"apprehensions" poems
797
By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea—with a Stem—
If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—
The Opinion will serve—for them—
It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—
That split their route to the Sky—
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached—this way—
For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—
And the upper side—is the Sun—
And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—
Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—
Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—
Can the Dumb—define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody—is—
That Definition is none—
It—suggests to our Faith—
They—suggest to our Sight—
When the latter—is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality—
Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow
Of the Royal” Infinity?
Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—
To be hallowed—accordingly—
11.2k
Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall
This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree
Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions
This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black
*"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"
"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"*
I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune
On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself --
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.
A grey wall now, clawed and ******
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.
This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags --
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.
On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immorality amoun these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.
4.2k
He has no face
or desire
to face
the large grate
And inside
the wicket of the grate
The little door
to the larger gate
One side named narrow
The door knob's
apprehensions
twist in the fingertips
The other side
slides to the indifference
The 69 peep holes rock in
scandalization
How does one survive ?
The false prophet goes
door to door
selling sheep skin
diplomas
black as raven's hair
His false fruit
lays fermenting adding
pollution to our despair .
The prophet's basic fault is full of self interests
For gain and grain of easy life
For personal prestige
through others pain and strife
His man-centered words
appeal to the ears that want to be tickled with ear candy
And the results are that truth be forgotten , trampled to dust and thrown away
Beware of the smooth tongue Jacob with
the rough hairy hands
of Esau .
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 8:26 PM UTC
I pulled back the thicket
Brambles and thorns
Bordering my mind
Inch by inch
To let you slip inside
Hi
I hope you don't mind
The pestilent storm of neuroses
The angry winds whipping around
Eroding my cognition
(They all say
I ought to stop overthinking
They don't know the half of it)
Pardon the mess
The litter of apprehensions
Flotsam and jetsam of rumination
Tangles of tangents
Smog of chimeric thoughts
Sticky rambles festering in the corner
Acidic drizzle
Of obstinate wayward tunes
Insecurity and fear
Eating into the pillars and foundations
If you don't mind terribly
The clatter of sleet
The noisome fumes
The skittering vermin
The sheer clutter
That would make packrats shake their heads
If you don't mind
At all
Would you stay?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
I scream
as unrealistic apprehensions
distort my perception.
A phenomenon!
Discretion dissection,
every line you
sing-
rings solely
of deception.
Complex and intricate-
a "homicidal contemplation."
A mathematical equation,
dividing every claim,
my undeniable calculation.
Allude confrontation,
as lying eyes recite,
despite self validation.
My fear, it-
dwells here,
amongst the impatient.
Perplexed and deranged,
I am your-
"recycled replacement."
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
Strength is the ability to protect yourself
Emotionally, physically, spiritually.
You are strong when you need no one
You are self-sufficient
The desire is there sans the need.
Acceptance of lacking in one area
Will allow you and behooves you to
Increase strength in another.
Because without strength you are vulnerable
To external forces.
Like newborn turtles as they make
The dangerous pilgrimage to water,
Picked off one by one,
By carnivorous, unforgiving animals:
People out to hurt others to falsely improve
Their own self-esteem.
Strength is the courage to challenge your fears
And make an about-face to run toward them
Not away.
This abrupt "180" seems incongruent to our
Beliefs, desires and thoughts
Because our subconscious mind proclaims
That to confront our apprehensions deems us
Weak.
And as naive beings, we listen wholeheartedly,
Believing that what we ignore does not exist
And we regress to an age when object impermanence
Unsettled our feelings of safety.
Without strength we cannot breathe, eat or think
And without fulfillment of these basic human needs
The question is, Do we really exist?
So we must define and develop our own strength
In order to thoroughly define and develop
Our sense of self.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Sinking my mouth and my happiness into this grapefruit reminds me of when I didn’t like them so much, with their jarring, acquired taste.
So misunderstood was I, since I now let his underrated juices drip down my 22 year-old cheeks.
I wonder how many walk past him for his more accessible brother, and other flavors so well-known.
I wonder what kind of role he plays in the thoughts of his colleagues.
A strange citrus with complex flavors they care not to taste.
I bet they find him arrogant, and too serious to break their inner circle.
They probably think his foreign blood would taint their personalities.
They don’t talk to him, I bet.
Schizophrenic gestures and paint-flavored greetings sum the daily conversations.
Maybe they assume that the least of their efforts might strike them fancy; make them seem nice and that I would think of them as wonderful and beautiful people.
Me and these flavors would never understand why you stand across the room and analyze me.
Me and these flavors would never understand why you wouldn’t want to indulge yourself in what you don’t understand, since you’re a scholar and all.
I would never get your issue.
I keep taking bites of this grapefruit; curious to know if your Christianity means more than your gender.
I imagine the scenario of you getting to know these flavors, and experiencing me with bliss and approval on your sleeve.
I imagine having a friend, that I don’t have to worry about scaring with all that I bring to the table, and all I choose to keep off of it.
I imagine you abandoning your opinions and assumptions and apprehensions about me, letting them seep down the importance of your uniform, and getting to know the God that you swear lives in all of us citrus fruit.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 9:45 PM UTC
She wore an air of mysticism
Her memory bore prophetic visions
From ancient egyptian
And judaic traditions
She knows every star system
And every night is a mission
Where she wishes and wishes
For help from the legends
Feeling the kundalini extension
A timeless moment in meditation
She rode a chariot of ascension
With many faces
Facing in all directions
Interpreting new races
There was
Communication retention in
Multidimensional dimensions
And convoluted intentions
Creating dense tension
Leaving her in suspension
Then, there was a call for attention
And she witnessed the mention
Of helping Earths' ascension
Words whispered with foreign inflections
Melted away her apprehensions
With familiar definitions
And promising space faring inventions
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
She dances so very softly.
Slender feet carry her across the
Infinite expanse of my mind.
Gliding, she's striding over pains and
Apprehensions as she brings me in
Closer, holding me tightly to her chest.
The heartbeat is soft, so very steady.
The eyes, like two beautiful stars.
Choicest of the heavens, none like them
Exist. They glisten, penetrating my soul.
Casting pure gazes upon me; so very beautiful.
I open mine, and alas, she is gone.
Yet I still hear that little pitter patter
The sound of her feet tapping inside
So very quietly.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
Look far beyond your nose
Imagine the wording prose your mind recites despite the fights between the lights;
Stand-back to back with your enemies
And believe that you are safe,
A mistake;
Craving knowledge of everything from your existence
To your beliefs
I believed I was falling down the trail
And all hail the misguided princess;
She's so misguided the North Pole becomes south
And the south;
Exiting from her mouth
With a flow; the beautiful candles of her heart.
The beautiful candles of her heart
Those that lit stormy fire inside mine
Those that lit up the dark pits of something I forgot about,
And all about my whereabouts
I see the signs of inconclusive doubts
Over my forehead, reflected upon people's faces;
And eyes look at me with non-empithetical sympathy
The symphony of eyelashes flapping over a lost identity.
I'm lost.
All those spiritual stoppages
Are causing my hands to shiver
All those figurative speech as she caresses her words
Preparing mine to stutter
Are making my eyes darken
And my faith to dismay;
I may,
Or may not be the person you want to find
But I find you the person I was never looking for
Yet I still crave the carves you carve on my hands.
The snapping bones of anger;
The cracking knuckles of regret;
The apprehensions preconceived with the threats;
The young man lost his track
The young man lost in the wild
With ideas even wilder
And actions that do not convey his messages
For the circles of bees become limits to his being;
For the frontiers of fighting lions
Become barriers to his block,
That upper corner in dying arteries; hidden
Way over the Mediterranean seas forgotten,
That young man is creating chaotic cancellations,
Phones typing messages of hesitation,
Brains articulating pieces of his own creation,
A salutation be upon my buddy
The young fellow who got lost facing everybody,
And everybody cheered as they watched;
His being stepped on, and heart being stabbed
The chats between the minds
Become cramps
The cramps in his existence become fatal agitation
The agitations in his life become psychiatric misinterpretation
For he got it all wrong
Everyone got it all wrong
But does that stop him?
Let alone
Does that stop all the fake men who built their empires upon forged pillars?
Killers,
Of characteristics;
Followers,
Disciples and students
To a dark lady
Typing her last words of goodbye
Over a phone that’s found in her palms
Yet lost,
In a young girl's heart.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
The last doll on the wall timorous
The last sound in the hall rings separate
The first twinkling in the night glamorous
The first tiptoes through to death arrives
While wading easefully through sleepy skies
Forceful apprehensions are pushing
The detridus rubble mocking all soft cushions
A damaging entanglement of precious threads
Finding yourself where the sidewalk ends
The purifying fog replaced by gloomy smoke
Inhaled once then died the starved dog.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
<>
***"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting
that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^***
the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,
the "tomorrow" word
as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity,
please, somebody help us, almost
an inevitability
the possibility of a realizable event,
as if the poem composing was
the future's assuming a 99% probability, right ready for scheduling
offering me two choices:
create event or view calendar?
as if the next shooting, bombing,
and my glum apprehension thereof,
as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing
of my undoing,
somehow my fears create or anticipation of
the "next one" makes me a guilty part
my heart cracking with despairing moans
knowing that this is foolishness
but
not to me
for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution,
'tis already the small death of me
each death a cut in the same spot,
and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer
find myself
jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected
no view, no window to crack, no window no view
no to letting in fresh air, hope or something good,
and yes to no,
I know about this and that and words
intended to offer up optimism,
albeit on a small scale
I am careful not to mock
the words and those who offer up
but seriously,
don't
I came to,
I came to this place to write
only love poetry silly love songs
and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane
writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving
feeling stoopidly foolish even as
I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck
I'll think I'll change my name,
honestly,
only love poetry? cries out ridiculous
this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,
come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor
so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow
and it appears right away, right after:
6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions
and it appears that I'm too late
confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery. and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
Nature’s ebb and flow
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft
emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself
unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and
forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth
pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle
you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full
potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling
knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have
been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points
overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the
night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks
mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the
same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like
sheepclothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm
will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 4:35 AM UTC
Slivers of unintended new experiences
Stuck painlessly into our feet
Moving along the same splintered wooden dock
We both have trodded before
Too safely to have carried any scar tissue
But now our earth touchers resemble
Porcupines that when touched
Refuse to release our quills
But offer a story or two to remember we've been here before instead
Of losing the memories we've gained.
And when we finally pick the wood out
it fashions into a fence gate that opens up to
New stories new experiences
New feelings new apprehensions
Just new
New looks on a new face wrapped in gift wrap
So I have to make it Christmas to open them up
without buying anything but just by giving the gift of presence as presents.
And anything more is another present under the tree
It's nice to know that sometimes when you plant trust
It grows into honesty
Honestly it's refreshing
It's a test of moral strength and how far you can carry the torch.
In the Olympic sport of courting
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like sheep clothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Consider this a caustic remark,
You
behave
as
though
you
won't,
&
You
behave
as
though
you
can't
live,
Without me.
You
Often
Try
To
Soothe
Yourself,
&
You
Usually
Try
To
Calm
Yourself.
But
Actually
You
Need
Me
As
An
Escape
From
Your
Apprehensions
About
The
Various
Spiritual
Concepts.
So
It's
Just
That
You
Need
Me!
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
*
this poetess known as Elizabeth Squires
with ways of writin' by waves to admire
the one i read here caught my attention
managin' all styles of apprehensions
for i love all of her works she gets penned
i say readin' her poems i find well spent
by her, learnin' beauties of Rosarians
i dared attemptin' to the rotarian
this writin' to her, for she to inspire
seein' as one of my inspirations
it's hers becomin' as musin' impends
bein' it against or pro-contrarian
i am a fan of this amazin' ma'am
hopin' she'll keep blessin' us with her slams
**
..love always...*
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 24/04/1437
**
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
To my dismay my palate has acquired a taste for those who seem to have the heart of a lion. I detect my tenacious affections towards you early. This is daunting for us both. We do not share the same list of apprehensions. I suppose it is your fortitude and influence that sustains my interest so.
I know the heart of a lion is a delicacy that i can not stomach I must have a courageous allure to feel starved. I observe without scrutiny while i wait in line for you.
It wont be long until I will find myself effortlessly making an apology on your behalf.
Your precarious, impregnable ways will be exacerbating. My harmless devotion will alarm you, in turn you will deny my intentions.
I will try and swallow your heart whole in an attempt to feel you. I will expect nothing less than to be left praying to the porcelain god. I would have forgotten about your parsimonious generosity. Your charm is passionate but I will still call you up on your weaknesses in the mighty shape of a lioness. You will feel wounded and indulge in the pleasures of your mothers nectar to soothe your uneasiness . You do what you have to do, do it, do it.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like sheep clothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Nature’s ebb and flow
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like sheep clothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
Please poet don't you mind me,
if I always say the wrong thing,
it seems I've no control,
don't need for you to remind me
of the song that I must sing,
my heart has one desire,
in joyness that it will bring,
bring it... to you,
I have no real intentions,
but I got lotsa lotsa apprehensions,
no good ones and no, no, no bad,
ones...
when I do it hey say they all "wrong",
well it makes me feel soooo so so so,
sad,
on a primrose path as I go on along
I wish we all
could just feel...
g L a D,
an sing the same same song,
Hey an I look very normal,
whatever that means - they say,
replaying my life,
into painful new scenes each an every,
day,
I might wear a bright side smile,
& seem just so happy to you,
I guess I look very young,
"they" say & hey maybe that is true,
so... WhAt???
It's not that hey I'm stupid,
cuz my IQ is pretty high,
an I ain't in love with cupid,
but it maybe part the realist reason,
in my question of how & why,
I hold out my waiting hands,
an lay my head down to cry,
an...
CRy,...
an cRy,
just...
I..,
Hey helpless is how I,
feel,
please forgive me,
please cuz I,
I feel like this is real,
it takes me away,
my mind there to steal,
I'm trying to pull away,
in the layers that I peel,
I always, I have wondered,
why I didn't quite fit in,
I felt that it a curse,
by some nasty hateful jinn,
it feels just like a top,
caught up endless in a spin,
but at least now hey I know,
it's not I'm living here in sin,
seems I'm in this battle,
with the odds that I won't win,
please I don't mean to beg,
but please won't you be a,
friend?
Can I,
yeah me?
Begin ..
Again?
I wonder yeah I wonder if I ever find my way,
home,
or if I'm cursed to walk on,
to walk on,
walk on here all alone,
no matter where I go,
no matter where I ever,
roam ..
.....it haunts me....
it haunts me.....
It taunts me ....
this thing,
An whatever the case may be,
be it fate or maybe even that ol' desTiNy,
understanding my pain
will help me to be free, as they say,
please..just open your eyes,
please can't you just see?
Hey hey... an hey hey,
hey hey,
hey,
hey there,
any way,
which way?
I,
I try and I try,
I wish you,
to just help me...
to... understand,
but somehow soooo elusive,
it just s l i pppp ssss...right..
through... my ..empty....waiting ....
.....hand.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
(For my Loving Daughter Suzanna Christy)
Seven years before her heart throbbed and mine too,
She was prepared to face to the world with God’s Gift:
Her travail had begun and each of her nerve shivered with thrill,
The Father in Christ in His invisible Presence hath been beside her.
Now I shed tears that speak how she had borne the physical agony,
And my inward eye writes how the day was and today it is.
The tiny blossom within the womb shook the stem of the plant,
And the plant stood fluttering, unshaken, but withstanding.
I now feel how I felt of her personal ordeal for matchless Gift.
God’s Answer in her womb, personified, traversed the way out,
The Invisible Christ held her in His arms during the journey,
It was the journey that none can describe except the Answer in the womb.
Biological apprehensions began to fly out with anguishing threats;
Yet the Heavenly Providence filled the way with His Grace.
Medical engineers acted upon their wit and tools to watch the drama.
The God-sent soul, anxious and hopeful, waited for the little wonder:
‘How could God’s Answer personified be?’
Time was on its wings, minutes flew, seconds galloped.
Engineers’ assistants exchanged responses of sincerity and hopefulness.
The little Answer personified whispered from within the Heavenly Mercy.
Everyone heard the whisper, and the mother too, and she would be a mother.
The clock was in its perfection to chime the melody of the Answer,
And the whole world, dressed in joy and smile, looked in awe and wonder.
It was forty strokes behind the entry of the little Answer:
How could I share my joy and with whom?’
The mother raised a doubt within her.
‘I am with thee, share thy joy and pain with Me,
For I have borne everything for thee on the Cross.’
She heard a voice within and the pain left her,
Joy let its wings fly when the little Answer peeped out the world.
It was seven strokes yet to chime.
Each second was a mystery and the mystery was to be solved.
The trumpet raised its clarion call; the lyre touched its strings,
The firmament, filled with Heavenly Blessings, began to shower on.
The little Answer personified sent forth her first cry,
And the cry was first heard by the Master.
Yes, she was born, and she entered the world.
It was fifty-two strokes past three whistles she was born.
Little fairies began blowing little trumpets,
The mother shouted in joy: ‘THANKS TO MY LORD!
Our answer hath been heard. Thou art my Master.’
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC