"assurances" poems
(Inspired by article below)
I.
Continuity
your filibuster egg of sand
dazzled curiosity
with creaky shell of hints
heaped upon the tedium
of knowledge's unfurl undeterred
by encyclopedic impatience
Assurances of rip(Van Winkl)ed
economics shooed paper strings of
revelation like anarchy-powered
taxes summoning a foreword
to anachronistic campaigns
of environmental friendliness
II.
Meanwhile years
have been filed down to flashes of
chronology for continuity's organic rebus
However long it took
the economic karma to fall into the
abodes of hedonistic pharaohs
it was instant
Skin that ruled behind the constitution
of allergic breath
bailed on the bones against their most
sublime intentions
Limbo-treading landlords
huddled in their mummified freeze
after breadline bashers scolded them
with the spoils of a new brand
of pyramid scheming
Robbers of the coffin palaces
stole the intimations of identity
theft from today
Immortality and freedom
were compelled to share a meaning
like estranged siblings
or bound dynasties
I(a).
Abydos
how you coyly toyed with us
with a diversion bordering on monolithic
04 23 14
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Despite assurances that his treatment would be gentle,
Thoughts of the grinding drill made him feel rather mental.
But soon his spirit returned to high
As the pretty assistant brushed against his thigh.
All was well until he got the bill
Which gave him such a horrible chill.
But soon he was back to his usual mood of cheer,
As he looked forward to
His next taste of Willy’s Pub food
And beer.
NS 22\1\2016
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
I find it scary
to love someone like this.
You give everything you have
your love, time & attention.
Hoping that
they will do & feel
the same way
like you do.
Missing them every single time,
making sure that they're happy &
remain contented with you,
& your love.
Doing everything that you could
to make sure that
they wouldn't leave you,
alone.
At the same time,
giving them
space & freedom
that they want & deserve.
To make sure
they won't
feel locked, stuck & chained
with you.
Loving someone
so deeply, pure, sincere
& innocent
is not an easy task.
This might sound
narcissistic,
but
I admire
myself & those
who has done it?
It is scary, yes.
No assurances
that all of it wouldn't be wasted.
Maybe that's the beauty of love
Making smart & logical people;
dumb, fearless & illogical.
Driving human beings,
insane &
risking it all,
for the name of
love.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:17 AM UTC
Admitted to taking the reduced ruling
Fourteen souls accepted what this is after
All
Of this...
Immediately unavailable to face Sunday's showdown at
The Stadium.
The Titan gave assurances to the souls today.
It will not take any further action
-Despite the deal-
But their identity is still unknown
Some suggesting only retired evidence.
Hand in hand with sickness,
The hound (who is widely regarded)
Appears to prove why force
In recent years
Did indeed highly fancy tomorrow's feature;
"The Winner".
The hound first knew his fledgling
When he could finally be on the road
While his empire expanded
"I used to hope for the best"
Titan tells us.
"I used to have a while and
I used to get sick.
Now I just have to find a way
To use up that time.
I speak only to the Landlord
And his tenants.
I only blame myself for the sickness.
All I know is where I've come from
...At least, I think so...
...I hope so."
"It's a funny thing!"- Hound.
*Pressure keeps you honest.
Wet, heavy conditions expected tomorrow.
So, with everything said,
I wish you peace and love.
Love is waiting.*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Red eyes,
set so wide.
Perplexed eyes,
that can hide.
Closed eyes
and a broken smile.
Hollow laughter,
an empty voice.
Quiet speak,
a careless speech.
False assurances
with little joy.
A beating heart
and a broken smile.
*No need to be ravelled up so tight,
just let loose and undo the fright*
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC
Some lessons come the bitter way,
I hope there was some better way,
Some way of learning these things,
I do not want to hurt again my wings,
Taking this as my incompetence sign,
I prepare with a heavy heart to resign,
Burying the broken promises that hurt me.
Some hopes that had been on a high,
I regret that they were not as high,
Some heights which had been dizzying,
I regret that they were sickening,
False promises were made to me again,
I feel the assurances to be false now,
Burying the broken promises that hurt me.
Some words in darkness now languish,
I wish that moonlight now descends,
Some paths that lead to the cliffs be lit in red,
I wish that I may identify the dangers,
Stuck in the purgatory I feel closer to hell,
I wished to be saved and I wished to be heard,
But nobody can now hear me yelp,
I should now be doing myself a favor,
I'll bury the broken promises that hurt me.
Some glasses to be filled again with wine,
I must empty them down my throat,
Some more wine of morose poetry is there,
I must empty it and become sober,
My mind must become calmer and safer,
I shouldn't feel guilty because I didn't forget,
I'll just bury the broken promises once more.
No I don't feel as weak to take to alcoholism as yet,
I have a heart of diamond which can't be broken,
Not that stupid girl can't manage to break my heart,
But I have promises to keep before forever I sleep,
Promise to keep a smile at least once a day on my lips.
A promise to keep I made to myself after my rebirth,
I'll just move on burying the broken promises that hurt me.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:37 AM UTC
Sharp shrieks piercing night,
terror or pain, a mother’s worst fear.
Old husband bumbling, fumbling,
but a mother is vigilant.
Rush forth, answer quick.
There is no time when they cry.
What is it, what is it?
Monster, human, or worse?
Child’s chiding tone calms the heart,
but arouses it another way.
Why so difficult, so stubborn?
Unruly and cruel, but so beloved.
Door ****** open, lights flicked on.
There it is, sight not believed.
Glint of metal, shocked face.
A mother’s worst dream not understood.
Explanations falling out, knife hidden.
Less a plea and more an excuse.
“I wasn’t going to, it’s just a joke.”
Why such japes all the time?
The other cowers, child of womb,
cries and crawls back, still so shaken.
“It’s fine, Mom. Really,”
That’s what he says.
Can’t stop, won’t stop. A mother’s fury.
Simply unacceptable, so unthinkable.
“How could you, why would you?”
Scolding stings mothers more.
Knife is relinquished, hesitating, unwilling.
More excuses, more assurances and from both.
A sibling’s honor goes before all,
even one’s comfort, even one’s life.
Father arrives, so late, still grumbling.
Too late for this sort of thing.
Oh, what is even going on.
Shut up by realization. Oh God how?
Talk on the knee while father comforts son.
Scolding, molding, pleas and questions.
But still there’s a hug, and kiss, and tears so many.
A mother’s love so resolute. Always. Always.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
If she asks you
If she asks you who I am, tell her. Tell her
because she is not starting a fire for an explanation but a confession.
If you tell her I was just a girl you dated
for a couple of years, she will only give you a hard time.
The hundreds of photos tagged in your outdated profile and the stack
of books with our names written will be her allies.
If you tell her I was an old friend, she will only hear
half of what you say. She will recall how you looked at places
with a tinge of regret and a shade of nostalgia. She will remember
how you skipped a certain song ― a reminder of something you’ll find an excuse
not to tell her every time the car radio is on.
If she asks you who I was, lie a little,
because she is not crossing the line for answers but for assurances.
Don’t tell her how our lips played with poetry and how we dared
to dream under the light of the taciturn satellite. Skip the part where we
fought dragons together and how we named each other’s scars.
Reserve the fact that you still keep the letters, notes, old restaurant receipts under
your drawers and some tearstained thoughts at the back of your pillow. She doesn’t need to know
why you reread past conversations or why your mother mentioned me at the family dining table
just to ask you what I have been up to.
Finally, if she asks you who I was to you, tell her you love her. Put her in the limelight
because she is testing you to pull the trigger pointed at her
But you won’t. Instead, you will tell her she’s beautiful to compensate
for the words you never had the guts to tell me. You will tell her she’s a keeper, for the hell of it.
You will tell her a poor research about human cells being replaced after seven years so that one day,
I will leave no trace on your body.
She will then forget that you mentioned my name while sleeping. She will wash the lipstick stains
on your bedsheets and remove the extra toothbrush in the shower. She will ignore the way you twitch
every time you hear a familiar author or my favorite curse word. She will fill the spaces
of your fingers and plaster kisses at the holes of your chest. She will replace every scent of me
with her own promises, insecurities, and mistakes.
She will do this. She will, because when she asked you about me,
she knew I was the ghost of the house. And at the back of your head, you wanted to tell her
that the ****** no longer need saving. But by all means,
darling, she can try.
—
A. A. Dizon
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
row this boat, let us;
in this boat we are
given a respite, calm waters
and smooth passage, at least the while
and so let us row the boat past the fingers of land
past the trees and receding assurances
and the enveloping air like an imperceptible menace
and Mt Fuji like a blessing, but the inscrutable skies all round -
who knows how long a friend, a comfort?
row this boat then, only our skills are certain
only our intended destination
(for even the benign presence we know is fickle)
and who is to know if we may even reach land?
all destiny is in the hands of the waves;
we are but driftwood, we are…enjoy the rhythm
and when it’s wild, enjoy the thrill of the ride
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
To the ******* at Mongolian Barbecue last night:
Just because you let your short shorts and flowered headband
Scream assumptions about your homosexuality doesn't mean
You can make those assumptions about others,
Forcing red-faced shame and trembling knees on a stranger,
Your hands clawing the pride from blue eyes like
Storm clouds making the world grey.
Butch and **** are never words that should come from your lips,
To someone you don't know
Just because you portray yourself as flamboyant
And she has her own style
They carry too many decades of hatred and fear to be
Tossed into casual conversation
Like land mines in her closet.
I don't care if you thought you were joking or being funny or cute
Her leather jacket and kickass combat boots don't
Paint some sort of rainbow bullseye
Between her shoulder blades, behind her heart.
People have enough to deal with in this world
Without having to defend themselves against your ignorance,
Without having to stop their tears from
Making small oceans on the streets of Ann Arbor.
Butch and **** should not be thrown from your lips
Carelessly,
Meaning none of the weight they carry.
You probably didn't see her cry
Because that's just the kind of person she is
But I did,
A thunderstorm of conflicting emotions and heart-wrenching, blood-curdling cries,
A deep-seated ache that won't be washed away
With my hugs or chocolate or
Assurances that you are, in fact,
A **** who doesn't deserve to know her.
11:30 pm she walked through the front door with red eyes and damp cheeks,
Her voice thick and choking on
Your arrogant, misplaced words,
And I might not always get along with my sister
But I felt my sternum crack right through the middle
When she spoke of you,
Ribcage shattering,
Rainbows pouring from my lungs
To try and knit her fractured, hopeful heart
Back together.
I am my sister's keeper.
To the ******* at Mongolian Barbecue,
I hope you learn to grow up and see how your
Words splinter souls like weeds splitting concrete
But until then
**** you.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
saying **** off* seems so much more
easier when you're petting cats....
they just say it for you...
there he is, Quarus,
the operatic singer nearing sunset,
200 variations of a mulling of meow,
i end up calling him Orbison Rufus,
the ginger Roy of Peckham -
he basically meows lazily like Roy
singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras
or umbrellas - counting the shadows'
version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo
ah-woo nagging the reflex...
gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s
America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of
Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater
with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with
the herding in while the dog carved a feel
for religion in the translation of the Vatican
from coliseum into football requirements...
the movies were great in the 1950s, just after
the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill...
the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo
in a cave to knock-on-wood...
200 variations of the knock
and 12 whiskey shots downed
while playing poker... 12 cowboys
1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino...
i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving
out smoke signals...
Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed...
he's Roy Orbison with the meow,
pretty much lazy...
looks like a murmur when he tries singing,
pretty woman, trolling down the street,
Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy,
as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled
white collars... Roy knew before Elvis...
the trick came with sunglasses,
and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing
for subsequent mouthing it off...
no amount of cheese in French could ever
charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers
with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch
laughing cows named Novices....
quick-melts and some said:
dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled
for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down
a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot;
the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic
of the thumb through to pinky...
i don't know how they taught counting
with their complex ideograms, they never taught
arithmetic give their encoding...
they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest
of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Unmovable Unchangeable
A worthiness a standard is deposited in your inner being all other elements in life will ebb and flow but
Your essence will be darkened by sorrow but from this tragedy and sorrow riches will tower a streaming
Blessedness will flow it will instantly engage another who has just suffered loss seen unseen words and
Actions will with the deftest touch a kindness soaked in mellowness will be communicated in silence to
The heart who has just suffered the bitter harvest of sorrow the gripping real a special irreplaceable
Someone has departed to walk on a different plane for them purest light your circumstance darkest
sorrow cold as Everest you are left ripped not only of all outward cover but inward has there ever been
Such savage destruction the healthy norm now ravaged the spiritual heart ripped apart it was complete
It was formed by love alone no other sculptor is more honered to work with such substance he makes
Their face those eyes the transfiguring part of human connection truly souls merge together here in this
Special stream vision multifaceted feelings weighted the heavier the deeper the depths where
Emotional ties are created from pleasures these springs of the heart you come in emptiness you leave
With these volumes ballooned ever stirring thoughts the very impulses that make them the person you
Know this feed of expressions do they not cause an unending joy that spills at different times sometimes
Just a slow pleasant entailing then at other times a roar of engulfing and at times it happens when your
Tide is low they instinctively trigger this from their register of mercy a unity that is boundless truly you
Have small oceans within I see it in the workaday world but like the song behind closed doors magic
Fire you reach heavenly heights explorers rewarded in human feeling that can’t be bought and are never
Sold truly kings and queen of a great domain in the hidden soul you have truly roped the wind and
Touched stars as you hovered under them holding hands who can doubt God when you exhibit his very
Essence through the love you found and it causes unfathomable assurances holding hands is the same
As a great dam holding water but yours is holding never ending love
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
We cannot seem to understand
that one perceives personally with limited scope,
a minuscule allotment, a slippery vision of time.
We believe to hold witness to a great single minded river,
this metaphor is bought wholly
and sold solely to sweeten our short life-
As one word often leads to the next,
a parent sires child
thinking this is the most powerful measurement of truth
we use to falsely foolproof our assurances
and assuage any feeling of being a victim,
eaten by time.
It is a shared dream of the dead man's final words-
they carry weight, meaning and purpose.
Needing to be painfully comprehended and carried self evident.
A literary reflection of our need for death to matter,
to have matter and be of substance is a view of ourselves linearly,
as a line drawn between birth to death
then- maybe
a cathartic eternity.
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 8:13 AM UTC
Seven times I told you,
Seventy pins in seventy dolls on seventy dusty shelves in New Orleans backrooms.
Seven times I warned you
Seven hundred aches, seven hundred acres
I run across.
I outrun the burn and I outrun the grief
The witch in me, I race with her too.
Seven miles to run, seven miles behind.
And I pass that playful laugh of yours, grab at it
and stick it in my pocket, shove it deep, deep in my pocket.
And I pass that twinkle in your eyes
and I grab that too,
send it on a paper rocket flying the speed of light into seven universes far away.
I grab that last promise
the one that was slippery and hard to hold onto.
I grab it and hold it tight
And I run.
I told you I would
(you looked so surprised).
I run and my bones hit the ground with the rhythm and pulse of a tribal drummer
He drums out in my head
Run, Run, henny Run.
He drinks my optimism from a cup, then beats his drum. Run, chickadee, run run.
He vomits my clarity at my feet all the while his brown weathered hands drum a ceaseless beat. Run, baby. He loves you not, run.
On the seventh day I run from you and
I find that I am made now from the down of your hair
so I run until I am bald.
I find that I am made now from stalactites dripping from your tongue.
Celtic knot of assurances and reassurances.
I am made up of moments that I didn't make.
I am made up of your indecision. They bounce gleefully "I don't know, I don't know..."
they insist as they hit walls and corners.
They are lazy, I outrun them with ease.
Seven times I told you,
Itchy souls need to find a branch for stratching.
Seven miles between me and you
Seven hundred to go.
Sahn
6/12/14
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Assurances will not make any kind of difference, what a good performace will make
Word of advice will suffice in the present, however not good enough for the future
Better learn from your own mistakes
Learn to accept them
Later also learn how to correct them
Gain an experience of your own
Enrich your experience
Avoid same old mistakes
Learn from new mistakes
See to it, make sure
Every new mistake adds to your experience
As and when you learn from a new mistake
Rise in level of experience will enhance the level of confidence
Definitely the ability to take risk depends upon level of experience
A setback or two must not deter the level of confidence
Experiences from past will rescue when steps are taken in the right direction
In a moment or two
Things never settle
Efforts need to be made for everything to get settled
Confidence and experience serve as a key for taking steps in the right direction
Think in the present
Think about yourself
Think about your willingness to go an extra mile as and when required
Think about all the efforts that you make
Think and focus in the present,
Better to concentrate on the present
Pretty simple
Life becomes pretty simple, if you are a good listener
Listen to the rest of the world, but always have a voice of your own
Over a period of time it will bring a sea difference in your life
Just wait and have patience
Wait for the right moment of time to come.
Hope never fades away in life since expectations get built up over a period of time
Be truthful to yourself
Be honest
Hope will always remain an eternal part of your life
As and when expectations are met and even when expectations are not met
In either ways, life continues since success and failure has always been part of everyone’s life.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
You have no idea
How much my heart bleeds
One single word unclenches me
You lead me on
Only to let me go
You promised you wouldn't hurt me
And still I told you
Words are never a guarantee
You have no idea
How I wish you would have never said anything
From the love induced words
To the midnight crazed hearts
To the love language of touch
Caressed assurances that
I am the only one
Who knew what lay ahead
You have no idea
How I fell for every little bit of you
From your laughter
Your infectious smile
Alluring presence
Charismatic benevolence
Generous soul
A weakness they may suffice
You have no idea
How I hate repeating myself
But for you a parrot I become
Saying words not heeding them
Going over the same things
All over again, drowning
Misery since I'm miserable
Look what unruly affections have done to me
©Lone star ✨
®Jerusa Mentrin
In the darkest sky I feel so alive.
Sep 1, 2023
Sep 1, 2023 at 5:47 PM UTC
You made us bleed.
Bleed from a place deep within us. Where it does not appear as a light red, or even crimson.
But a dark scarlet.
Darker than the void you so carelessly cast us in.
You left us with nothing but the company of the Solitude, who recites our failures to us with each nightfall like songs of victory.
Our only food was the shattered promises that you left behind with your departure, as they shred our tongue which spoke only words of affection and adoration to you.
Our only drink was the burning passion we once used to keep you warm during your cold isolation, which has now festered and rotted, tasting only of boiling venom now.
Yet despite this diet of agony and woe, we cannot help but love you.
But you do not reciprocate these feelings which we hold, you merely mocked them by filling our ears with fantasies and false assurances.
So we have grown tentative.
We have forged a fortress from the flesh of the fetid Solitude, to safeguard that which you have left in fine fragments.
From its bones we have constructed monolithic walls and barriers.
From its soul we have crafted chains and blades, to stave off those who would seek to destroy what is left of it.
We have assured ourselves that none shall have safe passage within, unless we so willed.
And yet when you return after months of silence with nothing more than your beautiful sapphire eyes, and your lips curled into a gentle smile, you have shaken the very foundation of our fortress.
Even the sight of your very name causes the whispers of the Solitude to echo in its halls.
We do not know what has brought you back to our tormented path, but know that it will not be as welcoming as it once was.
There will not be any words of gentleness or amour as before, but rather a single, bitter phrase.
En garde.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
I think of you, my icy lover.
As I lie here in bed,
As memories of your glass embraces pounce on me,
But you always loved to drag me down.
I think of you, my dark lover.
And how the thin lines
On my skin
Mesmerized you a little too much,
How you loved to watch me bleed.
I think of you, my distant lover.
And how I was never good enough,
How your words pushed me fast away.
I guess I wasn't "smart enough to get you".
I think of you, my "perfect" lover.
My thoughts were big and dark.
You liked to help me sink into them.
Only you ever wanted me perfect
I think of you, my persistent lover.
Even when you're long gone
I can't shake the memory of your
Words of love and pain coating my tongue like candy.
I think of you, my insecure lover.
Only now do I believe your repeated assurances
" I am not good enough for you" .
You were right.
My icy lover,
He is here now.
He is good enough to hold me tight to reality,
Strong enough to hold me through my pain,
Real enough to hold my imperfection,
And just wicked enough to know me.
With each touch of his hands
Covering my body, the finest gown,
I feel you finally melt from my veins.
I think of you for the last time, my icy lover.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
I made a promise that I've kept,
An oath I carry with every step;
A naked vow when undressed,
A pledge I'd no desire to test.
You made a promise that you broke,
An oath you mouthed when you spoke;
A vow that withered, dried and choked
The pledge that now sticks in your throat.
Was it your intention then
To take the words and make them bend;
To throw your voice like a ventriloquist.
Were your fingers crossed behind my back?
We clearly heard your words of honour,
Your assurances you'd never wander;
A bond to tie us til we'd die,
A covenant sworn between you and I.
Words... words... words.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
The rabble simmered to a distant dull din
muffled by thick wooden doors and hands clamped over ears.
Wanting deafness rather than to hear again
the laughter accompanied by his name spoken ugly as sin.
But who can mute memories or what screams from within?
Wilting for another night
wishing a dream would birth
enough light,
praying
to believe he could face the world
head held high,
no stoop to stop confidence
nor twist of frown to drown positive assurances.
just enough would be enough for him
if he could walk the way
the beautiful do.
Just the way they do.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"...go to hell, purloiners!
you breached my trust...my privacy,
both, are sacred to me...
what about you?
...is anything at all sacred to you?"
:::
:::::
:::::::
It's been
three days and more,
of crossing fears...thinking,
how easily......and suddenly...
one's precious worded gems,
could be exposed to strangers' eyes...
to think that private thoughts can
no longer be private, is infuriating...
how does one deal with violated privacy?
i'm ailing...while drowning in dim streams
.....all assurances, now disputed
all negative possibilities considered
i'm paranoid...the devil is winning...
the stomach sympathizes
with a disconcerted mind
growling its discontent
creating deleterious acids...
mad, upsetting hours stay for a while
holes must be mended or patched...
what was disorganized ...must be straightened
got to start from scratch
these past evenings, i trod
through hot valleys bright with fire
burning with anger and disgust
...for, i felt betrayed,
never have i been this way before,
.....i must go back to the water.....
slowly............i wait,
'til i can look past those trees,
those walls....those worlds outside, and
from them, create a swinging hammock
tied on two coconut trees~~~then
feel a mist from a not so far clear, blue ocean
feel the breeze whisper its magic spell
to cool and melt the fires within
be at peace with everyone
with everything...
i must take hold of that space
where i'll float...and i'll forget
where i'll toy with the ripples
and be overcome
with
~~~~moments of zen~~~
Sally
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
In a desert midnight no darker than dawn
With cloudless heavens evident and stretching
To the edges of Bedouins’ minds and ours
Where owls govern with Your permission
You plunged a mighty fist deep
Into the heart and gripped a molten rag
And pulled it into a peak of crags
In which the **** You wanted grew
With a rush of wind you shaped that
Tear into a world-sized hollow to shelter
A man and a starfilled future for any who
Might accept what tugged at him that night
You once said Be! and time commenced
But earlier you had chosen from first
Until final a stream of Rusul and You placed
In that cleft the last Rasul alone but never
And in the radiance of a challenging word
Your spirit whose wings dripped pearls
Asked the silent one who sailed in prayer
To revolve the world on a different axis
Running feet across the earth carried him
To the comfort of arms that felt a beating
Chest bursting with ten million truths and her
Assurances trounced the whisperer’s last ditch
Words of mercy flow around us through a gentle
Heart in a stone cavity in the shade of a night
Without shadows beneath a cloudless cover
Which owls rule ... for a shrinking time
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong
It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise
I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man
See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend
With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come
Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 6:51 PM UTC