"disbeliever" poems
The face of Earth is for no one
King Solomon or the great
Alexander the believers.
Nor for disbeliever
Nebuchadnezzar.
Hell or Paradise neither
is on the face of Earth.
What lives is in the heart!
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 11:32 AM UTC
Believer takes his hat and coat,
Walks out of his room,
Into a misty gloom where shadows warp his irises,
And he falls and falls straight into heaven.
Disbeliever steals a rock from the underground cave,
Ties it to his ankle never floats away,
Blasphemy is and will always be his life,
Every night the disbeliever sat near his bed,
Praying to Believer above,
When it never came he took the name,
Coward.
Believer took pity and asked heaven for an angel,
The angel couldn't do much but mourn with Coward,
As his disbelief kept his sight blinded,
And he was content, by god he never wanted to let go.
Plants grew into Coward's room,
His frame growing frail and tired,
Years of fighting and giving up drained his veins,
Finally, an ounce of death brought a clearing in his vision,
Coward saw his angel and shot it not once, not twice, but thrice,
Once for the son, second for the father, the third for the holy spirit.
Believer took this as a sign,
That he was fearful of something controlling his life,
Coward needed to control and stabilize himself his way,
No angels over his shoulder,
No rules to abide by,
Whether it was real or not,
It was Coward who needed to learn to heal himself.
Coward shot himself once more and bandaged his wound with care,
Taking his blood with him,
He inspected it's contents,
Wondering what was inside that cursed and plagued his life,
He found that it was all himself and things he told himself,
To a shock and a conclusion of misery,
Coward knew that once he got off of his ride,
He'd have to drain his blood and purify it,
It took every ounce of sadness and courage,
But it worked. Oh god it worked.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
It is in, the how,
not the why, the where,
or, the when,
no, no, it
Is the how,
that provisions and provides
all the answers
that any lover needs, for
In the how, one revels,
but also,
unbeknownst, unwillingly, reveals
what one's heart wishes to secret, and conceals
and with
The single stroke
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
raising sky colors upon
thy skin's patina and,
How commences the matina,
with petals of white cloud roses,
blushing anew in your cheeks,
loveliest of failed cover ups,
laughing, I airbrush your
almost, invisible tears away,
residue of melodramas of troubled sleep,
stilled and stolen, mine,
to pacify, keep,
tranquilized in my breast
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking.
What vincible arrogance
humans possess when we pray,
we hope, knowing that we are infidels,
hoping to mislead
the eyes that glance upon us
You give up the shadows painted for me when
filtered beams, rays of
a, and of...kind,
lance shield of densest lead,
lain upon the chest to cloak
the tremors of volcanic hearts,
the eyes of hurricane thoughts,
containers of need that
Are so full of oh so
many questions, yet,
singularly resolved,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
knowingly full well you are
Thinking there is no exit,
no right of way to negate
the sum of what we let to ail us,
O disbeliever, how simple be,
for all, all of
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking,
I soften and modulate,
your conflicted complexion,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
all that is mine,
to encapsulate,
recharge, refill thy vessel
with Bocelli tones of
passioned, gloried harmony
Worry not if my eyesight dims,
be unconcerned if
my hearing, my voices
wearies and weakens,
for all the answers
we shall ever need
remain, contained in
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
and
this is how I know now,
and forever more,
what you are thinking
As long as skin is the coverlet
o'er the bell jar of mind n' heart,
as long oxygen defies gravity,
I will know how,
unveil, open secret chambers,
now and forever more,
what you are thinking
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
You’re swimming, okay,
And the Bible suddenly opens up.
Not many people are faced with this,
Except you: you’re an exception.
How do you take it?
Barely, would the sublime horror of communion pass on your lips
Once the ocean take its Leviathan form, and it opens its mouth to speak.
Its oratory becomes very clear in the maelstroms of countless gallons
Rushing blue cannibalizes itself before you; you have no time to think of death
When the salt’s burning your eyes and you’ve finally figured
How useful a gyroscope can be.
Too soon, three darknesses will emerge from the desolate homily
Taught not to discriminate in thought or action: the backs of your eyes
Straining against the buoyancy, the restfulness of not seeing a bottom,
And the path Jonah’s bones took, the disbeliever.
Mostly, you’ll want to congratulate yourself like a legend,
You wonderful piece of **** when you come in crashing on the waves.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
*Half smiles leaving trails
Of simple wonder and childlike fantasies
Thought of in carefree days
Strained eyes, suppressed sighs
I see the concealed words in your faraway stares
Your mother and father
Handed you the life that was not your own
Making you a disbeliever of the fate you could have created
Your happiness took flight like a lonely bird
Leaving you with an empty cage to live in
Everything that you are, everything that you ever wanted to be
Are now winged hopes, flying in the horizons of lost dreams
The spark in your eyes tell a different story
From the praises that strangers throw upon you
They know you by face
But they never asked whether you are your dreams
It hurts me to look at my victories
The ones you have given at the palm of my small hands
With your selfless and strong love at the sacrifice of yourself
You are not everyone's hero, but you are mine
Your happiness took flight like a lonely bird
Leaving you with an empty cage to live in
Everything that you are, everything that you ever wanted to be
Are now winged hopes, flying in the horizons of lost dreams
Leave all your hurts to me
Pass on all your wishes to
The little girl who listened to all
The unheard dreams
The unfulfilled promises
Leave them be, let me be
The keeper of every winged hope in your wingless heart*
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
My words might have hugged you in your memories,
When you were decided against me & my poems.
When you took the love of mine out of your heart,
You must've remembered me writing poems for you.
It was necessary for the river of your eyes to flow,
It was necessary to love as well as to separate.
It was necessary that we collected our desires,
But it was also necessary for them to breakdown.
Tell me, you remember when you had stolen my heart,
You made that stolen item the home of God.
When you used to say that you read my name in prayers,
You feared to miss the prayer of love.
But now I remember it all,
And know that they were just talks,
It was necessary to roll back on your words,
And it was necessary for your eyes to let the tears fall.
Our faces are the same, you're the same and so I'm,
But I'm lost somewhere, so are you.
You have been disloyal in love,
I was and am still the disbeliever.
We have attained our destinations but still are travellers
I wandered a lot after being cast out from your heart
But whenever I wandered I just remembered,
That to wander was also a necessity.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
For her, I am a good lover.
For her, I am a disbeliever.
For her, I am a sweet stranger.
She often worships her deities.
She worships the flute playing deity.
She may be knowing that I worship her.
For me, she is the Angel and a blessing.
For me, she is the deity to be worshipped.
For me, she is my morning, evening & night.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
I am not, what one would deem to be a "religious" man. As a matter of fact, it has been a very long time since I have been to a church service, other than attending a wake, or a funeral. But, that should not label me as a "disbeliever", for I strongly believe in the Trinity.
Around my neck is a chain with a cross pendant. My wife, Karen, gave it to me the first Christmas of our marriage, 49 years ago, come this December. On my right-hand is a ring, the symbol of the Alpha/Omega stamped upon its crest. A reminder that I can be taken from this mortal earth at anytime, and perhaps, not of my choosing. On my left-hand, another ring, with a cross carved upon its crest. Again, a reminder that there is a higher, more powerful entity, that we as mortals, often take for granted(we say we don't, but we do).
Does everyone agree with me? "No, of course not!" I wear them, "for me." I thank the Lord everyday, for my family, my grandchildren, and yes, that does include my cat(my Guardian Angel). I thank Him for the friends I have made, and for the friends I have never seen, but to whom I enjoy stretching my hands across seas and continents, asking, "How are you, hope you're doing well, and stay in touch." I hope it continues for a very long time.
copyright: richard riddle: September 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
Quite the start to the weekend
There it goes, watch it ends
These pages are made of dust
What is half read is still unread
Tree of paper leaving glue trail
In search of the perfect bookmark
I found a place for receipts to recuperate
I locked eyes with Jupiter
On a wooden coffee table
The great counterclockwise storm
Ticking away with each drop
Disaster, sky without a star
Heaven receives blessings,
On slow workdays
When martyrs are lucky enough to live
We swore by that which divides day and night,
and fails to conquer either
That Faith must not pass the gate
Until they call for prayer
Until the square of crossroads is clear
Sometimes I feel like a disbeliever in Jerusalem
Prayers manifest duality as one
So shoulders can shrug in unison
Banal attempts to restore faith
Outrage is out of reach
The mind sets red-tape traps,
We call that mindless assertions
In the climate of trumpets and megaphones
Nothing escapes poltics
Vicious cyclones of “Breaking News" cycles
"I see pictures of children in faraway places that wreck me for a day"
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
we flood thee
roots to the very
swell of bone
skin to very bark
of soul
flesh as tangible as
personal truth
but now we tire
and you none the wiser
as once we guarded
your affections and your gaze
no further shall we repair
now belief and disbeliever
we depart and shall
remain ever departed
blame what chances
you denied
when you and your
throne sat high
bones crash
under the pulses
and machinery of life
decay decay decay
such reluctance
what nails rend and flair
sense wed in a torn bed
remind you for their
lack of recompense
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
Disbelief or doubt is my natural disposition.
With this I try to explain away what is inconclusive.
To a Christian leader, I have another gospel, so my prophet is false.
To a Muslim, I am an imposter because I believe in innovation.
To a Jew, I am not of the Chosen Ones.
To an atheist, I am unreasonable or delusive.
To a Buddhist, I cannot attain enlightenment.
Thus, to the secret societies of belief, I am a disbeliever, mad, and ignorant, going to hell, karmic or not, or to die a mortal death.
How can my healthy doubt have any way with explanation?
To incorporate the masses, we provide governments and universally make declarations as the United Nations.
Should I lose belief to satsify the masses: agreeing with them that I'm a disbeliever and coming to terms with atheists?
Just stand for love and unity.
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
Abdul and Ram were better friends
Than you and I could've ever been
Sitting on a bench in a park
Having strawberry and vanilla ice cream
Now it was time to return
Abdul's uncle came to pick
Asked him,"Who's the other boy?"
"Ram"
The uncle had a massive fit
"Don't you know that that boy
Is an idolater,is a disbeliever
He worships rocks and leaves
That 5 year old is a liar, a thief
He worships the false prophet
Do not go near him
We are better, we are in the right
Leave him or convert him
We are the faith of peace, son"
Now the 4 year old pondered over this
While Ram's brother came to pick up Ram
Seeing him with a skullcapped boy
He took him to the bronze statue in the park
"Brother you're a fool, a miser
You should've been a little wiser
This boy's ancestors' ancestor
Killed our family's ancestors' ancestor
Your grandfather's grandfather's debt you have to pay
1000 years before today..."
He proceeded to tell this 4 year old these words of propaganda
Trying to fulfil his devious agenda
".....they killed our women and lynched our folk and committed other atrocities
Leave this progeny of Mahmud of Ghazni"
No one spoke the complete truth, no one completely lied
The bronze Buddha statue near the fountain smiled
They left the park one last time
Together they weren't meant to smile
For a millennia ago
One man killed another man and everybody died
Hate was sown into their minds
Why O! Why O! Why!
No one spoke the complete truth, no one completely lied,
One man killed another man and everybody died
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
Could I be the moronic imbecile?
Maybe an unbelieving hard-to-feel?
What about a radical exemplar?
Maybe a frenzied Templar?
Would I be the ferocious fighter?
Possibly an inspiration lighter?
What about the unforgivable lie?
Oh, what am I?!
Can I be the troublesome dramatic?
No, maybe the suicidal problematic?
Could I be an uninspiring doomer?
No, maybe just a late bloomer?
Ugh, these things that I can be...
What if I'm the traitorous flee?
Maybe I'm an unlit sky?
Oh! What am I?!
The lovable opus?
The unremovable hopeless?
A corrupted cause?
Or maybe a bag of flaws?
I'm rich in depression,
And even richer with aggression.
Maybe I'm an overlooking fly?
Ugh! What am I?!
Maybe I'm a religious act?
Maybe I'm a broken pact?
Could I be the admirable laughter?
What will happen before or after?
What if I'm the infamous scammer?
What if I'm the iconic war hammer?
What if I’m just an unheard cry?
What if I die and never know why?
-From the mind of a questioning disbeliever, only to be known as an average human.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC