"adhered" poems
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
I have some aches that are not fiction
so my doctor wrote a prescription
She sent it to the pharmacy near
so I can get my mind adhered
I went to pick it up today
assured that all would be ok
The pharmacy tech was really nice
but said I had to pay full price
It seems as though I was denied
my insurance claimed the doctor lied
All I wanted was to feel better
but now i'm shackled to this fetter
I pay my premium; my budget festers
while the insurance company pays their investors
I guess i'll wait another year
insanity comes closer, I fear.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
ARTERY CONFESSION.
_Her love to me is like moon light, on a starry night._
As rising sun at dhawn. Like vine planted on his heart's yard. _which he ought to water to flowery_ _And fruitage._
his love for her is as deep as the dept of an ocean, _with the fishes abiding therein,_ _as stars, moon,_ and the sun adhered to the sky, it never
departed away from her side.
_his love to her can simply easily be compared to_ _GOD's towards mankind._
So he confessed and rendered his heart to her. _Like a teeming downpour upon earthen soften, it surface._
so her love compassed his heart comforting, _like pabulum to mind._
As light rays to eye sight. His love for her is reality only can be told in tale of their love story,
_gory to glory._ _He so_
Much love her and
really ready,
_in for her, fell in the water._
Lost and found with her for ever. _He wish he could wash her feet wilt the waters of his soul, cleansing her heart._
because he see her heart compatible to his.
_Remembered old days of midnight calls, they never used to give sleep to their eyes._ While talk through night, dusk till dawn,
_Remembered promises and all the pain they both had gone through heaven and hell._
*Never forgot the only first day he felt the fullness of her ******* _how sooth her heart. Tongue on tongue, mouthy pleasure._
His hands on her curves. Briskly remembered she _told him that after her_
momma he be next to her.
_She call him dad he call her Mami._ Before she demised his mama used to asked about his lady. His homies do too.
_His young blood can't either forget her memories,_
last night he was asked about her, oh sweetness
_is all about thee._ _Can't forget_
her, _he always craves_ her. All he ever wanted and desires are all found in her, his boo. _He truly loves her because he knew she'd make a good mother,_
Hope she'd understand if he change sometimes just only because he never own everythang as his. _So remember he always told her_
that he will always be there for her as time,
_even in the world after here._ _Her love is so good to him_
She has the key to his heart.
_reminisce she told him she'd_
_rather die for him than sleeping at someone else side._
She's his inspiration like a transportation, his motivation only she can help build his cloud nation. _His aspiration_
all is found in her, _all in ONE no one else but she._
She source the past time joy and still the reason _for today's and the hope_
of tomorrow's glee.
Sacrifice his love for her because he believes in future with her, she's his destiny his fate mate his ruth, his batsheba,
_His mary, his eve and soulmate._
#c9_fm
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 4:26 AM UTC
Last weekend,
one of your friends called me your manic pixie dream girl.
So in the movie that is my life,
I'm not even the main character,
just the quirky sidekick to my male protagonist.
And it's probably my ego speaking,
but I don't think that's right.
And I don't think that I,
of all people,
should be the one showing you the beauty of a world
that I only see in kinetic blurs and swatches,
passing by me in my free fall from this life to the next.
Because I tried once to see the world without a filter,
but its stagnancy sent me in a downward spiral
and somehow I ****** you into it--
into me.
And I don't mean to be your whirlwind woman,
destined to spit you out--disoriented--
somewhere that you've never been before,
somewhere that no map ever cared to acknowledge,
somewhere stained with my essence,
my idiosyncrasies,
and your new found head trauma.
And you're a rational guy
and I'm an on again off again rational girl
who needs a little help stilling the edges of her narrative,
who longs for a tether or a buoy
to keep her from flying off or sinking down.
So maybe if you held my shoulders to stop me from spinning,
my vision would sober up,
and I'd focus solely on your curves and your angles
as they entered my retinas,
while the rest of the world behind you
faded into blurry suggestions
to be adhered to by someone who gave a **** about them
And after you wiped the puke from your shoes,
maybe you'd see me focused in your eyes
and maybe, just maybe...
...you'd just call me your dream girl.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
i.
Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.
Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.
Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.
Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,
defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.
It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.
ii.
Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch
if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.
It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.
They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.
But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.
Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
In the former life I led
I had no way of filling
The empty grave of one who's dead
My pride was e'r willing
I had an ego overblown
In pompous boasts exceeding
But I was lost and all alone
My soul was torn and bleeding
I had abilities and then
Became a prideful bearer
Of all the things that I could do
At last I was in error
Even when I knew The Lord
Made charity my pleasure
My works became my righteousness
Above my only Treasure
Christ died in vain upon his cross
If my beliefs adhered to
And I rejected precious Grace
That was the point I came to
How can I live a sinless life?
I am without that merit
Jesus lived that life for me
So Grace I could inherit!
So here I am to tell you all
Pride is like a cancer
I will boast in Jesus Christ
For He's the only answer
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/23/2016
*"I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why would I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom."
How Great The Father's Love*
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
People always complain about political correctness
Unless it's something important to them
Then they expect you to use empathetic indirectness
As to not hurt the feelings of men
I'm a homosexual talking to a stranger
They don't detect this
They say ****** and unleash my anger
They don't expect this
They were expecting me to be socially correct
To their bigoted views
They can't handle it when their hatred reflects
And they're given their due
I can't ask for a simple date
Or mention anything about God
I can't ask for their ****** state
That would imply that they're flawed
Yet they say I'm easily offended
But their argument is upended
When there are many topics I must avoid
Or hedge around
Otherwise they will get easily annoyed
And wear a frown
People say Donald Trump is politically incorrect
But that's not true
He's a hateful piece of ****
People confuse that with political incorrectness
But if about half the people who vote are pieces of ****
Can that really be said to be incorrect?
The idea of the president being politically incorrect is absurd
By virtue of being elected his politics are being endorsed
And endorsement is what comprises political correctness
He may know nothing of governance or diplomacy
But he was correct when it came to politics
I live in a country where I can say pretty much whatever I want
And then everyone else can react however they want
To be angry at someone's reaction is its own political correctness
They're just mad it's not their own specific politics being adhered to
So when people mention political correctness I laugh
It's a defensively reflexive path
When they live an unexamined life
But then complain about their plight
They think they're hated because they're white
They think they're hated because they're right
I dislike them because they have low empathy
So I don't want to be near that
Because their hatred starts to enter me
When they call me a queer ***
Then they expect me to love it
But instead I tell them to shove it
They tell me I'm being politically correct
Maybe it's their own lives they should inspect
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
Today is about missing you,
About missing your spicy fresh perfume, that I'd begun to love,
About missing your plump fat nose, that I never managed to pinch,
About missing your intense and sometimes senseless banter, that I'd never get enough of,
About missing your attempts to reduce the amount of coffee I drink, that I unwillingly adhered to,
About missing the quarter piece of a jam toast, that you always saved for me,
About missing the way you calmed me down, when we faced storms together,
About missing how you took note of everything, a new hair clip, that I knew you'd like on me,
About missing your watch, which you never took off, because of what it meant to you,
About missing your stories, and the zest with which you narrated them,
About missing your photography, how you captured my best and worst moments, when I wasn't looking,
About missing our shared love for yogurt drinks, and how we analysed each one we drank,
About missing how you screamt 'Mogu Mogu' when you found your favourite drink, in my favourite café,
About missing your big hands, that were strong and gentle at the same time,
About missing those few drives with you, talking about everything and nothing,
About missing how you surprised me on my birthday, with chocolates and a scarf, that feels warmer than any other,
About missing your silly quirks, like carrying your backpack around everywhere, which only I understood,
Today is about missing you
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
My eyes were beaming out,
onto the gloomy streets.
Fog was lurking in.
It adhered to my skin.
As the dew latched on,
after only seconds,
I slowly became damp.
Contributing to my silky skin.
Dusting my cheeks,
generating rosiness on my surface.
Glazing over my hair,
gluing each strand to another.
Coating my hands,
nipping at my fingertips
The haze in the back of my head,
It kept getting heavier.
Digging my fingernails into my head.
Tugging on each strand,
between my scalp and jagged fingernail.
Clawing as my nails trailed down my skull.
Blood dripping,
Streaming,
Creating tidal waves.
Fog was sprouting in my essence
The fog began to maneuver on me.
Blanketing over my body,
weighing down my soul,
overloading my carcass.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
Ditch diggers don't write poems -
As if there might be found
A single thought profound
Amid the mud they go in;
The pungence in essence released
From trees' roots that are severed
Is never fragrant like lilacs,
And their labor is of purpose,
That dirt removed by aching backs -
Gashed earth becomes the grave
In which our sins can be hidden;
Tomorrow ditches will be filled in,
Restoring peace which land craves,
The simple laborer's work done.
Ditch diggers don't write poetry -
Palms calloused in pick and *****
Too rough when art 's to be made,
Remain convinced by sophistry
They've no true claim to a pen.
Clods of clay always remain
Adhered to heels of workmen's boots,
Becoming my life's defining metaphor.
So we forgo more ethereal pursuits,
Though forever treasuring sweetness
Flowed over soil of our dank holes,
Loving breaths exhaled from souls,
Floral kisses blown across distance.
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
You broke me to fix yourself,
and You left unnoticeably,
just after carrying all the weight
of Your agony on Your shoulder,
just after handing me this burden.
I let You drown yourself in my comfort
but when You found temporary peace,
You left,
You left with all confidence that I would be fine.
But I'm not.
I wont lie to You
I'm unhappy.
I'm emotionally unstable.
and I wish I'd know why I felt adhered
maybe because I was too busy fixing You,
to think about myself.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Meet me there, you remember? The corner of Air Street, outside the bar that constantly changes its name. Remember? Where we drank margaritas - 2 for 1 - before heading to On Anon for half price champagne.
Ecstatic from happy hour, we needed no more fuel, we were all fired up for fun. We sauntered past restaurants offering every cuisine imaginable to bag ourselves an early table in Freedom Bar, before they introduced an entrance charge.
The sticky floor adhered to the bottom of our platform heels, the bar smelled like bubblegum. Drag Queens dared us to dance; we held onto poles, span and sang.
Slick with sweat, our own, and everyone else's as the place grew packed. We smelled like horses. Tossing our manes, we breathed hard, danced and danced, wild eyed, looking for a ride.
Remember? Before it all went wrong. Before you lost your job, your home, your mind. Before I had children, learned to love a different kind of fun. You kept losing.
Weeks went by, the phone stopped ringing. It was easy not to think of you, I was tired, you wouldn’t be interested in my boring life. You dropped away, silently, stealthily. Suddenly you weren’t there, you weren’t anywhere. Where are you now? How can I find you?
If I had thought I could lose you, I would have tried harder. I would have found you, I would have brought you home. I could have been you, I could have been the one to lose my way.
The colour of remorse is crimson; a flood of red despair. Your hair was slick with it, trailing the tub, tacky, like the dancefloor, where we didn’t care in a different way.
Meet me there, you remember? Come back, I’ll take you dancing, I’ll hold you up, we’ll laugh until we cry. Are you in Heaven? I’ll meet you there. Wait for me - I’m on my way.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
In a heartbeat,
we were forged.
We adhered well...
Like bone to sinew.
But alas...
Furious is the blaze
in our hearts we torched.
In a blink all is lost...
Like early morn's dew.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Mental health is not a choice
It becomes a defect
It's visible
Yet everyone remains
Convinced of this new fashion statement
Was my elect
And unstableness
Is my preference
Except here I am
Screaming on the inside
For normal functions
And a stable mindset
I am at constant endurance
For the hurricanes roaring in my head
Crashing into my thoughts
Telling me what is rotting
Destroying my homes,
Drowning my sanity
Even as I rebuild
I find myself
Falling into the gust of
Cycles that ruin me
Leaving me in defeat
In my decomposing, suffocated brain
Handling paranoia speaking into your ear
Constant talking
You never see
But only feel
Above your shoulder
Then the depression of suicide
Filled with emptiness and questioning
With nothing being real
And you left being numb
Only what follows that
Is the high of a life
Putting you ontop of it
Dangling your feet
But threats of dropping
Start pumping in your blood
Shaking,
Scared of it all
And uncontrollable worries
Make your sorry
You even went high
Gloom in the chase,
Death makes you quiet
Shelter and safe
You escape
Until you are bored and furious
Lashing out with whips
Against your loves
Screaming mindlessly
Wrecking your things
And hurting endlessly
Understand how
Your constant neglect
For the ill minded
And ignorance for the defected
Telling us to **** it up
And how it's our select
Is slowly slaughtering our self worth
In reality
You are the murderer
Telling us
We are the romantically damaged
Except you omit
the hideous pumping chemicals
They feed us
To satisfy
Your false perception
Of who is sane
And who is to blame
Making us even more crazed
Day in my life
You wouldn't last a second
Try to understand
This cycle never ceases
But will only increase
With your toxins
And my decay
There is no cure
And I am left
Being adhered to this madness
And curving my life
With complicated composure
Of trying to survive
Vicious thoughts
And even more
Blood thirsty people
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
Skin pinked in the August heat
Thick with sunlight, we sit on the patio
One ordered a Manhattan
Another that local piss-in-a glass pilsner
The typical name dropping
Of “priest so and so” and
“The one I pretend to be my close friend
but we never talk about anything real”
Place cards adhered to locations
Cabins, sports and Disney vacations
Dreams that make up the American childhood
Those women are always a little louder
Those raging extroverts
Social club doorkeepers
Definers of the status quo
If they never had kids
Who would they be?
In their six bedroom homes and
Forgotten memories
Of why they said “yes”
Talk faster!
The topic just veered to the left
Tacky dangling earrings shout—
"Follow the prescription of happiness
I can’t hear you and I don’t want to!"
That sun just kept beating down
Nodding and smiling at vacuous words
I started reciting song lyrics inside of my head
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
She was stripped and ***** before millions,
but she made herself believe it was not us but few aliens;
why else do you think she stands ***** gathering all her resilience,
to provide us food, oxygen and shelter throughout the four seasons.
Every night, she wonders about her fate at dawn,
Would she be able to greet the sun with that lazy yawn;
Her mates are dead in a battle they had forgone,
Now, she awaits her turn, death is pleasing than being forlorn.
Consumed with fear, the leaves once fresh, now greyed and withered,
She is too pained to decide whether to fight or stay a coward;
Before the first cut of axe, she asks “what have I erred?”,
But we have long since lost our sensitive hearts, her cries are left unheard.
What goes around comes around, do we realize that?
Every tree lost makes the world less amiable to adapt,
having brutally sinned, are we ready to face the impact?
Our acts let them bleed; now let’s get ready to don their hat.
We can’t give birth to a battalion to fight the nature’s army,
Coz our Hitlers and Napoleons are no match for their blazing heat or tsunami.
These are conflicts, which cannot be resolved by a bishop or an attorney,
we are adhered to doom when the nature says “the war is between you and ME”.
The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago; the second best time
is now – a Chinese proverb
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:59 AM UTC
The planet it wobbles a lonely path
On the background of distant stars
So constant and locked into their relative places-
They did seem so very happy.
It leaves its solemn red footprint
On the pitch black night
The astronomer's eye is caught by a passer-by.
Embarrassed at his distraction he turns back to his telescope
And cannot see the faded mark it left behind
Only the endless void
And he raps his knuckles on the railing wondering what he had been looking for.
And there is a glint of gold in the evening sky and blue smoke from a chimney-top
And the sharp-dressed men and women in their black jackets
Are too focused on the sidewalk
Cracked, Beige-gray,
It was recently cleaned for their viewing pleasure
And it leads them to their cubicles and coffee-shops.
And then their houses where they burn away the night in small silent hearths
And awake again the next morning with each minute planned ahead
Only to find out the schedule they had followed-
and adhered to the entire day-
Was not written for them
or for anyone
but just as another man's joke meant for nobody else to see
The toil she felt in the armchair constructed,
such a constant lock in place
that she collapsed
and they looked admiringly as she had worn herself out working hard at her job all day-
And I looked at the map scrawled at my feet in a different man's handwriting
"I'm lost," I said after a pause.
"I do feel rather lost"
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
I am hated
I am feared
because to no god
am I adhered
I can love,
and I can feel.
I'm not that different.
So what's the deal?
Your parents' ideals
at a young age,
forced upon you.
Where is your rage?
Your teenage spirit,
our "open" generation.
How can you stand
the segregation?
Unique identity?
You don't mind.
But in this way I differ?
Oh, the problems you find.
We boast of equality,
Freedom of speech.
But in the justice of our nation,
I've found a breach.
In our lovely America,
we don't discriminate.
But take a small survey -
It's atheists we hate:
Our ungodly ways
Our acceptance of others
Our selfish lives
Our care for our brothers
The First Amendment:
Secularism’s a must.
Now look at our money:
"In god we trust"?
But tell me now -
of which god do you speak?
Thor, Zeus, Allah?
Which god should I seek?
And tell me now! -
Why seek any?
You want me to choose?
There are so many.
And logically it follows
that no god is right.
Even if you believe in one,
try to see the light.
Think of the hundreds
of gods you suppress
There's no reasoning to it,
I must confess.
You fling feeble fights
Filled with hate
Don't try to change me,
it's too late.
I'm on my path,
so I'll keep walking
You can come too,
if you just stop talking.
You preach and you shout
I know your belief.
If you believe, I don't care
If you don't, sweet relief.
You call me close-minded
But just listen to me;
I've tried and you haven't
You've never tried to see.
I've listened for hours
I've tried to think what you think
And if I tell you what I believe
You disregard me without a blink
Now take a moment here,
just a short pause,
to realize what I say
Let it sink in its claws.
I know both sides
I've chosen my own
You know one side
What has that shown?
It's not that hard
to get informed.
But it's much easier
to say conformed.
If you knew both sides,
you might change your mind.
Is that why I'm scary?
Would you rather stay blind?
This is all we have
Does that cause dismay?
Use your life wisely
don't use it to pray
"Be grateful for what you have"
Cherish this life
Cherish our world,
it's not a cause for strife
You've been given so much,
but not by your "Lord"
Accept what it is
and put down your sword
Let go of your anger
Why do you fight?
Why can’t you see
that our future is bright?
Be who you are,
never fear retribution.
Being true to myself
is my own contribution
I am unimportant and small
I know this quite well.
You can know too,
You won't be sent to hell
Our own earth
is where we laugh and love
Live - don't waste your life waiting
for the nothing above.
This is all your time,
your time to feel.
So make it count.
And make it real.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
You need sunglasses when your staring at me
Cause the light I emanate scars the retina of my enemies
There is no cure for the blindness you will endure
A pain perpetuated by the ignorance so perniciously procured
Squared against an inevitable death I easily steal your breath from the barrel of my Smith and Wess
Watching your hollow tears bleed on the canvas I project
a cataclysmic disaster wrapped up in a dismal death
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
So as we kick back and sorely reside
I’ll be the change in the coming tide
Caged inside tortured flesh I search for rest to keep the human condition suppressed
But all I find each time that I design a new quest I become a servant of death
Invigorated by the test I stretch my consciousness to tear the limbs off your chest and beat you senseless
I won’t stop there, I’ll slit the throat leaving you without hope and then drown it in Everclear
While I may seem like a cynic
I’m not through with these gimmicks
Lacerating your heart with the bones I striped from your tendons
I’m not an advocate of violence but
Sometimes the pilot of peace needs to be reached by setting loose the destruction we inherently seek
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
And I’ll hide my words with silence
And I’ll no longer become violent
Just another subservient machine lost in a sea of tyrants
I won’t be blunt here I’ll keep dropping metaphorical bombs onto your ears
Until all my peers understand the imminent plan that needs to be adhered:
Stop short cause change is impossible to purport
Don’t dream cause it’ll get shattered with a corporate hammer
Stay sinking in a world that raises a stagnant banner
Assimilate with the overzealous overweight materialism that manifests in the minds of the poor and is perpetuated by strip malls and ******
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
the words fluttered,
swung, swept, swooshed,
bemoaned, bereaved, bedazzled,
leapt, lauded, littered,
hovered, heckled, hiccuped,
made U-turns, took deep dips,
underwent saucy somersaults,
played like notes,
acted like songs,
usurped as oaths,
humbled as prayers,
slaughtered as killers,
punctuated, presided, presumed,
abetted, adhered, attacked
while the paper endured all with love.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 7:50 AM UTC
With each reach I am further away than I hoped.
Clawing desperately at walls of mud.
Foiled by the viscosity of fools.
No matter how hard I try to escape the solitude it haunts me still.
Looming over me like a cowl adhered to my skull.
Comforting is its presence.
Complex are it’s vexes.
Is it the walls or my skin that take the brunt of my aggression?
Is it outward or all within?
Could it be that the darkness is my only friend?
The only thing that remains.
All my efforts are in vain.
All my transgressions explained.
My thoughts are all insane.
But here in the depth I can escape the pain.
So here I shall remain.
Filled with more of the same.
Questions unexplored… a bane.
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 7:55 PM UTC
Worldly kingdoms emerge, rise and eventually fall
but there's one kingdom that does outlast them all.
It is eternal which means it has no beginning or end
though most people in the world don't comprehend.
It has been written and talked about in so many scriptures
yet in the external world doesn't form part of any fixtures.
No matter how grand a structure or building is erected that it may represent
or how many people daily, under its roof for worship, they devoutly frequent.
The kingdom of the everlasting Soul is to be found within us all
and doesn't really have any roof, floor, pulpit or containing wall.
Its own image and essence is all of a glorious Eternal Supreme Being
that with Its own grace, knowledge, light and love one can be seeing.
All we have to do is to acknowledge Its presence and look within,
live our daily lives in accordance with the Truth which is Its Twin
that the highest practical wisdom is based on known to mankind
and has been handed down from ages past for humanity to bind.
This doesn't mean that It belongs or is particular to just one religious belief
but encompasses them all through which people seek to find worldly relief;
because of Its glorious Eternal nature It also has unfathomable or infinite attributes
and beyond the limited mind of man to comprehend though philosophy contributes.
Even the laws of every country or state are based on the Truth;
though due to age old corruption is hardly discerned from youth.
As people have a strong tendency to seek and satisfy there own selfish interests
that go against the universal principles inherent in the wisdom the Soul bequests.
These universal principles are really the backbone of all spiritual aspiration
that have to be adhered to if there's to be any further evolution or realisation,
of mankind's true nature and individual or collective higher moral development
which is a unified and holistic existence that by the Truth of the Soul is vent.
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Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
I’ll be ready with the palm leaves
Upon your return.
I’ll lay them at your feet as you grace
Me with your presence.
Crowds will form and chant your name,
For they know that joy has arrived.
Countless hours staring out the window;
I have memorized the stains on the glass
And made friends with the spider on her web.
If only I had a web of my own to keep you
Adhered to my side.
You said it wouldn’t be long.
You lied.
Memories sustain me.
Hope contains me.
Who do you think you are,
Toying with my sanity?
Ah, my soul’s keeper,
My grim reaper.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC