"afflictions" poems
#*Can it love you like God loves you, with a love that is better than life?
Can it connect you to eternal beauty? Can it save you? Can it redeem you?
Can it lift you out of the miry pit? Can it make you clean enough to finally feel acceptable?
Can it delight your soul to the core? Can it take your breath away with its faithfulness to you? Can it paint both sunrise and sunset across the sky to beckon your attention? Can it cause the breeze to blow and gently caress your cheeks? Can it send hummingbirds and wildflowers across your path to romance your heart? Can it parade before you the starry host and call them each by name?
Can it probe you to the depths and fill you with itself?
Can it rush to your aid riding on the wings of the wind?
Can it satisfy your hunger and thirst with bountiful things?
Can it give to you feet like a deer that you might dance upon the heights?
Can it arrange every detail of your life to draw you and drive you to itself?
Can it pursue you with all the resources of the universe?
Can it know you through and through and still desire you?
Can it raise you up and seat you in the heavenly realms and bless you with every spiritual blessing? Can it supply your every need out of its glorious riches? Can its grace be sufficient for you and its mercy help you in your greatest temptation? Can it pour overflowing comfort into you through all of your troubles? Can it reach down to draw you out of deep waters? Can it set you on an unshakable foundation? Can it bound across the mountains to come to your rescue? Can it make you lie down in green pastures and lead you beside still waters?
Can it walk with you through the darkest wilderness and never leave you or forsake you? Can it carry you when you are weak or have fallen? Can it let you rest between its shoulders when you are weary or burdened?
Can it escort you to heaven’s banqueting table
and spread its banner of love over you?
Can it hide you in the shelter of its wing?
Can it be your daily portion and immerse you in the boundlessness of itself?
Can it clothe you in robes of righteousness and garments of salvation?
Can it give to you praise in exchange for mourning?
Can it bestow on you a crown of beauty for ashes?
Can it turn your wailing into dancing?
Can it flood you with peace like a river?
Can it fill your heart with joy in the worst of afflictions?
Can it know the way to lead you home?
Can it refine you in its fire and bring you forth as gold?
Can it capture you fully even as it sets you fully free?
Can it ever truly be your Everything?*#
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
I would have taken the easy path
But that would leave no room for glory
I would have picked out a comfortable life
But that isn't God’s kind of story
I would have followed a prettier road
But missed the most beautiful way
I would have clung to familiar things
But lived out my days in the grey
I would have chosen what’s stable
But grown cold, apathetic and bored
I would have sought out earth’s riches
But lost all that in heaven is stored
I would have liked more successes
But not learned so quickly of grace
I would have seen myself praised more
But given up knowing God’s face
I would have tied all my loose ends
But not known it’s He Who brings peace
I would have wanted for happier times
But traded a joy that can’t cease
I would have opted for normal
But not tasted rare delicacies
I would have preferred a man’s love
But been robbed of Divine intimacy
He’s chosen for me the high road
More jagged, more narrow and steep
So now I must travel this difficult way
Ever knowing it leads to the deep
Now I must choose to cherish His path
And trust Him to walk with me there
Now I must hasten to take up my cross
The fellowship of His sufferings to share
For one day this life will be over
And all my afflictions will end
It is then I will see what all this is for
In my Bridegroom, my Savior, my Friend
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Fabricated.
Fictitious.
A fake floating feeling
Falls short
Of my fleeting fantasy.
This insidious infirmity
Isn't what I intended.
I've been inflicted
With internal indisposition.
In need of an ideal identity.
Who am I without
This ****** to make me whole?
How do I heave my heart
Away from this hole?
Have you seen how hard this is?
But it's been short of a year,
Of believing I can simply be.
And before I break
Bleed me of my bane.
And for me, bear no malice.
Tightly take me
Away from my terible tempest.
Time tells me it's time to stop.
Too long I've tortured my tenemet.
Tame the tantrum tearing through me.
Sober seems strong,
But it's systematic survival.
Stopping the surrender
To something stimulating.
Learning to stand sedated.
No I'm no longer numb.
No longer neglecting my need
For new novcane.
Knowing I'll never need
This vaccine again.
You are all my ambition.
Dispelling my ailments
And afflictions.
I am hard to adore, I know.
You are my new addiction.
You have me dreaming,
Praying we are real.
Made me feel.
Don't decieve my brittle belief.
Keep me, don't leave.
I'm not the kind to fly.
For you i'd try to dive.
Unafraid I might die.
I don't hide from the night.
This is what I've been trying to find.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
#*There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
God will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
I want you to know, I want you to see
I want you to look beyond your own eyes
Past your afflictions
Do you really care?
can you not see?
can you not hear?
Sometimes the silence is better
I know you will never understand
I know you will never see
you''ll never see how badly I hurt
you will never hear my screams
I'll light the match, the flame, the fuse, the bomb
rescue the world from your word's
I want to torch it, burn it, scorch it, end it
watch it as it blows away
I won't let you poison me any longer
A prisoner no more
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
The madness, the darkness has come seeping in,
once again I am burdened with my sin,
The thoughts, they swirl in a crazed tempo,
beating against my skull with the desperate fury of a dying heart.
I am drowning under a tide of pensive dispair,
Struggling to even gasp for air,
Oh! I lament my own awareness,
my jealousy is reserved for the blind.
Surely, I must be mad!
How could I not be with such anguish I am clad,
One true question remains.
Will I fade, implode, or explode with such force as to devastate my own?
Run! My darkness is no longer a flame lazing,
but an inferno blazing,
We all have our afflictions, mine is thought.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
i quake to my bones
to my very core
i shudder and crumble
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
overwhelmed,
consumed
filled to the brim
the very thought of me
Screams you
the slinking corridors hide my addictions,
afflictions,
illusions, distractions,
my convictions
the mirrors reflect nothing
i am weightless, drifting
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Lost in the dark, one foot in the grave.
She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.
Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.
Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, the hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?
Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 4:23 PM UTC
This is not about you.
This is not about
the transmutation
of your jail celled mind
wrapped in self-help
and cellophane.
This is not about
your new found
discovery
discovering me
and my afflictions
according to the
white man’s diction
a dictation
of my past
extracted
and examined
under the microscopic
power of time.
This is not about
your self-defined
enlightenment
when you made
a deal to unearth
the truth of HeLa
coated in dust
covered particles
of HeLa
on your nightstand
and I laid
in a grave
unmarked.
This is not about
my big lips
and thick hips
under ***** covers
running a sweat
fever on my thighs
shaking feet in stirrups
and the pain was rich
after a tight pinch
and I didn’t know
what part of me
had been snipped
to grow cold
and never die.
No, this is not about you.
This is about me.
A historic legacy
left to thrive across the time
less chains of nucleic
tidal waves
Covalent bonds
could never rival
the strides of this soul
miles beyond
the distant
COLORED ENTRANCE
something brewing
inside dividing
inexplicable replication,
readying for harvest
behind a dried tobacco field
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight, LORD,
my Rock and my Redeemer.
Good Morning Beloved
It is good to be among you this morning.
Let us pray….
Gracious Lord
As we sojourn the pathways of life
You have brought us to the places
Of ecstatic splendorous peaks
You have blessed us with resounding joys
You have filled us with good things
The grace of your unconditional love
Is made manifest in the abundant life
you have promised to all your children
We bless you Lord for your provision
And your unfailing unrequited love
You have also humbled us Lord
With times of perplexing trial,
deep sorrows and pointed loss
Our earthly journey
has led us to places
of dread, devastation
sickness and pending death
Our plans and aspirations
Have turned to dust
Our eyes fill with tears
Our crestfallen hearts
have hardened
We fail to receive the
balm of love
We have been routed
We have lost the battle
We have been conquered
by separation, sin and despair
The spirit of life
Has evaporated
From our bodies
All that remains
Are dry bones
Scattered in the
valley of death
hidden by the shadows
In the nadir of our lives
Yet your abiding love
remains the
strong Present Helper
calling us to your light
May we rise from our
Afflictions as Lazarus
did when called by his
beloved friend Jesus
May your grace anoint
Our ears with the sound of
The Great Resurrectors voice
May you stir our hearts
With the wisdom of your will
May you bless our lips
With the grace of prophecy
That we may
Prophesy to the broken
And brittle bones of our lives
Prophecy to the bones
so they may be joined
With sinew and flesh again
May your words
Become flesh
May we walk again
In the land of the living
And rejoin the beloved
At the table of
Your abundant grace
In The Good Deliver's Name
We pray...
Selah
Music:
Eric Dolphy, Come Sunday
Readings,
Ezekiel 37 The Valley of Dry Bones,
John 11, The Death of Lazarus
Prayer of the Dry Bones
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette NJ
4th Sunday in Lent
4/2/17
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...
A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...
A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...
A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...
A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...
A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...
A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...
Sally
Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[(())]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
•
Your love is as sweet as the sugar,
That I've been addictively indulging,
For so many years.
*Every piece of you,
Is just the most gratifying that I have tasted!*
But when together we've been drowned with tribulations,
You just gave up rapidly...
And dissolved!
*Integrating and going with the flow,
Of those torments and allurements,*
Now where are you?
You are now a part of those afflictions that drowned you,
I can still taste your sweetness,
*Every time I sip through the trials,
That we've face,
Resulting to weaken your knees,
And been defeated,*
I was totally in great pain,
To know that your love,
Can be just greatly surmounted,
By miseries in life,
But what can I do?
I fight, you relinquish,
And until then,
You just become a memory,
Of an achingly baleful chronicles of my life.
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
I remember the first time I discovered poetry,
bolts of electric affluenza coursing through soft fingertips
and into the skinny blue lines of fascination
meaning nothing at first, yet transforming into the spillage
of emotion, the invention of color,
the budding metamorphosis of the artist’s apprehension.
I remember telling everyone about the honey-tainted metaphors
that exhaled yellow pigment through our film noir madness
of ravaged years cementing over irises
and I remember the revelation, saucer eyes and trembling hands
after discovering the faultlessness of magic
that tore at heartstrings and furrowed brows,
the mumbled prayer of stitching entire blankets of words together
to keep our souls warm even as the frigid ice of Time
burned in desperation to freeze our heartbeats.
You are a poet
but to the world, you are wasted opportunity
you only know of words that slip through tied tongues like silk
and mending excuses to make up for heartbreak
You are a poet
but they never stop reminding you to keep your feet glued
To hollow ground, shaking
To find something that tastes of reality, the human flesh
sweat of long lost longing
You have to stop living in your head
In the spaces where you breathe life into promises
You are a poet
But that has never been enough.
The poet is used to this--
the knowledge of failure always shoved under the doormat
numbers that collect under crumpled paper,
the rotten look of misunderstanding as they wonder
where the science of living went missing
When did art decide to invade your insides,
Leaving no room to calculate meaning with mathematics?
Oh, but only the poets understand
That there is no formula to meaning
No theorem to calculate suffering,
Only words that get stuck and disintegrate into whispers
only all-consuming madness, write me a storm
That rages through afflictions
Write me an ending where
We are older, in the house we dreamed of, buried
Under blankets in the forgotten fog of Decembers
Write me an ending where my voice is steady
Instead of constantly wavering past the silence of goodbyes
hellos
heartaches
Love me
And I will love you
Lose me
And I will turn you into poetry
stretch your bones into feelings,
follow the lines in your palms into futures
Where we end up together
I will hold up your eyelids
so they will never feel heavy at the sight of destruction
I will shelter your heart to keep it beating
As we watch as the words I could never say
flutter at your fingertips like moths
with broken wings
The world does not understand love
nor the poets that create it.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
Alright Jezebel is that not who you are? How much of your soul are you going to sell? With your chest pushed high and your **** in the air. With the smile you bare and the wink you blink. The fruit for the trick to get their fix behind blind eyes. Your secrets hidden away through your faults beauty and enticement. A walk that attracts nothing but the **** You put your self on the proverbial block. Though on the outside you converted and claim outwardly to the king of kings God and Christ. Though believe like a Pharisee. A marionette innocents for all to see.
Yet even a Pharisee doesn't hold the many lies you've told. For even they are the best known hypocrites that Christ warned and spoke against. Telling everyone your married, or so you say with a bold face. Yet you go out at night to collect your lies by spreading your thighs for material and lust. Helping to destroy families to commit adultery with theirs and your own. You lost your Grace and the Holy Spirit depart. Now you gain worldly excitement and shame. Living your life amongst the dogs. In a fad life style fed to you. Taking it as wholesome, knowing better. So it is to be said your like a lost little Lam on your way to self destruction. Without a care of the afflictions. You allow yourself to be used like a Devils tool, yet tell yourself your not a toy.. May it go to show you are becoming Lucifer's proprietary embodiment. Only to think you have the upper hand.
Shown by your eyes that is a window to the soul exposing wickedness!
Though on the deep inside is there not yet another cloak?? Do you not cry at night with heavy sorrow when you look in the mirror for the truth to be whole and despise the girl you have yet let blossom to become the ultimate woman that is there. Pretending to be some one your not. So you are a lantern in need of a new candle wanting to be rekindled. How cold you must be to have so many layers. But that's what you get when you become a player. A sweet and sour flavor. You say "Don't Hate!" Though to walk up right on the path of truth would attract in your self a better person. Why not accept your self for the real you. The one mistakenly hidden so deep inside. Is that not who you are? Instead you bed with the heartless desires you give your self too to become a trophy. The mold you have created of yourself only mocks at the real you. The inner you fading and becoming transparent. Now with out a care you have become fake, vile and foul. Yes he who has no sin cast the first stone. So it should not be thrown. Heavenly Father I pray for her!!!
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:17 PM UTC
The essence of the pure spirit
The path to the Holy of Holies
Inbuted with the Holy Spirit
My Soul roams in a world of darkness
Dear God allow your light to shine thru me
Let your prophecy land upon my shoulders
Allow your parables flow thru my mouth
Heal my soul from my worldly afflictions
Do not delay Lord for I am weak
Silence consumes me
When I was naked, you clothed me
When I was hungry, you feed me
When I was lonely, you accompanied me
Lord, your hands created me in my mother's womb
I thank you for my 26 years of living
You are the living God I praise thee
For your Kingdom be sustained forever
You are King of Kings Lord of Lords
May your Holy Grace fall upon us
Please forgive us for our evil transgressions
Deliver us from Evil I pray Lord...Amen!
©Franko the Christian Poet
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
Parents first season us; then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws;—they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow ******* sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,
Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
The sound of glory ringing in our ears;
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears:
Yet all these fences and their whole array
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.
2.4k
"You were born to do this."
I reminded myself as I sat there feeling encaged in a flurry of endless thought and emotion.
"Why do I have to feel every aspect of every event of life, so deep?"
I thought as I fought myself once again to simply pick up the pen and drain the overflow of despondency onto paper.
"Breathe."
The words, letters, verbs and thoughts continued to swirl in my ever rampantly unsettled abyss of ideation.
Once I surrendered to the raging of the erupting of the soul..there was calm.
It's likened to the deaf..taken away their ability to sign..The dancer with both feet removed.
Had I no other pleasure but to expel grief, fervor and elation and form them into words to heal the shattering so entrenched..they appear unreachable..I'd beg to be buried with just a writing utensil and endless reams of freshly pressed paper.
"Theres Light."
I mouth that..as I continue to jot as if I were stitching my heart back together with this pen.
Even though I'm within this seemingly grave like cave of aching..I can write.
The beauty is in the creation..The ability to construct, like a carpenter..all that your heart desires with your own two hands..to simply Heal the paragraphs of life that were written badly, write over them or erase and rewrite..if only it were that easy.
I don't aim to undo..I cannot.
Just to poetically fabricate from this point on..allow the stumbles to happen and Love greater than thought fathomable.
Surrender. To the page.
Scribble it out, empty it onto line after line..and crawl atop..until the words fill the fragments and the ink stains your fingertips..Keep climbing upon the proverbial stacks of paper until the towers reach the aperture of the pit.
Creating the mending of affliction, soothing the misery of the choking of words you cannot utter, but you can scratch them onto tablets to deplete the churning of the mind.
Write. Write badly.
Write as if in a mad race to the finish line, then start over again..Until the trails of Letters stretch so long..you could dance upon them for days.
Then Breathe.
Soak every word into your skin as if attempting to heal the afflictions..
then Become it.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
Halt our shallow breaths--
staccato fogs at the stoplights
Cling precarious in cold
like the frost on the stop signs.
The streetlights keep on winking
Winter's late but, now, it's sinking
into bones
clawing coats
shut. Clutching
wool to swollen throats
I swore I'd never stand here again
at December's ******* doorstep--
ring the bell every weekend.
I always circle back every year
when
I take the same old punches
and wince when I hit play-back.
Halt my raising glass
and analyze my afflictions:
28, alone and broke
so cop to addictions, now.
It's freezing--getting dressed
you've question marks in your brown eyes
It's hailing, breathing out
Carry my bags of old goodbyes
The walls just keep on shrinking
But the outside's gonna swallow me
Eaten whole
even bones.
Spit me out back on Mydland road
I know I'll wind up back here again.
at December's ******* deathbed
sleeping in every weekend
Held all chips, played hands, drank a year
then
I pulled my vacant pockets,
defrosted my losing bets
Mea culpa. So long. Stay friends.
*"Twenty-fucking-five to one,
my gambling days are done.
I bet on a horse called The Bottle of Smoke,
and my horse..."* (Finer/MacGowan)
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
trolling through
midnight streets
braking to avert
inflicted pedestrians
crawling to and from
pedestrian afflictions
I hope become fares
I am the vehicle
to next destinations
the portage to
an evenings
ravenous
end
Music Selection:
Ides of March
Vehicle
10/15/14
Oakland
jbm
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
The Equestrian
When we met
We could and would
Have a sunday brunch
We ate **** word appetizers
Before eruptions of love for our main course
We conversed about ecstasy
And drank tall glasses of progeny
And picked morsels of fantasy
Passed on the dessert
Enough sweetness in wetness
Salivate like rabid wolves
Over the thought that
your body brings me deepness
I guess I'm in depth
She straddles my imagination
I saddled her provocation
Learn the speed at which her mind gallops
While
We share our addictions
Compare our afflictions
Only to conclude we're of the same breed
An option I could of
If only I would of
But knowing I should of
Cause the timing is never right
Not all heros ride into the sunset
Not all villains would meet there demise
Xin
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
I gave you everything
All that I could give
I tried to make you happy
Tried to help you live
You constantly spoke of your misery
And it sounded so much like my own
It struck me to the core
Your pain made my soul groan
Because you know that I know
Exactly how you feel
What you also know is that
Your pain was leverage so I would kneel
You knew I would kneel before you
And lay everything I had down
My heart, my love, my innocence
Just to reverse your frown
You knew how to get inside my head
With your **** sociopathic ways
Using your words and your afflictions
So that I would be swayed
Swayed into love,
where I fell deep.
Swayed into your bed,
where I wish all we'd done was sleep
But know I sit and ponder,
I lay on my own and weep
Because of all the lies you spoke
You've plunged your knife quite deep.
I hope those other girls were worth it
And I hope they don't fall like me
Seeing someone else go through that
It'd be quite awful to see
My only hope is that some day
You will understand.
Understand what you did to me
See that it was by your own hand
That I was destroyed, crushed, deflowered
Now I will never love again
Because you are a wolf in sheep's clothing;
Funny, since you said you weren't like "them".
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Tribulations and my afflictions are misery
This cryptic, ironic, depiction is misery.
-
The warmth of the sanguine is never in me
The cold cells of mine are dead, are misery.
-
What would it take to ever **** me?
Perhaps, if only one thing, misery.
-
What is a sickness without remedy?
It is a malignant growth of misery.
-
Verification of my friend, my enemy,
Certainly my brother, my nemesis misery.
-
Confidence is precedence in my virility,
Verily infecting, lacerating misery.
-
I, Andrew, deny that ever woe could have been me,
Although I surrender, I succumb to misery.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?
In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still
Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool
I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform
In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half
As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want
Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud
I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer
With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown
Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore
As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part
*** *** **
While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
I’m sitting staring at faces so unfamiliar they don’t know me,
no stares no afflictions or brief awkwardness I am alone,
surrounded by souls that don’t know I exist,
please someone say hello,
someone needs to read my palms and tell me my lifeline in so that I know I’m needed,
I know what my worth could be but I need purpose to believe in because I’m struggling inside,
I feel like crying constantly in corners facing away from a society of glances from strangers,
I walk in circles and circles and circles trying to find direction for my future,
I’m being mislead by life’s curriculum and I feel like I’m above average in general miseducation,
I’m screaming silently help me!
I don’t want to deal anymore but I want to hold on if not for my sake then for those that need me more because I have to believe that in order to be,
How could you all not notice me, I’m yelling internally, I’m jumping and prancing in the bathroom away from everything not even staring me in the mirror,
I’m closing the doors before I open them so that I can never hurt again,
I’m avoiding chances and taking backward leaps to make sure that I can’t be touched, burned, or disturbed,
I’m going to find me first because I don’t know who the **** I am anymore,
I’m not even sure I ever knew which makes this challenge even harder,
I don’t even see it as a challenge because if I did the semantics would take over me,
I equate struggle and failure with success and greatness because I fail at all,
I’m reading my mind closer than ever before making sure I spell out my intentions to myself before I take one step out the door,
I feel as if I have OCD making sure that everything feels 100% right and if it isn’t I will not move,
I will not progress and maybe even digress to fix my missteps from prior years,
I don’t know where to go from here,
but I guess I’ll start with whistling and whispering in someone’s ear.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC