"bequests" poems
Worldly kingdoms emerge, rise and eventually fall
but there's one kingdom that does outlast them all.
It is eternal which means it has no beginning or end
though most people in the world don't comprehend.
It has been written and talked about in so many scriptures
yet in the external world doesn't form part of any fixtures.
No matter how grand a structure or building is erected that it may represent
or how many people daily, under its roof for worship, they devoutly frequent.
The kingdom of the everlasting Soul is to be found within us all
and doesn't really have any roof, floor, pulpit or containing wall.
Its own image and essence is all of a glorious Eternal Supreme Being
that with Its own grace, knowledge, light and love one can be seeing.
All we have to do is to acknowledge Its presence and look within,
live our daily lives in accordance with the Truth which is Its Twin
that the highest practical wisdom is based on known to mankind
and has been handed down from ages past for humanity to bind.
This doesn't mean that It belongs or is particular to just one religious belief
but encompasses them all through which people seek to find worldly relief;
because of Its glorious Eternal nature It also has unfathomable or infinite attributes
and beyond the limited mind of man to comprehend though philosophy contributes.
Even the laws of every country or state are based on the Truth;
though due to age old corruption is hardly discerned from youth.
As people have a strong tendency to seek and satisfy there own selfish interests
that go against the universal principles inherent in the wisdom the Soul bequests.
These universal principles are really the backbone of all spiritual aspiration
that have to be adhered to if there's to be any further evolution or realisation,
of mankind's true nature and individual or collective higher moral development
which is a unified and holistic existence that by the Truth of the Soul is vent.
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Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Oh deep breaths I cannot take
Before I break the surface of the darkest lake.
I see myself rising fast towards freedom,
But a lone ankle shackle anchors me to the depths
With a long chain of my own making.
Oh deep breaths I’m not yet taking.
Know the chain’s old links are breaking.
I’ve found the Softest Voice of Reason.
Ever tranquil in every season. Tapered to my chest.
Fly along, Firefly. Ignore wind resistance.
Guide me through this dissonance.
Cantankerous quests end in an instant.
Rambunctious requests reformed by insistence.
Please, no bequests for pity’s sake.
Keep those for jovialities, My Snowflake.
You bring warm stars on cold nights;
Wise words for swift flights of sorry sights.
So I’ll learn to see when you turn out the lights.
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 10:53 AM UTC
Dawn and night-clouds part the horizon,
Dark muddy blues turn suddenly light
Spilling change on her hues as she rises,
And oh that fullness of sight.
Glow of greeting bequests later heat-time,
Brazen sun brooks no trace of the night.
She aims to captivate dark guilelessly
With oh such flourish of style.
Her blush in pale sky flashes a brightness
Over first tremble of her prelude to fire.
She welcomes day by blazing sublimely
In oh what a show of surprise
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
On a Tuesday afternoon we crashed
On a bike which before we laughed
And say you're words of remorse
While the tears of regret are sore
And the scars that we left behind
Remain on your face all the while
Your eye, is injured and it burns
Your mouth, is weaker and you learn
That we came for you and we shared with you
All our love and tears, we missed you here
And we left for you, we cried for you
We went so far and cane with masks
Only to be hypocritical, hypothetical
Nonsensical and impossible
Just You wait till you come out
I guarantee they will shout
There'll be cars and beds involved
And beaches and roads
Why sit all day and phone and cry
When you can get out
Every single day, we wait patiently
For a piece of news, hoping it's good
Better than this better than that
Never gonna go down that road, again
That we came for you and we shared with you
All our love and tears, we missed you here
And we left for you, we cried for you
We went so far and cane with masks
Only to be hypocritical, hypothetical
Nonsensical and impossible
Just You wait till you come out
I guarantee they will shout
And it is clearer when the light is brighter
All the clouds are whiter and the seas are bigger
But are you surer of being more than her
And is our better not to care
They take their masks off and they reveal what's under
Their paint is gone and it reveals what's under
Their hypocritical looks reveals what's under
And my impossible bequests and thoughts reveals what's under
All the makeup and all the dress up
All the mess ups and all the slip ups
Makes me wanna know whther I was right all along
You said you never cared about my songs
And even if I blame myself, it wont be sufficient
I've learnt to calm my yearning
And even if I break down the door, it wont be efficient
They try to keep us apart and you like to ask
Questions about the simple things
And it is nerve wrecking
And I took off my mask and stopped the party.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Tempest Bequests
provide us something pleasant
as the darkness only consumes,
leaving our bare bones hollow
and aching - no longer moving
we're forever seeking to become
stronger than yesterday's wimps
please shine your brightest light
on our otherwise shamefulness
awaken us from the thoroughly
saddening tempest bequests...
and even if this be our last ever
request - we yearn for freedom
james kenneth blaylock
9-15-15
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
I remember, or at least believe I do
(The memories wispy, ethereal,
The stuff of dream or perhaps simple misapprehension)
How I would be half-asleep,
The pro forma repetition of bedside prayers in my head,
Asking for benediction for Grandma and Grandpa
And all the ships at sea
As my father would come home from his lodge
(I forget the mammal in question--beaver or elk,
Or perhaps some fictional comedic excuse
Akin to Ralph Kramden's raccoons)
Singing at a volume he believed sufficiently soft,
Though my mother was quick to inform him otherwise,
And the tales of poor Tom Dooley
Or some unnamed tavern in the town
Would intermingle with the remnants of my supplications,
And they would synthesize as some code,
Some argot of some unknown in-crowd
Whose patter was beyond my ken.
My father's songbird days stopped quite abruptly,
And during the proceedings paying homage to that coda,
God was frequently cited, indeed summoned,
And I suspect he tottered earthward,
At which point he proceeded to absent himself
From my further consideration and commiseration,
And I came to such a time where hazy night-time songs
Were part and parcel of my routine,
Though more bourbon-fed than sleep-induced,
And when the talk turned to such things
As the pros and cons of one's patrimony,
I was wont to opine that I was the product of two fathers,
The bequests of whom tended to wax and wane in value.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 4:28 PM UTC