#raised - Hello Poetry

to more than I can be... a sad isolated man, throes of an agonizing, stretched by her for painful revengeful gain, kissed with pointless avarice, divorce. children deeming him alienating, his faulty insensitive sensitivities, to easy blame little do they know of the piercing lowliness, the looniness of nights he listened to sad-eyed singers, and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts, where he off loaded the agonies of a midlife disaster, not entirely of his-own sown making, but still his to bear and bare alone... some accidents happens for unintentional, unintended intentional new seasons appear, stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen to his explanations, expiations, excoriations of his all too common tragedy, and said: this broken human, he's got his reasons, read his overly long treatises, his entreaties, to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner of the silence of the internet, where only the trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive, and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering, embracing comforting, those who actually admitted his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer himself, was deserving of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness, a pat on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking, and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the for and the fore in a new baby born, named - new forever came into existence the very same e that begins those conjoined words ***e~ternally grateful "and now I sleep in peace when the day is done" but the night time is still the write time

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Sep 13, 2025

Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

lest you forget, you raised me up...

to more than I can be... a sad isolated man, throes of an agonizing, stretched by her for painful revengeful gain, kissed with pointless avarice, divorce. children deeming him alienating, his faulty insensitive sensitivities, to easy blame little do they know of the piercing lowliness, the looniness of nights he listened to sad-eyed singers, and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts, where he off loaded the agonies of a midlife disaster, not entirely of his-own sown making, but still his to bear and bare alone... some accidents happens for unintentional, unintended intentional new seasons appear, stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen to his explanations, expiations, excoriations of his all too common tragedy, and said: this broken human, he's got his reasons, read his overly long treatises, his entreaties, to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner of the silence of the internet, where only the trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive, and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering, embracing comforting, those who actually admitted his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer himself, was deserving of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness, a pat on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking, and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the for and the fore in a new baby born, named - new forever came into existence the very same e that begins those conjoined words ***e~ternally grateful "and now I sleep in peace when the day is done" but the night time is still the write time