"concluded" poems
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
There you are, standing in the hall with the moonlight cascading onto your skin, showing off the silhouette of your beautiful body.
I curse the Moon because it gets to touch you first. As I try to control my inner desire, for one brief moment, I allow my mind to race in desire.
Alas! I settled the discussion, I settled the debate and concluded at this one beautiful thing spoke your true fate:
'Gorgeous.'
Gorgeous is your skin.
Gorgeous is your smile.
Gorgeous the way you walk.
Gorgeous when I hear you talk.
Gorgeous.
(Wild thoughts)
With my eyes I summoned you, laughing at the Moon as it is no longer kissing your beautiful skin.
As I lay you down on the bed I slowly open your legs, I can already smell your nectar.
I, like a hummingbird am drawn to your forbidden nectar, then for a brief moment I hear your heart skip a beat.
I blow on your ******** now warm to the touch, you let out a soft moan 'ahhhh, love, don't stop'.
With a smooth deep soft voice I uttered 'your wish will always be my command' I was truly wrapped in the moment.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
Human life is like a book...
The middle being birth.
The end death.
And the middle
a souls adventure of expansion.
Human life is like a book.
A grand story
unwinding with feelings as words
and moments as footmarks.
Once concluded it’s bond
in spirits core memory
to take one then
to a new book-cover of spirit.
A new beginning of
chapters where a sequel begins
with a beginning, middle, and end.
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
A Friday night of imbued strangers
Streets full of all walks of people
Mostly staggered and tipsy
Haggered and narrow minded
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of rejection and temptation
I couldn't give my cash to enter a joint
Thoroughly rejecting a norm construct
Unhumbled and judgmental
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of inspiration and joy
Where I saw a mirror of myself on the streets
Vagabound souls sat begging for a today
Justice and truth prevails
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me sat on the ground
At the entrance of a busy closed shop
Begging for the homeless soul as people sneer
The abuse and hate ejected
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of broken promises
When all they do is try to have ******
People set traps of unfriendly gesture
The rotten and pompous society
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me wooing the drunk
Melodious symphony of "change please"
Negativity beakers but we made money baibe
A reflection of minimalism
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of concluded perception
Their souls touched me, they can go back a time
They try but have no strength within
Sour love was the wound that brought them hassle
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
It's not a Friday night anymore, the dawn smiles
I have a warm home and access to facilities
They have no options and crack is their hope
Police huddles and societal direct abuse
As they sing a song for strangers to listen
For your smile and talk can be the only hope they got
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
As they walked along after the matinee, the older brother teased his sister, “Hey, guess what, Frankenstein lives in the attic and he’s goin’ get you.” With a flushed face the little sister responded, "Nah-ah, besides the attic door is locked." And her brother smirked, “Think Frankenstein cares about locked doors?"
Throughout their childhood, the brother jumped out behind closed doors, terrifying his little sister, and with each fright he gave his own fear seemed to lessen. After a startle the sister thought, ‘Does my brother love me, like I love him?’, and she concluded, “He must, why else would he try to scare me to death?’
Within the decade, a sudden brain hemorrhage took their dearly loved mother. Now, untethered in their mother’s love, the siblings changed, tightened, within, While their father, a traumatized, war veteran, swiftly fell off the wagon, and the brother and sister cast off, rudderless, uprooted into troubled waters.
And with their hearts snapped shut, immersed in relentless grief, they parted ways. Some years later, their father died, bequeathed them both his unhealed pain. The brother, the sister, slid secretively into alcoholism, conceded the family custom, invested deeply in their despair, the two went on, married, raised families, conformed.
And time went by, as alcohol soothed the pain until the brother breathed his last, his belly taut with fluid, his liver destroyed, a life sentence ended. While she, the lone survivor, mysteriously yielded unto Grace and was pardoned, recovered, she finally understood, she knew deep inside; everyone did the best they could, even her.
…and within a circle of one; I loved them all forever and ever.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Is it really this hard
to find people I can go back and forth in discussion with
about Buddhist and Hindu theology compared and contrasted against Christian and Yoruba
I want to scream and shout and dance with somebody over Janet Jackson's new album
and at the same time
feel the heat and talk with somebody about how extremely sad and depressing
but oh so good Giovanni's Room was
I want to be able to speak with somebody whom can quote Malcolm X and Kafka in the same breath
Somebody who could see the logic of Pac and Immortal Technique on the same piece
with the Budos Band or Mulatu on the back track
I want to know people whom know
just exactly who
Suki Lee and Bayard Rustin are
can we talk about Jacob Kinohoor's ***
at least for a moment
then get into some B.B. King or Johnny Cash
have you seen Dune
the one from the eighties
James McAvoy shirtless
as well as John Goodman’s acting
were only good things about the other
if you read it
even better
what about the ***** that sat by the door
Or
killer clowns from outer space
let's be shady and point out all the inaccuracies on the history and discovery and channels
praying for that day
that's not in February
They show Shaka Zulu in full
without commercial interruption
Or maybe a documentary about native American people
with actual native actors
that do not depict them all as either
plains people
Or Inuit
Cause you already know
not everybody is Eskimo
then let's put on our own private production of legally blonde
followed by encore presentations of the classic scene
Of Miss Celie and miss Ofelia going in over Harpo
can I discuss with you
how the Patriot act nullifies everything in constitution
And the bill of rights
even though they never were intended to be permanent any way
It would be nice to not have to explain a Corporatocracy
all my life Ive been into Egyptology
You do know that Imhotep was the actual founder of medicine
by a good 2000 years
not that Hippocrat
the thing is
I'm still learning
when attempt to delve that deeply into people
which I don't even consider that deep
They often misunderstand
They often concluded without thinking
maybe
just maybe
©Christopher F. Brown 2015
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
I've done a lot.....
I've done a lot in my lifetime.....
I've done a lot in the past 11 months...
I've felt even more...
I've made decisions....
I've made mistakes....
I've created conclusions and shoved them in the mirror's reflection.
I've made a finalization...
I've terminated the story...
I've concluded this connection.
Now I'm alone...
Now I feel like excess emotions left in a puddle to be stepped in and splashed in, for fun or dismay.
-a muddy disgrace of distaste.
-a muddy reflection of disgust.
-a distraction on the path to your destination.
I feel sick...
Sick to my stomach
Sick in the Mind...
Sickly branches that creep out from my heart, determined to entomb my entire internal system, and hold me there to deal with what level I've continued to stoop myself too.
Myself... the one that's so much better than what she's encountered and how she's figured her future.
I deserve what I have, and what I choose.
I deserve what I get, for what I've chosen.
I'm throwing up...
I'm throwing up everything...
everything that my heart has eaten right out of the palms of those who've given it to me.
I don't wanna feel it anymore....
I don't want that pressure forced on my stomach any longer.
I'm sick...
I'm sick again.
Its all coming up....
I'm letting it out... all the emotions that so rightfully belong on the floor in a jumbled mess rather then crammed in my stomach where they explode with temptation as my stomach thrusts itself in circles....
its looking for a way to let everything go.
My body knows whats right....
I'm emotionally anorexic.
I throw it all away without wanting to let it go, I would rather keep everything that reminds me of that time, that time when my stomach did not churn in agony...
I am miserable....
I am mistaken.... and misjudged...
I am sick...
and distracted...
I'm... lost?
Lost in the mirrors and fine lines... fine lines between punishment and disabilities...
I can see myself....
I see myself pale and done.
Done with everything I'm hearing and thinking right now.
I've gone too far.
I'm done.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”
(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
*“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”*
(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”
Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?
Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…
Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances
(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated
Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
I've tried to see past
The stars
With fingers and apps,
And concluded
It's easier to see
A bearded Jesus
In a sliced apple
Than join the dots
For the *******
Of Aquarius.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
''Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.'
'I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panter were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
While the Old had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
And concluded the banquet by [eating the owl.]
5.1k
My Solace
when every aperture is a tunnel narrowing,
a light pin diminishing when nearing,
when the desk drawer yields up unused theater tickets,
for performances concluded yesterday,
when the denouement is nothing new but worse,
revealed in the coming attractions trailer,
when the rusted unborn poem notion is almost done,
but remains unpublished,
for no beginning, no title, can be found,
Then I recall the cornucopia days,
when poems spilled forth like
there would never be a when they wouldn't,
I revisit my old friends, couplets, twins and triplets,
seeded inside every tear, happy or sad,
sweetly and freely,
my old friends, reread,
words rearranged in new combinations,
old poems, plants bearing new fruits,
re-titled all of them, one name,
a collection entitled,
My Solace.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
What is this thing,
This change in me,
What is this feeling,
That is happening to me?
This possessing of my spirit.
This seemingly lack of control,
That was not always so.
That a concerto slow turn,
Played and heard,
Renders me weak in the knees,
A sweet moment of human joy,
Or actual real grief,
Even viewed on a movie screen
Can tug at my heart so.
So too, a child’s sweet song,
Though sung off key.
A blazing sunset,
Orange and red,
A thrilling thing to behold.
Nature always a motivator,
All of these and more,
Pluck cords of my emotions,
Like the strings of a harp,
So easily reduce me to tears.
Not body shaking sobs mind you,
Just a slow gentle stream,
Nothing my sleeve can't deal with.
"Men don’t cry",
"Sensitivity is only for women",
Or so I have always been told.
Well it’s taken me a long time,
But I have concluded this bias,
Is a load of unadulterated Bull ****
‘Cause as it turns out,
I actually enjoy it.
And see no reason I shouldn't.
Not to mention,
It keeps my tear ducts open,
And free flowing.
In touch as I am with my feelings.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things
*(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by
Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?")
wind and rain pound the surf.
snow falls on the beach, on the shore.
man-observer cannot tell:
has the earth gone mad, all wet?
do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens,
or does the white rain replenishes the very body,
from whence it came, and now returns?
this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question.
the furious soundings, the green foam churn,
the silence of no response inebriates,
drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor,
weighed down, sodden with the despair,
solitude, silence, absent answers,
his natural walking companions!
No Stopping signs on almost every corner,
Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter,
One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage,
but the one sign he seeks,
"Stay On The Path" absent.
Eluded,
dispassionate endings,
the essential quietude among
furious surround-sounds of creative destruction
he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected.
Concluded,
either
their is no one listening, or,
there is no one caring, or,
Deluded,
illusion is truth,
he is an illusion.
------------------
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge of the new world freeway .
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
I read a text
Meant for a friend,
One you didn't mean
To send.
Our culmination in technology
Has us now concluded.
A landline would've
Kept me dangling,
But pocket dials don't lie.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
When I ordered Welsh Rabbit, a rabbit wasn't included.
The restaurant ripped me off, that was what I concluded.
All that I was served was some cheese on toast.
I soon learned that the chef wasn't a nice host.
I wanted a rabbit and that was what I demanded.
He threw me out the door because he said I needed to be reprimanded.
i was upset at that chef so I decided to enter his restaurant again.
When he was through I thought they'd have to call my next of kin.
He burned my **** with his stove and hit my head with a frying pan.
I soon learned that when that chef gets riled, he's a dangerous man.
If you order Welsh Rabbit at his restaurant and ask for a rabbit, he will say no.
And for your own safety you should leave his restaurant peacefully, just let it go.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
We met through a latched gate
down a straight concrete path
With flowers and grass on either side
To a white cottage with a
Thick thatched roof.
To the right of the front door
Was a climbing, yellow,’ Chelsea’ rose.
The garden was an orchard of tenderness with
Five elderly leaning apple trees bearing fruit.
And David Austin roses in a variety of colours
Many wild and cultivated flowers grew and plentiful
Of bird song.
Roger and I sat together at a small
Table and chairs
And were given a delightful meal
Of chicken and vegetables
Followed by ice cream and mixed fruit salad
After resting with cups of tea
I wandered round the garden to see all the
Beauty of this wilderness and a boat in a large
Rather dilapidated shed
Later to be rebuild into a fine garage of
Original Suffolk stone and two wooden doors.
Our time together was very precious to me.
Filling in much that I had heard about, but
Never encountered, from a very dear relative.
In the afternoon we went into Bury St Edmunds central
To see the Cathedral, Abbey Gardens, with resplendent
Flower beds frequently replenished in an abudance of colourful changes and the antiquated book shops.
The day was concluded with strawberries and cream in the
Park sitting on a bench in the sun.
We had a long journey back to Watford.
I never forget this day so unusual was it
Made by my friend.
Love Mary xxxx
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflictual for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so vixen-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear leading to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worry because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there to
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
against enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around .She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of feminine?''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming at a new world without violence.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
The Israelites (/ˈɪzriəlaɪts/; Hebrew: בני ישראל Bnei Yisra'el)
were a confederation of Iron Age
Semitic-speaking tribes of the ancient Near East
inhabiting parts of Canaan during the tribal & monarchic periods;
Modern archaeology has largely discarded
the historicity of the Jewish religious narrative;
re-framing it as constituting an inspired national myth:
The Israelites & their culture according to modern
archaeological accounts,
did not overtake the region by force,
instead branching out from the indigenous [Canaanite peoples
long inhabiting the Southern Levant, Syria,
ancient Israel, and the Trans-Jordan region]
through the development of a distinct _monolatristic_—
[_Monolatry_ (Greek: μόνος (monos) = single,
and λατρεία (latreia) = worship) is the belief
in the existence of many gods but with the
consistent worship of the one deity; the term
"monolatry" was perhaps first used
by Julius Wellhausen;
Modern scholars of Israel's religion have
become much more circumspect in how
they use the Old Testament; not least
because many have concluded the Bible
is not a reliable witness to the true religion
of ancient Israel and Judah; representing
the beliefs of only a small segment of the
ancient community _centered in Jerusalem_
& devoted to the exclusive worship
of the god "Yahweh": Monolatry is
distinct from monotheism,
which asserts the existence of only one god;
and henotheism, a religious system in which
the believer worships one god w/out denying
that others may worship different gods with
equal validity]; later cementing as a monotheistic religion
centered on Yahweh, one of the Ancient Canaanite deities;
the outgrowth of Yahweh-centric beliefs
along with a number of cult practices
gradually gave rise to a distinct Israelite
ethnic group setting them apart
from the other Canaanites
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Maecenas' stable of prostitutes
is in the embrace
of him that sat & paid much more
for the excessive
guarantee of water being transferred
to the water that flows away the remnant
of the house towards them of the waters
of the ladies openly w/in the covenant
concluded w/ a chorus of prostitutes,
it is not binding, but Einstein's Maecenas
of it in the abstract, ardent devotion
of the early in the morning brings
the temple of the plastic abstract stand in
w/ the steering of Einstein's chorus
of the nature of the conversion
of the ****** incompatible w/ nothing at all
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder,
Sometimes I ponder,
Why do I love her.
At one look she's valentine,
and the next... she's somebody else
But like a spectre on Holloween's day,
its all but a mask.
A mask that someone else used to wear.
A mask filled with fear, grief and pain.
Masks that fills up the small dents in her heart.
I ran, she glimpsed, I reached, she smiled.
A great story it is. Yet another,
I ran, I reached, an empty look from her face.
A story that makes me cry and kneel to the Lord.
It's a difficult love indeed and temptations are real and big.
Yet, I could not find a reason to steer and drive away.
And against all logic, Love compels me to stay.
The love that compelled my savior to be hanged on a tree.
A love that never gives up,
a love that is defined by no other word than love it self.
Is the love that keeps me going.
It is because of love, that I could not let go.
Because, my savior himself did not let go.
Even at times that I betray and spat him to his face
He did not let go. He held on, He struggled.
He pulled me, He embraced me.
My Rabbi once thought me,
that love is both sweet and deadly.
love in its ultimate form, will lead one person to die.
"Die to self" my Rabbi says.
Until when can I die to my self?
Scarry as it is, I am ready to die in the name of love,
Scarry as it is, I am ready to die to show one person love,
To lit the light of hope in her, to light back faith in her heart.
As great purposes awaits her, to be a sign of hope is a great pleasure indeed.
So am I crazy enough to lose the world in the name of love?
Sadly, I'am still incapable of loving like my savior does.
For he is perfect and I.... am being perfected.
We are of no comparison,
He was innocent, yet I was guilty.
guilty as accused.
I am but a mere speck of dust compared to His glory.
O how can I find love in the eyes of my valentine?
I cried out and He answered,
"You don't" He says,
For love is not about you,
but it is about dying to your self
With this love that I recieved,
I am on my way.
Fighting fears, lies and struggles,
I am on my way.
As love compels me to be,
Therefore I concluded that
I.... must be..... Half-Crazy.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC