#confessor - Hello Poetry

Small and brown Wrinkled and worn It's insides hide secrets, nicks and some nooks Mold of thy mind, mold of my soul When pen finally falls When the body gives finally breath And man I am gone It will stress me none Because I loved, I cried, I laughed I lusted with wild desired, More importantly, reluctantly I confess That above all what puts my heart to rest Is to know that a tiny speck of me will still be here In this leather bindings my soul will live

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Jun 12, 2020

Jun 12, 2020 at 12:35 AM UTC

claudio-mazzoni

On this Leather Binding

Small and brown Wrinkled and worn It's insides hide secrets, nicks and some nooks Mold of thy mind, mold of my soul When pen finally falls When the body gives finally breath And man I am gone It will stress me none Because I loved, I cried, I laughed I lusted with wild desired, More importantly, reluctantly I confess That above all what puts my heart to rest Is to know that a tiny speck of me will still be here In this leather bindings my soul will live

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_Confessor_, I am reborn, Vain with ash and frankincense; Absolved of my inverted pleasures, Reconciled to the morality of suffering. _Confessor_, I am returned, Predestined to gravely offend; Nimbly contrite in my genuflection, Gracefully weak-kneed in my resolve. _Confessor_, I am reborn, Although aged by my discretion; Examined satisfactorily by my conscience, Blessedly relieved through your encouragement. _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._

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Aug 30, 2019

Aug 30, 2019 at 4:30 PM UTC

annh

Mea Culpa

_Confessor_, I am reborn, Vain with ash and frankincense; Absolved of my inverted pleasures, Reconciled to the morality of suffering. _Confessor_, I am returned, Predestined to gravely offend; Nimbly contrite in my genuflection, Gracefully weak-kneed in my resolve. _Confessor_, I am reborn, Although aged by my discretion; Examined satisfactorily by my conscience, Blessedly relieved through your encouragement. _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._

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called me in for a consultation, “*lean in,” he suggested, with nearly closed eyes, “see the youthful optimistic predecessor, the conqueror, who could not be defeated, his thin images within still resides the man of firm voice who when he spoke above the rabble, all fell silent, and when he looked, all could share his visionary insights and did not hesitate, saying, we will do and we will listen, but to follow, just did, wrapped in your confidence I want that boy back, smooth skinned, fearless, do not return him till the shadows have dissipated, the bruised lines of worry have evaporated, the hands look unscathed, then raise them in self-supplication, demanding satisfaction, then in success, born overhead, marking appreciation, let us adventure forth, straightening tilting windmills, punishing renegades and dragons fearful, saving damsels who waited just for our arrival, shedding courage upon those who watch us, cheering and being cheerful here is your mighty pen, cut sharp the poems out from the within, read them slow, winding to now crooked old friends, who remember everything dear, their youth of no fear, the best of past, dreaming poems, mist born, fog vapor gone, of black and waiting white, worthy words all revived return to me in blazes, sumptuous colors of derring-do, I need that child brave, for perhaps you have not noticed my flaking slivering skin, the expanding cracks that cross my images, just like you! I need you to rebirth you, I need you to rebirth me!*”

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Aug 16, 2019

Aug 16, 2019 at 7:35 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

my old confessor, my bathroom mirror

called me in for a consultation, “*lean in,” he suggested, with nearly closed eyes, “see the youthful optimistic predecessor, the conqueror, who could not be defeated, his thin images within still resides the man of firm voice who when he spoke above the rabble, all fell silent, and when he looked, all could share his visionary insights and did not hesitate, saying, we will do and we will listen, but to follow, just did, wrapped in your confidence I want that boy back, smooth skinned, fearless, do not return him till the shadows have dissipated, the bruised lines of worry have evaporated, the hands look unscathed, then raise them in self-supplication, demanding satisfaction, then in success, born overhead, marking appreciation, let us adventure forth, straightening tilting windmills, punishing renegades and dragons fearful, saving damsels who waited just for our arrival, shedding courage upon those who watch us, cheering and being cheerful here is your mighty pen, cut sharp the poems out from the within, read them slow, winding to now crooked old friends, who remember everything dear, their youth of no fear, the best of past, dreaming poems, mist born, fog vapor gone, of black and waiting white, worthy words all revived return to me in blazes, sumptuous colors of derring-do, I need that child brave, for perhaps you have not noticed my flaking slivering skin, the expanding cracks that cross my images, just like you! I need you to rebirth you, I need you to rebirth me!*”

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