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Steven Boston Sep 12
To dilligently seek his forever face
focused eternally upon his giving grace
even in squals that hover
under his wing you hide in compassionate cover

Knowing the love that longingly lasts
to hold you like an anchor sure and steadfast
pressing on towards whats in wait
your refining process toward the heavenly gate

Never lose sight of where your going
no matter what the evil one has thrown
for storms and squals open opportunity
to glorify his name in broken community

Shine bright like the night star
breaking bounderies in cities near and far
taking hold of Pentecostal power
leading people to his refuge and tower

Like Pentecost the Spirit will fall
then they will hear his compassionate call
"There's nothing to fear"
"My child come near"
Beyond the drone of pitiful noise
lays his nightmare silent voice
dark treacle running through
his vindictive veins
shouting for spilled scarlet floods
in the arena of his rebellious reality

We ask
is the psyche awakened
of a heinous human

As he premeditates malicious ******
in his razor wire embroiled shell
venting vicious violent thoughts
from his cauldron
overspilling with the essence
of things past

Into abhorent action
it bounces and bounds
'Heres Johnny'
the sun rising for him
as it sets for another
he's lifted from his numbness

adrenaline gushing
through his warped floodgates
saturating the twisted air he breathes
without it he is but a nobody
drowning in the normality
of real reality
Wrote this about what makes a serial killer tick, was for a prompt.
Steven Boston Aug 30
Trepadation stares its way
as the cage doors are raised
people like ants
on the sweet taste
of the sugar of consumerism
lost in the highs it brings
smiles return to once long faces
it was but a distant memory
to be cut from humanity
relationships chord cut
when a virus awakens
an emptiness that dwells within
easy for some to return
as if sliding into a new pair of shoes
for others it will be squirming
and squeezing
into too many sizes small
do we forget the pain of others
admist our own selfish endevours
Steven Boston Aug 29
Dwelling where the tears cry blood
echoed nightmares ghost my tortured shell
In streets not paved in gold
but misery mountains that I scale everyday
wearily sauntering around their slippy slopes

As I die a little bit more everyday

Sitting on my concrete throne
chained to the only thing I know
an abyss of loniless
my friend
my foe

As I die a little bit more everyday
This poem is about being homeless which I have experienced in my life. Now removed from it I wrote about it.
Steven Boston Aug 29
Freshly sharpened knives slice
at my numb skin
as I bound forwards bleary eyed
in the blueness of the morning

I breathe in the freshness of its delights
head awakened
in a juggernaut of thoughts
the expanse of being
suddenly aware
of a dark shadow
in the recesses of a shop door

it shifts quickly from my peripheral vision
I'm suddenly drawn to it
as my curiosity wells up inside
of my cold shell

I feel like the cat who is just about to spend all nine lives
uncertain of what lies in the boxed doors
to material worth.
whimpers the voice of the unknown

my eyes acclamatise
to the darkness in front
in view now
a dishelved man slumbered

face old beyond his years
he catches my eyes with his sad gaze
emminating from them
is the story of a journey of old
a soul lost in the past

such desolation
stonniness conjured

in the blink of an eye
Steven Boston Aug 28
Spiders eggs hatching
consume my weary fractured vessel
embodied in canals of conflicting emotion
muted to the outside world

Ghost in a shell
wondering in the valley of death
fallen debris pierces my conscience
floating on the monsooned mayhem

Kamakaze in-flight and bound
thoughts chained in steel
painted in perilous poison
maiming every interaction

Train stops with sudden jolt
in its tired teary tracks
unaware of the pittiful plight
deep sighed breath in rescued relief

And then again
and again
and again
Steven Boston Aug 28
She didn't know her name
her label for life
such a travesty for a beautiful soul
to be lost in her identity as a young woman

came the call from the distant left.
from the far right.

alas none of these tags felt like they belonged to her spirit lost in a wayward world
she was found on a crystal clear night
stars ablaze in their glory

abandoned at the docks
where ships delivered their bountiful cargo.
she was a cargo so dainty and precious
in amongst the robust ships and containers

they found her by the old rickety rail tracks that led to nowhere
once used but now forever forgotten

she had deep blue eyes
that sang a soulful song everytime you gazed upon them

this is her story
the one who was found
the girl with no name
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