"compeer" poems
Bless love and hope. Full many a withered year
Whirled past us, eddying to its chill doomsday;
And clasped together where the blown leaves lay,
We long have knelt and wept full many a tear.
Yet lo! one hour at last, the Spring’s compeer,
Flutes softly to us from some green byeway:
Those years, those tears are dead, but only they:—
Bless love and hope, true soul; for we are here.
Cling heart to heart; nor of this hour demand
Whether in very truth, when we are dead,
Our hearts shall wake to know Love’s golden head
Sole sunshine of the imperishable land;
Or but discern, through night’s unfeatured scope,
Scorn-fired at length the illusive eyes of Hope.
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The only person that listens to me is my external dialogue
You call it schizophrenia, I call it a duologue
But in reality it's just, it's just that in a group of two
I am my own leader, subject, enemy and compeer
Born out of a fear of being alone, my mind began to sere
And unintentionally planted a voice into each cerebral hemisphere
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC
i.
Malkhati, ourn arrangement hath been prearranged, set aside all of past anger's, Sting's from compeer's; knoweth ourn lion from the tribe of Judah, the Messiah draweth near.
ii.
Hush mine love, quiet mine dear, notice the weather's change and the birthing pain's of fear; though we shant faint, we shalt run through Meadow's clear. Wherein nothing shalt compare, to the thing's that we shalt see.
iii.
O' just imagine mine Jane, fountain of life that spring's, from God's throne seraph's gleam, as we'll Stare at Christ's bronze feet. Many table's for a holy feast, None beast's to make their way, for the beast's wilt be left behind us, making their trail's in Satan's day.
iv.
For we mine love, O' we; art messenger's, disciples, for Jesus the lowly Nazarene, now he's on high, his time is nigh, where all shalt shalt see his white robe, in blood dipped, paradise gripped, unearthly flow.
v.
We must be ready mine Asian hunny, for the sky's won't be sunny; that much longer now. The time is here, his call for us, we must speak and YELL OF JESUS, the one whom shalt awake the dead from the dust. Prophecy must be fulfilled mine girl, don't be in angst, of this soon passing world. He is the pearl, that once was rejected, the cornerstone to every broken home, the one in the beginning the builder's once disrespected. But every eye shalt see, every tribe shalt mourn, O' his sweet return, His sweet return. We must prophesy, before this earth doth burn, we bring TRUTH NOT FEAR, mayest love come by storm. Anyone who hath an ear, please heed ourn word's. For the Warning's art on the clouds, driven by storm's. YESHUA HAMASHIACH, He's coming soon, wilt thou listen O' man? Or let Lucifer deceive thou to? Mine Jane, Mine Jane, I seeith him coming;
Holy, holy is his name.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry , prophetic poetry.
©Earl jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
Bon anniversaire, brother Eddie,
Continue in fondness;
To those in hurt
And blood
Shedding.
Felix natalis, compeer in Christ,
Showeth his mercy, love,
Sacrifice.
eyd mawlid saeid, man of God,
Like the Messiah hadst died
For thee; dieth for other's,
Spread the gospel as seed.
Charoúmena genéthlia, Edward
The star, a light amongst the darkness,
The soul to those lost to death's kiss;
Teacheth who the man was who hadst
Come in the flesh, to hath his hand's
Nailed, and head crowned with thorn's;
Mocked and scorned, his heart
Didst mourn, giving up his
Holy ghost, for thou and me.
Penblwydd hapus, disciple
For Yeshua, mayest another
Year of thy birth bringeth
beatitude not curse, as
Yahweh is thine church,
As the spirit is thine weapon.
Against Satan's doubting's
And question's, against the
Lonesomeness and heaviness,
Against the sin's and burden,
Against those who know thee
Not, whom hath not loved thee,
But thee they forgot, remembereth
Dearest saint, one day thou shalt
Hath a Robe pearlescent colored
White as snow, knowing heaven
Is thine place and home. Happy
Birthday O' happy blessed birthday:
To thee man of Yeshua ha'mashiach.
Man of the creator, creation and rock,
Wherein thine foundation is built
Upon stone and not sand...
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Edward star birthday dedication
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Why is it so difficult to maintain
And to keep maintaining
An equilibrium?
Why is it so impossible to be
A little of both,
A little of none?
Why is it so, so unthinkable to have
That stability
That acceptance
That sheer pleasure of
Not having to lose one in order to keep another?
Why can’t one be
A pivot?
Why must there be
A victor?
Why must an
Equal
Always become some sort of a
subordinate runner up
For you to prove your own worth?
Do you see competition
When you look at your own
Virtuality
In the honesty of a mirror?
Do you wonder whether the
Fragility of the glass
Prefers your face to that of your reflection?
And then,
With all that might
You pretend to have to the world,
Do you pound down on
That very same glassy frangibility
And
Break
It
For a supposition,
For an assumption
of inferiority
That the crystal did nothing
To prove, provoke or propel?
If not, then why are you
Shattering
Both, the glass and the reflection?
Why are you so eager
To run away from the exactness of your proximity
To the glass;
from the equality of your peer?
And why,
Why do the actions of the image
Bother you
When it actually does nothing but
replicate your own?
Why does the shattered glass
Create no shard of
The solidity of your soul
When its only sin was being
A pivot
Between you and your compeer.
Why.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
sand man is coming ,
sand man is sleek .
sand man is out to find people ,
sitting in downside creek .
Grinning Screaming Drifting wafting ,
groaning soaring fighting flaunting ,
yet fading in the sand ,
with the ashes they did wore .
sand man is coming ,
he quarter down a mile .
chanting the hymns in the air
howling a loud loud noise .
down the stream here they sit ,
confound ashes as the sand .
yet fading in ember of those ,
who waited for the sand man .
like bliss off the clench.
streams of the sand,
have flourished the long sad creek.
sand man has come to rescue for thou,
faded in cold night sleep .
with arms full of holy sand
their happiness did thrive,
inside there pale and weary skin ,
the sand man has arrived.
where art thou ,
asked the holy men.
thee can't touch nor see .
we waited long to hath the sand,
let us bow to you compeer.
bow the earth to look your feet ,
in stream of water and sand ,
your reflection above your feet is me ,
replied the old sand man !
the sand man is me
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
I'm a person in whom you see;
a friend, a lover and a compeer,
The letters you type late night
on keypad comes to me,
And when the power cuts and
your mind starts making phantoms
you dial my number,
Late-night cravings, scholarly discussion,
A video call in the morning,
And on a certain day, a certain moment
I bend on my knee and ask you to be mine
forever. And you, nod in YESSSS!!!!!!
Ah! Love, thou unruly dictator!
I sat to read for exams
instead started dreaming a dream
of some other world.
I'm mad, hopeless, pathetic,
and sometimes sounds creepy too,
But how can I comfort
the sad, deluding, and longing heart?
Is there any medicine or herb?
How can I love and hide the flame of it
from you?
I'm doomed like a moth
flinging myself deliberately into fire.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC