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ryn Sep 2014
I feel so lost and I have misplaced a part of me
Looking for answers in the rubble of emotional debris

How do you rebuild hard earned confidence
Smashed and swept, leaving no remnants

How do you stand on battered knees
And put on an expression that shows no crease

How do you recover something you barely just found
Something that exists neither above or below ground

Try not to limp because the world doesn't really want to know
If you braved through where thistles and thorns grow

They don't really care; In fact they might grow tired
Of the same dirge I insist on having repeated

I'm feeling the repercussions and myself I do blame
For expecting of you nothing less of the same

Only thing I can do is what I do best
Is to revel in overwhelming grief and fallen crest

Be annoyingly frail and exceedingly feeble
Soon may regret because some may deem it intolerable

Get up and chin up or I'll have more to lose
Still retaining the gift of breath I so choose

Pleading into thin air to quell the pain
As I try to piece myself all over again
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2016
"We can't afford to be wrong on this issue."  
~ Francis Chan

With holy anguish hearts are crying
through feeble language urgently trying
to summon the sleeping now to wake
for souls' eternities are at stake
PLEASE, FRIENDS, WATCH THIS VIDEO:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnrJVTSYLr8


~~~
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
God's thoughts are claimed unthinkable
correctly by a man, but there is a way

a man
may,
however,
imagine he can. Amen. Amen?

Higher than the earth,
above all we can think or ask,
God's thoughts are said to be,
yond all a man can imagine.

Yet I do, imagine God thinks, if anything, at all.

In my thought, a child emerges in the midst,
thinking round and round,
up and down, this way and that

what if
some how, we think, this child in me,
and I , we think

Off the tight line from here to there,
God's thoughts must be
every where
we can think,

tighter

up and down and all around,
through solid ground and
non-empty space.

Minds are bubbles, let us say,
God's thought are not up above us
exceeding both our reach and grasp.

but nearer, being here, in the bubble
where we live, and move, and have our

being.

Seeing the never hidden
is not revelation,

it is ignorance, ceasing.

Peace,
be with us, everyone.

Time shall tell if this fixed that.
Ignoring innocence, I sense signals seeming meaningful minding my manner of thinking. It keeps me from shouting at fools who ignore the music and deny the harmony we bring to every discordant resonance. I edit this to be the first of my 2018 holiday amuse meants intending to instill joy to the world. That's the big idea.
Scoot Sep 2018
Your hands
are The Same size as mine
yet they
can Hold so much more
than My feeble instruments;
my arms however
can lift your Heavy Body
higher than the twisting tendrils of Strong vine
stretching themselves up and out into the sky
on a ten foot trellis
your hands Tight they grab my arms then
we lift
Together They Melt into a wild new assist
hands hold fingers touch brains know hearts must
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
Lord Jesus, Plower of my heart,
though the darkness descends around me
and heavy moods fall over me,
though the warm feelings of intimacy begin to fade
and encroaching melancholy threatens to set in
like a cold reversal of the winds,
still I will rejoice in Your presence with me,
for You are causing me to press beyond—
beyond the delightful sense of You
and into the delightful assurance of You.

If I know nothing else, I know that You are here,
You are faithful and You love me.
So I will keep clinging to that
when everything else seems to slip
like dust through my fingers
and all hope of good things
in this life grows dim.

I will cling to the promise
that You are clinging to me,
that You’ve got me no matter what,
that You are never leaving or letting go.
For You are the unchanging I AM
in my ever-changing circumstances,
through my ever-shifting emotions,
over my ever-shaking life
and around my ever-feeble heart.

Here is my hand, Lord Jesus.
I put it safely in Yours and trust You
to lead me through this dark night.
Work Your holy, harrowing fingers
deep into the soil of my heart
until every idol is uprooted,
every stone removed
and every broken place restored.
Thank You, Jesus.
I love You.
~~~

"But He knows the way that I take;
when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold."
~ Job 23:10

"You hem me in behind and before,
    and You lay Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
    Your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,'
even the darkness will not be dark to You;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to You."
~ Psalm 139:5-12

"Trust in the LORD with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him,
    and He will make your paths straight."
~ Proverbs 3:5-6

"...because God has said,
'Never will I leave you;
    never will I forsake you.'"
~ Hebrews 13:5b

~~~

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2CpU39tM0c
Lexie Nov 2018
The inner workings of my mind have become lazy in their toil against the opposition
I am feeble minded and the legs of my stamina crumble
I am bent out of shape
I wish to hide, but I must seek
Yet I stumble about like a fool in the dessert
My oasis is dried up when my heart cries for a river to pour forth
Swallow me up in the night
I will surrender my self
As an angel of the night
Claim me as you do your own creation
Whisper to me where rest may be found
I seek peace above all else
Even as my heart thrums with the aching of the universe
I am so little to feel so much
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I'm tired of taking off my own belt
I'm tired of feeling what I've felt
I'm tired of giving up so easy
I'm tired of no one trying to see me
I'm tired of complaining and whining
I'm tired of the wanting and pining
I'm tired of sleeping all alone
I'm tired of staying at home
I'm tired of listening my thoughts
I'm tired of everything I've got
I'm tired of staring on the mirror
I'm tired of trying to wipe it clear
I'm tired of silent, early mornings
I'm tired of romantically mourning
I'm tired of my ever-drying lips
I'm tired of my calloused fingertips
I'm tired of listening to happy people
I'm tired of being frail and feeble
I'm tired of being alone
I'm tired of being alone
M-E Jul 2018
I’m the nameless, nobody
Born of a nameless, nonexistent mum
And a nameless, nonexistent dad
In a placeless city
New in town and I don’t mind
To re-shape my mind
By a town that is so ruthless,
So thoughtless and -
Maybe
I am feeble
But certainly in a new form
A new coming storm,
A cyclone,
A cyclops,
A mongrel
Annihilating,
Devastating,
Decapitating your approval and pity
I’m glass, seen through and sharp
An undecipheral writing
Meticulously weird and uncanny
I’m a boy, a girl
A maniac,
A brainiac,
A pyromaniac,
A junior granny
It’s funny
Wondering why I’m the way I am
You sculptor -
I’m leaving,
Somewhere where I will not find you
For the bullied and the forgotten generation.

Can’t we find a solution instead of demolition, intentionally or unintentionally?
We all have something to disguise
beneath this corporeal face,
Something we keep hidden from all
social grace, some barbarities would
not fade, some malefactions are too great.

I do not condone the violence
of such furious vengeance,
There is no solace to be found in it.
That does not mean I cannot appreciate;

The Champion Nemesis.

[I]
Grand theft auto on a cold night,
But we're not playing video-games tonight.
With lights off but the engine on,
Roll out and get your gameface on.
[II]
Get to hunting right off the bat,
Play hide and seek with the grass.
Mow the lawn of low-lives who said
he'd gone to ground/wants to be found?
[#]
I'll catch up to you later
with my conversation starter
and her best friend.
Who's praying you'll defend
those feeble lies again?
[III]
Heard about a movement so we scoped it out,
Ditched the fiesta and came about.
Silent under the dark while on the hunt.
Found you now, [REDACTED CONTENT].
[#]
Told you I'd catch up later
with my conversation starter
and her best friend;
Watching you
spin your end.

"What a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive."
Quote:
-Line Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four from Marmion by Sir Walter Scott
nathaniel Sep 2018
august’s withered days swing from view.⠀⠀
flicker of a breeze caresses earth’s cheek.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
crinkle of a leaf, a wail beneath your feet.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
a wispy veil of dew covers the dried remains of a summer’s past.
treetops glistering, vibrant golden hues⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
first flicker of daybreak rising slowly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
an infant’s feeble cry of autumn’s might.⠀⠀⠀
although november is my favorite month, september has always held a special place in me, even if it feels like it flies by so fast.
Andrew Jun 2017
You make me feel so stupid
When we play chess
The way you en passant all nonchalant
You chase me into castle
From there I watch you intently
The way the Russians watched Bobby Fischer
In his hotel room
But while I wait for a move to develop
I become the Boredest Spazsky
My mind in a stalemate
As I try to crush your Sicilian defenses
As much as I harangue
You leave me in zugzwang
Which confuses my feeble mind
For I may be a pawn
But I'm the king pawn
Which means the board usually revolves around me
But your queen takes that instantly
And I'm left in a fool's checkmate

I wish you could see things from my side of the board
You'd see how desperately I wanted the king
All the complex and unique obstacles in the way
But instead you just sit there
And laugh at me losing all my pieces trying to reach you
sara May 2014
you** are the sovereign tide
i- the feeble yacht you consume
i contort and conform to abide
by the rules from which you are excused

i am the pathetic attempt
the sun makes to escape from the clouds
whilst you are its radiant rays
that no darkness could ever beat down

i am the dust of the earth
and you are the Northern Lights
whilst I dwell on my lack of worth
you climb to unprecedented heights
feelin' kinda ******
She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.

Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.

A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.
Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

She looks -a still,
                  Young looks can ****.

Oh it breaks my heart…
                     It won’t be mine,

Bottled-up it gets better,
                Just give it some time.

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Beauty stop, you stand still,
                              Young looks can ****.

I gave my heart and wasted my time,
Let my love out, let go-o-o-o-o…
Woman on woman -my Woe!

Sweet Liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Here with a feeble mind,
                                 Now drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Plump lips, her curly hair-r-r-s,
                                 Never a boyfriend, -she swears!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

That body, does it shine?
                                       I’m drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,
An Old Timey Timey about man drowning his sorrows in liquor over the loss of his woman to another woman. He becomes elated at the notion that over time liquor gets better while females appearance deteriorates over time so he is in glee thinking she lost him and without those looks one day she'll never get another man which is ironic to place that assumption upon a woman who is not attracted to men.
Val Ajdari Nov 2013
Like a child enlightened by heightened curiosity,
So is a native poet by poetic luminosity.
A verse in sight and sound devoid of modern flair,
For poetic convention the poet does not care.
So, take this vague verse as one roaring rhyme,
And take it as verbiage very overdue in time.
Unjustly sunken voices the poet seeks to hear,
Battling a torrent history...above, below, and near.
This inquisitive writer infers a present too dismal,
As around an angry sea lies an origin; abysmal.
Rejecting fables history’s assassins inked true,
The writer seeks fair chroniclers, but wreckage was their due.
Sought is Illyria, a place far from here.
Land said "not to exist," but its roots still reappear;
Fabricated history most poets cannot fathom,
Quelled grandiose splendor serves political stratum.
Calling curious minds to ponder this heck of a theory,
First, consider the writer's roots with impartial query.
What the Illyrian believed in was a life well spent,
Not man-written "guidance" begging cents to repent.
Since Illyria’s rebel ship sailed onto history a fright,
Shakespeare's pen amorously inked the 'Twelfth Night.’
Around Illyria’s outskirts sly mythology prevails.
Modern Illyria’s pervasion of such mythology still fails.
So, how does one interpret Illyria’s butchered will,
As her Godless schism fibbing history faux fills?
Her feeble-minded native is essentially to blame
For their grand, deceptive role in the imperialist’s game.
Brutal eradication of Illyria’s vocal reason
Deem the native conspirator of ultimate treason.
So,  while the State buries the poet's piercing wits,
The treasonous dog barks, upon foreign command he *****.
The dog's filthy betrayal, painted by his foreign master,
Is an art to be repeated in future governing disaster.
In the European south roam these bad hounds of species,
Anatomical sketches of Europe's rear excreting feces.
A pile all imperialists eject with laxative ease,
A pile all imperialists still smear as they please.
Above Illyrian graves (those below made to inspire)
The ***** dog dances, blind to his own fate in fire.
This ****** work of art, not a site for you and eye,
Is an emblematic governance gagging an eerie cry.
As today’s political pawns (in corruption they engage),
Illyria’s distinctive scions remain fools on a stage.
Our bodies dance and sway like silly puppets at play,
Our minds confined to idiocy as the socialist's prey.
So,  a poet's jingle jangle on probing minds they should linger,
As besought are worthy scions who must leave behind a "finger."
Marla Dec 2018
Cast about on a stormy sea,
The deck was barren,
Our mood deceased.
Many a day, high tides wisped by-
Arresting my feeble mind from time.
Until one day, an epiphany.
"Blue dream," I called out,
"Take me away to that special place
Where up is down
And I float into space;
Drown my sorrows in a haste."

She manifested in my quarters
Later that night,
And with a soft whimper
Summoned my delight.
"Here you are, forsaken one,"
She hauntedly sung to me,
"My love will give you power,
The smoke will set you free."

Many a moment has passed
Since my encounter with blue dream,
But still my dreams call out
Hoping it's her I shall see
When I cross the threshold
Of those pearly gates.
Rob Rutledge May 2015
What words would Winter whisper,
When the last warm rays
Of sweet Summer sister
Have shone beyond forgone horizons?
His hands clasp blistered,
Embraced by the rhythm of fate.
Love conquers all but his envy is great,

And it grows,

And it blows,

And the Winds are rising,

Giving voice to once silent trees.
Through the maelstrom
Winter watches.
A feeble man on bended knees
Cradles the embers of fire.
Winter froze with desire
While stunned by despair,
That even man could find warmth
While his sky lay frozen and bare.
Sana Jan 2015
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave

Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
True, the brightest light casts the darkest shadow but it is in darkest that brightest embers can be found.
"Inside the womb, silence whispers;
Darkness wombs the light
Raging storms give birth to light"

Our fate is storm,
We are the light
We are the raging storm
SøułSurvivør Sep 2016
~~~

I picked up my feeble pen
To metaphor the sky
But I could not do it
No matter how I tried!

Clouds, like pale amoebas
Slow but surely climb...
No. That's too earthy
For something so Sublime!

Clouds, like clumps of cotton
Roll across the Moon...
No. Clouds, like wispy hair
Flow over a balloon... NO!

Clouds, pale sheer paisley silk
Slide over the moon's breast....

Yes! I DO like THAT one!
My pen can finally rest!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/13/2016
I was not going to write tonight. But that sky... I could not resist writing about it!

Got to go to sleep now... goodnight all!

-
Ormond Jun 2017
.
What blur is vision,
When woman, kind,
Naked as the moon,
Shines in such cool
Light as the stars lit,
In ink of night, scribe
Such spell as ancient
Vocabularies mystify,
Without translations,
The heart is drowned
Feeble as fey emotions,
Rosetta of thorny cut,
Blood spilt in desires
Hard as sarsen alone,
About circle rounding,
A universe unbounded,
For love is kind poison
In nightshade of moon.
.
K Balachandran Aug 2013
A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things

A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings

I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,

At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'

A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a  firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of  their wings flapping in my subconscious.

Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light,  I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.

A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .
JR Weiss Nov 2012
they slide my shirt up over my head
and i hide my body against them.
praying
that their eyes,
which hold such capacity for judgement,
are fooled by the touch of my skin.

the honest fear
stands clear in my heart.
unwavering in the face of its own impossibility.

in that second,
i feel as if i am being stripped
of the feeble illusion that has granted me access
to thier desires and passions.

i'm truly ashamed in that moment
for having tricked them
into thinking
i am so much more
then i truly am.
Nigeria, a Dying country,
Her kinsmen will gather in war to share her sweat
More troubles for the unborn and her growing heirs,
The unfolding dread non-soldiers at heart like me.

Nigeria, she spring forth from the dark soil
Her past never stop to echoe, her Iroko turned void
Blessed with milk, honey and seeds with hearts fixed to the creator,
The sword bearer of coal  war-ful gladiators.

A vineyard in the days of her reckoning
A different story after her great hair home coming.
Tale of a true black race
And the  down laying of her good moral ways.

Just like how a river side tree dries,
So does her firewood also cries.
Her genuine red caps are nowhere to be found
Her wind, her seed will have to make do with the feeble dust in character around.

Shaking is her government seat on the rock
Still steady is her opposition in their secret walls.
They keep killing her vision in disguise of trying to unlock
While they battle to pluck away all her roses.
The voiceless murmur and watch,
Her pocket papers fly and run
While a once great country keep dying on.
patty m Nov 2015
A sheath of skin slips from the moon.
It falls gathering speed
through the houses of stars, hurtling toward earth.

In the eyes of a dream, I lie in my bed
fighting off birth pains.
Through an obscure misty cloudland
a feeling so deep, drags me down.

What scheme chooses me as its receptacle?

Suddenly a face congeals
surrounded by celestial bodies,
Stars shimmer from threads
across its microscopic skin.
Freezing, it tries transferring my heat,
but finds that we are two elements trapped in one body.
Dark matter, dark energy trapped in the prison
of my gravity; but you
imprison me as well,
stripping me of light.
I strain to get away, but my body is the host
you seek shelter in.

Cocooned I feel the world rush by.
over pylons in the river, holding
castles in the sky, and further still,
to dark tracks, and cold and distant stars
reminding me of treacherous winters.

Then the slow unwinding begins.
and I am brought to perdition,
a freezing hell where I can't restrain my desolation

Suddenly a far off clamor
opens night to mirrored light.
Pure ecstasy warms my skin
vibrating like strings of the cello.
In the shimmer of Luna all things
glow mercurially silver.
We climb outer space,
held in your orbit.

A face in a skylight cuts off my oxygen.
Now your sparkling essence becomes luminous and liquid
and I am one more disposable body..

All the doors are shut,
I open each in turn;
finding mornings years ago, climbing into my parent's bed,
snuggling up all warm and cuddly.

Weariness, drags me down,
I sense dislocation as time vanishes.
Pulling me through a wormhole
a star falls, taking me with it,

I touch Terre firma, emitting a sigh.
wan, dazed, and suddenly alone.

Depleted I look heavenward,
and see the Man In The Moon smiling down,
just before .
my feeble light dies.
When words fail and the song dies in your soul
The soft cushion weighs heavy, threadbare, when
Dust invites the attic attack to the last memory stroll
A fretful protest march accompanying the wood grained heart

You noticed the space in short supply, with tight breath, the
Expert bargaining skills have begun, bypassing
The weak hearts, those that are still journeying
Their healing held up in tight palms of moistoned skin

And the slide into another day begins, dreadfully
With arched pain barriers drumming their morning
Beat. Occupational hazard was on the rampage
Cracking skull caps from their skinned residence

I shone a light into the acute grey tone of those
Hearts, those whose shapes lost conviction as the light
Shot arrowed tongues from the deaf interiors of wise men
Out on the town of feeble failings, they held nothing as their companion
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