraged and picked up his trident to quickly ****** it through her *****
She had fear in her eyes,
Remorse on her face,
Pain in her contorted brows,
And despair in her dying voice,
As she uttered the curse,
*"O you so-called holy man,
You would never get love,
Your generations to come would die thirsty of love,
You're killing me because you can't make love to me,
So lost in your penance,
And so possessive about it,
Let your generations suffer for your actions..."*
She dropped dead there itself but her curse continues to be carried from one generation to the next.
I have been paying the price too,
Just like my father and grandfather,
No girl I knew has understood it,
No I won't just follow my forefathers,
I'll have it my way, I'll keep searching.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
few people
who tell me to forget
about the past
just fail to understand
that sometimes past
doesn't forget me
They fail to realize that
one is still in the battlefield
dodging bullets surviving attempted ******
my war is still ungoing
but as always chances are
I survive like I often do
by unseen forces
its a cruel ancestral
karmic war
that must be paid
no one is immune to it
no matter how prosperous waiges of sin generating good and bad Karma are unstapable
ask me I've lived it in the flesh
wining or losing
doesn't matter too much
it doesn't depend
on the self alone
One has to experience
cause and effect
of all actions and inactions
perhaps generational
values apply here
must perform my deed
suffer their bad karma
what can I as a recipient
do but endure
please don't say to soldier me
in this battlefield hell of mine
"forget the past! look forward!"
"Don't look back,
you'll crash and die!"
my forward might be more
of the same battlefield
****** neverending
generational type war
unprovoqued covert enemies
ever popping up
like agents in my Matrix did
unexpectedly
using different names
covert culprit Terminator One others wearing masks
hungry wolves
some in sheeps clothings
others smiling snakes
in my fallen paradise
many have fallen though
by my side and something
out there from beyond spares me
the people of God shall taste poison and it won't harm
the Lord upholds me and I wait patiently safe
heaven is within me.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
*Head tilted
Lips to Sky
Silhouette of Strength
Ancient Truths
Resonate within
Shoulders wide
Stance solid~ strong and wise
A Knowing of what
has come before
Heart open
Deep of vision
Seeing forward~back
Layers of time
Fully present
Embracing all
Your being, Your soul
Beating a rhythm that trancends
this earth~this universe
Weaving us together as One*
Copyright © 7/15/2015
Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Ancestral Beings
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Unmoved everything is leaden
My thoughts are dry
Striving like a ship in a bladderwrack sea
My vanity is death to creativity
Give me lonesome insanity
And the truth in delirium dreams
Give me truth that hammers in torrents
At the warped deck
Give me truth that seeps and runs
To the lowest point
Truth that opens clouds
Rolls back seas
Revealing slime-rock weed-whipped me
Give me the humming in the womb
The beating in the drum
That settled in my ancestor’s ear
Distant sounds, drawing near
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 11:43 AM UTC
Watered out into this cold, cruel world
My parents are still trying to survive
Can I blame them for wanting not to?
I don't either.
Want to lose what I love.
Home.
What's the cost if what I love harms me?
Isolate again insearch for home.
Where my soul can finally rest.
My human can thrive without love's conditions.
My mind loses its grip.
Who I had to be is no more.
My heart numb.
Overwhelmed.
Trying not to care.
Making myself invisible.
Still yearning for deep relief.
I've tried creating a home in falsehood
Belonging to causes & thoughtforms.
Soul is now their prize, imprisoned.
These mental bars amplify the internal echo.
My ancestors' screams through every DNA strand.
You can't fully experience what you don't give yourself first.
Overflow all that energy they want from me from within.
Protect our essence.
Your wholeness is home.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
#*
Promises it has kept
In fine latticed silver chain
Cascading, tiny silver bells
The paisley leaf hook, embellished with
pearls and semi precious stones
Antique and pure, the melody
The charm and chimes of the bells
Sparkling silver anklets
Held memories of occasions prime
Bespoke vintage jewellery
From silversmiths of old repute and times
Generations of happiness
Strengthening bonds*#
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 9:05 PM UTC
A lamentation carved in ancestral ash and silken wrath
I was born beneath a roof of borrowed stars, where silence was stitched into my cradlecloth, and every withheld scream became a psalm
for the Sentinel of Bloodline me.
They speak in tongues dipped in honeyed venom, those kin who wear concern like ceremonial garlands, but their rituals reek of rot their blessings, barbed.
The Bearer of Burdens my progenitor
spent his prime erecting altars for their comfort, his sweat sanctified their feasts, his spine bent into bridges they now demand
be paved with gold and guilt.
Two daughters, they hiss, as if our existence were a ledger of loss, as if his labor must be transmuted
into inheritance for those who never wept for him.
And the Matriarch of Grace my origin flame
they veil her with shame, commenting on her visage, demanding she drape herself in submission
as if dignity were theirs to dictate.
Yet she speaks to them still, with a grace that defies gravity, while I her blood’s echo
burn in silence, my fury folded into polite nods
and counterfeit smiles.
I want to unsheath my voice, etch boundaries into their bones, teach them the sacred geometry of respect.
How dare they trespass
into the sanctum of our suffering?
But I swallow my wrath for the Matriarch’s peace, for the Bearer’s dignity, for the society that weighs silence
as virtue.
Still, silence is a slow crucifixion.
So I write.
I ritualize my rage into verse, my grief into glyphs, my defiance into legacy.
Let this poem be a blade wrapped in velvet, a dirge for the betrayed, a sanctuary for Sentinels
who guard their lineage like sacred flame.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 9:32 AM UTC